But as soon as she felt it, she pushed it away. It was too dangerous. She must remain incognito and getting to know anyone well on this journey was fraught with peril, especially as she had sensed that he was intrigued by her, as well. When she had given brief, fictitious details about her life last night, he had been watching her like a hawk.Did he suspect that she wasn’t what she claimed to be?
She looked away, out the other carriage window. And apart from the danger of discovery, he was a common man. A Northern industrialist. A part of a rising class of people that her father and all of thetondespised. She could never get involved with such a man, even though she was no longer the lady she had once been. They were all brutish, loutish, and uncouth.
But he doesn’t seem to be like that at all, insisted a small voice in her head.In fact, he seems very clever and vibrant. He certainly seems like a decent man. He rescued you from that drunken man, didn’t he?
Before she could dwell on the conundrum that was Ambrose Hartfield, the coach started to slow down. They would be stopping soon. The passengers all breathed a sigh of relief. Delia kept her gaze away from him, trying to push all thoughts of the handsome man aside.
Chapter 12
It was almost midday. The coach had been travelling for over four hours since the brief stop for breakfast in Bedfordshire. Delia was so stiff and sore that her legs were starting to cramp. She had never sat for such a long, extended period in a carriage before. It was beginning to feel like torture.
She sighed heavily, wondering what on earth she looked like. She was still weary from the uncomfortable night’s sleep within the carriage. She had splashed her face with water at the inn where they had breakfasted and tried to smooth her hair, but there had been no looking glass. She was sure she must look a fright.
The exhaustion of the journey was beginning to show. Miss Tilney looked pinched and testy. Sister Mary Majella was yawning discreetly behind her hand. Mr Hawkins was a little too jovial, constantly chattering in his booming voice about the Queen and his ships, which caused Mr Giles to shoot him quite vicious looks. Mr Hartfield was quiet, constantly looking out the window, rarely talking. When the coach finally pulled over again at an inn, everyone was eager to get out and stretch their legs.
Delia entered the inn alongside the other women. They all sat at a booth, ordering pies for lunch. To Delia’s chagrin, the men then crowded opposite them, ordering food as well. She tried not to look at Mr Hartfield, but it was difficult. Even after a bad night’s sleep and continual travel, he was still the most attractive-looking man she had ever seen.
“I think we need a heart starter,” declared Mr Giles, his eyes glittering with mischief. “I am going to buy a round of whiskies for everyone. It will wake us all up and make the afternoon trip rather more agreeable.”
“Not for me, thank you, Mr Giles,” said Miss Tilney in a prim voice. “I am part of the Temperance League and donotpartake in strong liquor.”
“Ah, go on, one won’t hurt you,” said Mr Giles, signalling for the barman. “You can just sniff it if you like, Miss Tilney. The fumes alone will be sure to enliven you.”
Before Miss Tilney could protest any further, Mr Giles ordered the whiskies, flourishing a gold coin to the barman. Delia grimaced as the small glass with brown liquor was placed in front of her. She had never drunk strong liquor in her life. The most she had consumed was a small glass of wine with dinner. She picked it up, sniffing it cautiously. The fumes were certainly as strong as Mr Giles had promised they would be.
She looked at Sister Mary Majella. She was sure that the nun would refuse the drink, just as Miss Tilney had done. But instead, she picked up the small glass, raising it aloft.
“Here’s to a pleasant journey,” she declared, winking. “I never say no to a good whiskey. It’s like mother’s milk to us Irish, so it is.”
To Delia’s surprise, she poured the drink down her throat in one gulp before placing the empty glass on the rough wooden table. Everyone’s mouths dropped open. Then they all started clapping.
“Well done, Sister!” said Mr Hawkins, beaming at her. “For certain, the Irish can hold their liquor!”
He tipped his own glass down his throat. Mr Giles laughed, clapping him on the back before downing his own.
Mr Hartfield sighed heavily, then did the same. The only two drinks left belonged to Miss Tilney and Delia.
“Go on now, colleen,” said Sister Mary Majella, winking at Delia. “It will put hairs on your chest, so it will.”
Delia lifted the glass, cautiously sipping it. It burnt like fire, and she didn’t like the taste of it at all. She put it down, turning to Mr Giles.
“I am sorry, sir,” she said. “I know you have paid good coin for it, but I cannot drink it.”
“Ah, that’s fine,” said Mr Giles, smiling at her. “You can give it to me, Miss Parker. You are a wee slip of a girlie, and I should have known you wouldn’t like strong liquor.”
Delia pushed the glass towards the man. He drank it down in one gulp, shaking his head like a dog. Everyone laughed again. Miss Tilney sat with a frozen smile, not picking up her drink. Despite encouragement from all, she refused to touch it.
Their meals arrived. Delia felt her stomach growl. It was steak and kidney pie with flaky pastry alongside a pile of mushed green peas, which was all smothered in thick brown gravy. She wolfed it down before she had barely drawn breath again. This trip seemed to be giving her an inordinately large appetite. But then again, the food was so good, despite the roughness of the inns. She had never had such delicious food in her life. It was plain but tasty and in large quantities.
She thought of the meals served at home. Roasted pheasant and cod with white sauce were her father’s favourites. But there hadn’t been very good meals lately, and the quantities were getting smaller. She realised now that it was because of her father’s financial difficulties. It had permeated every aspect of life at Twickenham Hall.
How could he have been so reckless? How had he changed so much?
Her eyes filled with tears. She stared down at the table. She loved her father so much, but she didn’t understand him at all anymore. He was like a stranger to her. And now, if she succeeded in this quest to escape her fate, she might never see him again. The thought filled her with sorrow.
It was a hard thing,she thought, blinking back the tears, running away from everything and everyone.
She looked up. Mr Hartfield was staring straight at her. He had a quizzical look on his face as if he was trying to figure her out. Her heart lurched. Had he discerned her sorrow and was wondering why she was upset? Or was he suspicious of her?