“It’s what we call girls in Ireland,” said the nun, picking up her spoon and taking a big mouthful of stew. “It comes from the Gaelic word cailin, which means girl or maiden.” She winked at Delia. “Go on, keep eating. We don’t have a lot of time. That devil of a coach driver will take off without us if we aren’t careful, so he will.”
They all lapsed into silence as they ate. Delia started to gaze around the inn as her hunger abated. Suddenly, she saw the handsome dark man at another table. He was playing a game of chess with the large man from the coach, his brown eyes narrowed in concentration. Occasionally, he reached for a mug of ale, taking a long swig, but he never took his eyes off the game.
Delia smiled slowly. She loved chess and played it often with Papa. They often had long, drawn-out games of an evening, battling each other to become the winner. The thought of Papa and their times of joy together caused a pang in her heart. If she was successful with this ruse, she would probably never see him again. It would be like he was dead to her.
The immensity of what she had done pressed on her again like a vice. She had made the decision so quickly and hadn’t thought it through at all. But now, she realised how serious this was. She was running away from the only life she had ever known. That meant that she must cut ties witheveryonefrom that life. Papa and Aunt Verity, as well as all her friends. She would never see any of them again.
She felt pure panic surge through her veins again. Abruptly, she pushed away the almost finished bowl of stew, standing up. Both women looked at her.
“I…I need the privy,” she stammered, blushing slightly at even mentioning it. “I should go before we get back onto the coach.”
“Aye,” said Sister Mary Majella, smiling archly. “Nothing worse than needing to go desperately and having to hang on for hours, my dear. It will drive you pure mad. You need to go to the back of the inn. You will find what you need there.”
Delia nodded. She took a deep breath, walking through the crowd of people towards the back of the inn. She was almost there when a man stumbled against her, slightly spilling ale on her gown. Delia gasped, whipping out her handkerchief to dab at the stain.
“Ah, I am sorry, my lovely,” said the man in a thick accent. His eyes ran over her. “My, youarelovely! As pretty as a picture.”
Delia blushed fiercely. She didn’t know what to say to him. He was staring at her openly, his eyes a little glazed, in an appreciative way.
“Ah, thank you kindly, sir,” she said quickly, trying to move past him.
“Wait, wait,” he said, reaching out and placing a hand on her arm. “Can I buy you a drink, lassie? It is the least I can do for bumping into you and soiling your frock.”
Delia took a deep breath. “That is not necessary, sir,” she said, her heart thumping hard. “It was an accident. There was no real harm done.”
“Ah, come on,” pressed the man, moving closer towards her. “One little drink won’t hurt you, will it? I promise that I don’t bite.” He laughed uproariously.
Delia gaped at him. His hand was still on her arm, and she felt him tighten his grip. She bit her lip, not knowing how to handle the situation at all. He wasn’t listening to her. She gazed at his glazed eyes and realised his speech was slightly slurred. He was clearly in his cups, and she knew that often made people bolder than they would normally be.
She forced a smile onto her face, trying to remain polite. “Thank you very much for the kind offer, sir, but I must decline. I bid you a good night.”
He moved closer towards her so that she smelt the ale on his breath. “Just the one, lovey. Please.” His eyes flickered over her again avidly. “My, you are a pretty one! I ain’t ever seen skin like yours. You look like a doll. And you talk real fancy, too. You look like a right lady, so you do.”
Delia’s heart was thumping now. How could she extract herself from this man without causing offence? He was mildly drunk. He might behave in an unpredictable way. She had never been in a situation like this before, and there was no one she could call upon to help her.
But suddenly, another man stepped up to them—a tall man with dishevelled black hair and flashing brown eyes. It was the handsome man from the coach.
Chapter 9
“There you are,” said the handsome man to Delia, taking her arm firmly. “I have been looking for you everywhere, my dear.”
The drunk man instantly pulled away, muttering under his breath and walking back to the bar. Delia’s heart started to slow down. She breathed a sigh of pure relief. She turned to the handsome man, staring at him.
“Thank you,” she whispered.
A grin split across his face. “You looked like you needed assistance, miss. I think he was harmless enough, but you can never tell.” He kept staring at her. “Are you quite well?”
She nodded. “Yes. I just wasn’t expecting him to waylay me like that.”
“He is in his cups,” said the handsome man. “I am sure he was just a bit stunned by the sight of you. Still, you can never be too careful in a place like this.”
Delia blushed. She didn’t know what to say. She could hardly tell him that she had never frequented a place like this in her life and had no experience in fending off common drunk men, could she?
“I am being rude,” he said, his brown eyes glittering. “My name is Ambrose Hartfield. And I should apologise again for what happened when I got into the coach in London.”
“There is no need, sir,” she said quickly, feeling mortified again at the thought of it. Especially her body’s reaction to him. “It was an accident.” She drew a deep breath. “I am Miss Delia Parker. I am pleased to make your acquaintance.”
He kept staring at her in an almost speculative way, as if he couldn’t quite make her out. Delia felt her face redden at the scrutiny. Her body was also behaving in a strange way again because of his proximity. It was so embarrassing, and she didn’t know how to stop it.