“Miss Parker,” he said, bowing slightly. “And why are you travelling north? You clearly have a southern accent. I cannot quite place it.”
“To visit my grandmother,” she replied quickly, sidestepping the implied question about where she was from, trying not to look him in the eye. “She lives in Bradford.”
He grinned. “Ah, so you are familiar with Bradford then? I have lived there my entire life.”
“I have only been there once before,” she said quickly, her colour deepening. “So I do not know it well. More is the pity. I have not had a chance to visit my grandmother often.”
The lying was painful for her. But she knew she must not give him the impression she was familiar with Bradford, for he might draw her into further conversation about the place, and she was entirely ignorant. She didn’t know Bradford at all. She had never even travelled to the North of England before.
Her heart started to beat erratically. This was difficult—more difficult than she had imagined. If she had planned this days prior to her departure, she would have been able to ask Minnie some questions about the place. They might have conjured up a whole fictional backstory for her together and anticipated what people might ask her. But there had been no time. She and Minnie had swapped clothes quickly and gone their separate ways almost immediately.
She must stop talking with him. She realised now that the best way to handle this situation was to talk as little as possible to people and try to keep her distance. To just offer very basic information about her life and the reasons for her trip and leave it at that. Otherwise, she was at risk of opening up a Pandora’s box. People might become suspicious that she was lying and misrepresenting herself. They might remember her.
“Anyway,” she said in a bright voice. “I should not delay you any further, Mr Hartfield. I noticed you are in the middle of a game of chess. You will want to finish it if possible.” She lowered her voice, unable to resist giving him some advice. “You could checkmate him in four moves, you know. I looked at your board as I was walking past.”
He looked amazed. His jaw dropped open. “You play chess?”
“Indeed,” she said, a hint of pride in her voice. “I used to play it often with my father. Would you like me to tell you how to checkmate him with the four moves? It is a quick strategy and almost always foolproof.”
“Ah, that is quite all right,” he said, sounding surprised. “I like to win off my own bat, Miss Parker. But thank you for offering your thoughts upon the game.”
“My pleasure,” she said, smiling brightly. “Now, if you will excuse me?”
He nodded, stepping back so she could pass him. Delia took a deep breath, turning sideways to sidle past him as the room was so crowded. She tried to ignore the quick flare of awareness within her as she came close to him again. But then, to her chagrin, their hands brushed lightly. Her whole body sprang to life immediately, a hundred tiny sparks coursing through her limbs.
She couldn’t look at him again. Resolutely, she kept walking back to the table where Sister Mary Majella and Miss Tilney were still seated. Stunned, she sat down. Something very curious was happening to her with that man. Something that she had never experienced before in her life that she didn’t understand at all.
She was aware, in her peripheral vision, that he had returned to his table, concentrating on his game again. She wondered exactly who Mr Ambrose Hartfield was. He spoke with a Northern accent, of course, and she had no way of knowing his station by it. But he was dressed very well indeed and had an air of authority and dynamism about him. He appeared to be a northern aristocrat.
Her heart fluttered in her chest. In another life, if she had encountered him at a ball, they might have courted. But that was impossible now, of course. She wouldn’t be mixing in those circles in Bradford. She would be trying to make her living in any way she could. The world of balls and high-society events that had been her life was gone forever.
She took a deep breath. She must put Mr Hartfield out of her mind entirely. He was a complete stranger to her, and they would never see each other again after this trip. And for her safety, she must keep everyone at a distance. Still, she couldn’t deny she was curious about him. Very curious indeed.
***
Ambrose sat back down at the table, trying to concentrate on his game again. But it was pointless. His concentration was gone. All he could think about was Miss Delia Parker.
He felt the desire course through his veins. It seemed he couldn’t be near her without having this automatic reaction to her. Standing there talking with her face-to-face, he had been struck anew by her beauty. He had barely been able to take his eyes off that sublime face, for he had never seen one like it before. She truly was one of the most beautiful women he had ever beheld.
He frowned, thinking about her. He had finally heard her voice. She spoke with a very refined Southern accent indeed. He couldn’t place the county she was from, of course, but she sounded cultured. She didn’t talk with a thick brogue. He would bet his last guinea she wasn’t working class.
His frown deepened as his hand hovered over the board before he picked up his knight, placing it on a square. It wasn’t just her voice that gave him that impression. Her manners and the way she spoke were impeccable. She wasn’t streetwise either. She hadn’t known how to handle that man at all.
That was mainly the reason he had intervened because he had seen how confused and uncertain she was. A working-class girl who was used to dealing with those types of situations would have put the man in his place within a minute.
And yet…she was dressed like a working-class girl. A cheap dress and bonnet, even if she looked delectable in her outfit. He had noted how threadbare her coat was, too. She clearly didn’t have a lot of money. When he had first laid eyes upon her in the carriage, he had assumed she was a servant or some such thing. A maid travelling in her one good gown, for the dress was pressed well and didn’t have holes or stains.
“Checkmate!” cried the man opposite him in a triumphant voice.
Ambrose jumped, cursing aloud. He had lost the game. The large man from the coach took his king swiftly. Ambrose thought it was probably a good thing the game was over anyway, as he couldn’t focus, and they were due back on the coach very soon.
“Well done,” he said, draining his mug of ale. “What did you say your name was again?”
The large man beamed at him, clearly very happy that he was the winner. “Mr Simeon Hawkins, my good man. At your service.”
“Congratulations, Mr Hawkins,” said Ambrose, standing up. “We should play again if we get the chance.” He leaned towards the man, lowering his voice. “But I must warn you, I will beat you into the ground if we do.”
I should have asked Miss Parker for her strategy, he thought briefly.I would never have picked her for a chess lover. A clever woman as well as a beautiful one. I like clever women.