He shrugged. “Not very much. A few trips to London for business.” He paused. “But mainly, I stay in Bradford, close to the factory. I never take trips for pleasure. A waste of time, in my opinion.”
Delia smiled wryly. “You reallydolive for your work, don’t you? Do you ever get tired and long to do something just for yourself?”
He looked amazed. “That is a luxury I have never had. It is for the idle. A man must work and better himself in this world as much as possible.” He shrugged again. “Besides, what would I do on a trip for supposed pleasure? Walk along a beach by myself? Sit in a theatre twiddling my thumbs while I watch a boring play or listen to a ghastly opera?”
Delia laughed again. “It is not so ghastly if you are sharing the experience with someone. You do not like plays or opera or even walks along the beach? Is there anything that you do to unwind and have…fun?”
He blinked rapidly, as if the concept of fun was something he had never considered. “I play chess from time to time,” he said slowly. “I have a club in Bradford. But I haven’t been much lately. There is simply no time.”
Delia sighed. It sounded like a lonely existence to her. He was clearly a driven man, and she greatly admired his work ethic, but he was very tunnel-focused about it.
“Do you have any friends, Mr Hartfield?” she asked.
He considered the question. “I have some old friends. But I do not see them very much. Other than that, it is all business acquaintances.” He hesitated. “I must keep my guard up with them. They are always looking for ways to gain an advantage. It is a dog-eat-dog world, Miss Parker. I never want to take my eye off my work and then have it stolen away from me.”
Delia looked down at the board. She knew nothing of the world he inhabited. She hadn’t had to work a day in her life. She was a daughter of the nobility and had lived in a privileged world—cossetted and protected.
She had assumed that world would never change. But it had. Her father had gambled with their home and her future, and he had lost. It was what had led her on this desperate journey. And now, she was about to live in the same world that Ambrose Hartfield did—working to live, constantly on guard, in a desperate fight for survival.
She shuddered. The man sitting across from her was driven, clever, and ambitious. He had worked hard, and it had paid off. He was clearly a successful, wealthy man. But he still seemed unable to enjoy the fruits of his labour. It struck her forcibly that it was a sad way to live when he had no one to share his great fortune with nor the time to enjoy it.
“Miss Parker?” His voice reached as if from far away. “Is something wrong?”
“Nothing,” she said quickly, looking up at him and forcing a smile onto her face. “I just think it sad that you have no time or inclination to enjoy your life. You sound like you work so hard. Surely you can afford to take some time now that you are successful?”
His dark eyes flickered. “I suppose I could make adjustments here and there to do so.” He hesitated. “But there is no real incentive for me to do such a thing. My work is my life, and I enjoy it. It is all that I need.”
“I do not believe you,” she said, raising her chin. “Surely, everyone needssomethingmore in life?”
He stared at her as if he didn’t quite know how to respond. The silence lengthened between them.
She bit her lip. “I am sorry. I have gone too far. Your life is your own to lead as you please, Mr Hartfield.”
He cleared his throat. “It is your move, Miss Parker.”
“Of course,” she said, focusing on the board, her mind swimming with confusion. It was so easy to get drawn into his gaze. It was so powerful and compelling.
She contemplated the game. Then she made her move, taking two of his pieces in one swift action. His jaw dropped.
“Youreallyare good at this, aren’t you?” he muttered.
She couldn’t help beaming at him. “I used to play with my father a lot. It was one of our favourite things to do.” Her smile widened. “He always said it was the ultimate game of skill. It required much thought about strategy. He taught me everything I know.”
She was telling the truth…about that, at least.
“When did you lose him?” he asked in a quiet voice.
Delia’s heart started beating faster. She felt her throat thicken with tears. It was on the tip of her tongue to tell him the truth—that she had just lost him in the past few days. That even though he wasn’t actually dead, he was as good as dead to her now, which was almost as bad as the real thing.
But she couldn’t do that. She was Miss Delia Parker now, lady’s companion, who had been working with a fictional aristocratic family back in Surrey. An orphan. She wasn’t Lady Cordelia Pelham, who had just upped and left her privileged life and all the people within it.
“It was several years ago,” she said quickly, trying not to look him in the eye. “I lost my mother at the same time.” Her mind started racing. “Smallpox. I was lucky that I did not die from it myself.”
Her heart raced faster still. Shereallyhated lying like this. Especially to him, for he was looking at her with such pity in his dark eyes. He truly thought she was a poor orphan girl who had lost her parents to smallpox. She felt ashamed. But she had to make up something.
“I am sorry to hear that,” he said in a gentle voice. “You must have been devastated.” He looked at her curiously. “You survived the pox yourself, with no mark? Your skin is flawless. Most people who survive it carry scars on their face.”
He thinks I have perfect skin.