***
Ambrose sat as stiff as a board, gazing out the small carriage window as the coach rattled through the streets of London. Every single time the coach jerked, his leg brushed against the leg of the beautiful woman sitting next to him, causing desire to thicken the blood in his veins once more.
It was highly embarrassing but not as humiliating as when he had stumbled and fallen on top of her. He had been overwhelmed by the scent of her perfume. And he had been so close to that beautiful skin. It was indeed as flawless as it looked from a distance. She was as pale as a lily with skin like porcelain. He had never seen such a perfect complexion.
He had tried to scramble off her as quickly as possible. She had been pushing at his chest. Mortified, he couldn’t even look her in the face as he mumbled his apology. She hadn’t replied. He hadn’t even heard her voice yet.
He sighed heavily, crossing his legs so that he wasn’t brushing against her any longer. The nun was knitting furiously, her needles clicking in the silence. The middle-aged, prim-looking woman was frowning slightly as she read her book. The corpulent man with the offensive odour had fallen asleep, his head lolling against the shoulder of the prim woman, making her shuffle along the seat in an effort to escape him.
He glanced quickly at the other man, seated on the other side of the golden-haired beauty, just in time to see him take out a small silver flask and take a nip. Ambrose grimaced. No wonder the man’s eyes were bloodshot. He was clearly a drunkard. And that could be a problem as the trip progressed. He would probably be slurring or raving before nightfall.
He turned back to the window, rolling his eyes in frustration. What had he done to deserve this?
***
The sky was darkening by the time they reached the outskirts of London. Delia was so stiff, with the cold and not moving, that she felt like her muscles were frozen. To add to the discomfort, one of the carriage wheels was rickety, causing the coach to lurch from side to side in the most alarming manner.
How much more of this could she endure? Were they ever going to get a break?
Her heart leapt slightly as she felt the coach slow down. She gazed out the window. They were in the country now, with green fields surrounding them. They were approaching a solitary inn. Her heart leapt again. She was certain they were stopping. She had no idea how long the break would be, but at least she would get a chance at last to stretch her legs. She hadn’t gotten out of this coach since she had been picked up at the crossroads.
She slid her hand into Minnie’s coat pocket, making sure the bag of coins was still secure. Perhaps she might be able to purchase some refreshment here. She realised suddenly that she was starving—she hadn’t eaten all day. She had been too distraught to eat anything at breakfast and had been travelling all day. To underscore the point, her stomach abruptly rumbled loudly. She blushed, pressing her arm against it, trying not to look at anyone.
The coach finally pulled over. The handsome dark man was up like a shot, pushing the door open. Everyone climbed out after him, groaning and stretching.
Delia approached the driver. “How long do we stop here, sir?”
The driver stared at her. “About an hour,” he said in a terse voice. “Enough time to get some food and drink and for the horses to have a break.” He raised a bushy eyebrow. “If you’re not on the coach when I leave, missy, then you’re left behind.”
Delia’s jaw dropped. “Oh. Very well. I shall make certain that I am here, then.”
She turned away. The other passengers were making their way inside the inn. She took a deep breath, trying to gather her courage. It was no small thing. She had never been inside such a rough-looking establishment in her life and had no idea what awaited her.
She realised she was trembling. She was all alone in the world. There was no one she could ask for help, no one to lean upon. The driver had been surly to her, speaking to her in a way she had never been spoken to in her life. She was so used to people being deferential towards her that it had come as a shock—just another one to add to the long list of shocks today.
And they weren’t over yet.
As soon as she pushed the door to the inn open, she baulked. It was crowded with people, jostling each other, talking loudly in a thick regional accent she had never heard before. Men were standing against the bar, drinking from mugs of ale, laughing uproariously. There were tables and booths along the walls, but they all seemed to be crowded, too.
Delia felt a flash of pure panic.What was she going to do?
Chapter 8
Delia hovered in the doorway uncertainly. Then she felt a tap on her shoulder. She spun around, to find herself staring into the face of the nun from the coach.
“You look like you’ve lost a guinea and found a penny, my dear,” said the nun in a thick Irish brogue. “Would you like to sit with me and Miss Tilney for a bite to eat?”
“Miss Tilney?” Delia’s voice came out as a squeak.
The nun smiled warmly. “Miss Tilney is the other woman from the coach,” she said, her brown eyes twinkling. “She’s found us a table over there.” She pointed to the far end of the inn.
Delia looked at Miss Tilney, who smiled cautiously at them. She turned back to the nun.
“I am Sister Mary Majella,” said the nun. “On my way to St. Anne’s convent just outside of Bradford. And you, miss?”
Delia took a deep breath. She had been so overwhelmed by everything that had happened today that she hadn’t even thought of how to introduce herself. It was on the tip of her tongue to say she was Minnie, but then she pulled herself up. If Papa was searching for her and had managed to get the truth out of Minnie, then he would be looking for a lady matching her description, going by the alias of Minnie Reeves.
“I am Miss Delia…Parker,” she said quickly, her face burning. “It is nice to make your acquaintance, Sister Mary Majella.”