Chapter 18
Ambrose was the first downstairs the next morning. He had a restless sleep. It wasn’t just because Mr Hawkins had been snoring and muttering in his sleep in the bed next to him. He hadn’t been able to get the thought of that kiss with Miss Parker out of his mind.
He gazed around the empty room. There was no one behind the bar, so he couldn’t order breakfast yet. He sat down at a table in the corner, staring out the window, running a hand through his dishevelled hair. He had washed quickly, but mindful of disturbing Mr Hawkins, he hadn’t lingered. The large man had still been fast asleep when he had left the room.
He cursed under his breath. He wasn’t sure how to handle this thing with Miss Parker. She just wasn’t like any woman he had ever known. He didn’t think he had ever met a woman more innocent and naïve in the ways of the world. He was worried about her, a fact which astounded him. He wasn’t used to worrying about women he desired, like this. All the women he had ever been with were quite able to look after themselves—to the point of being cynical and jaded.
The physical desire he felt for Miss Parker was stronger than he had ever felt for any of them, as well. It was red-hot and raw. He wanted to take her so badly that it was beginning to feel like a mad itch he just couldn’t scratch.
If only it were so simple. If only he could just satiate that desire and be done with it.
He sighed heavily as he stared out the window, watching the coach driver and a few other men working on the carriage. He knew now that he couldn’t just tumble Miss Parker. She wasn’t like that. She seemed as innocent in that way as she did in every other. He would bet his last guinea that she had never even been kissed before. He knew she was still a maiden, with no experience of men at all.
And that was a problem. He didn’t want to deflower an innocent maiden. He had no experience with such things, and quite frankly, the thought scared him. She was idealistic and romantic, fervently wishing to fall in love. If he bedded her, she might expect far more from him than he was willing to give—far more than it waspossiblefor him to give.
And yet…he still couldn’t stop thinking about her.
At that moment, Mr Giles walked into the inn. He looked as tired and dishevelled as Ambrose felt. But then, Mr Giles had more reason to look that way than he did. The man had just slept in the stables. He felt a stab of sympathy for the recently bereaved man.
“Giles,” he called, waving him over. “How was your rest?”
Mr Giles shook his head as he sat down at the table across from him. “It was terrible,” he admitted. “A thin blanket that did nothing to ward off the cold. And I woke with a start this morning to find a horse peering into my face. I got the shock of my life.”
Ambrose laughed, trying to picture it. “That would have been a shock.” He paused. “You should have taken the room with Hawkins, and I should have bedded in the stables.”
Mr Giles grimaced. “Ah, no, that’s very kind of you, Mr Hartfield, but it doesn’t matter to me much where I lay my head.” He paused, his bloodshot eyes filling with tears. “Nothing seems to matter much these days.”
“I heard of your great loss,” said Ambrose in a gentle voice. “My condolences.”
Mr Giles sighed heavily, staring out the window. “Yes. I am still coming to terms with it. I have to pinch myself that it is real. The thought that I will never see my Nell and little Sarah again is unbelievable.”
“What happened?” asked Ambrose, his heart lurching with sympathy again. “If you don’t mind me asking or talking about it.”
“They caught the influenza,” said Mr Giles in a trembling voice. “Sarah, my daughter, fell sick with it first. Nell nursed her, of course, and then got sick herself. They died within a day of each other.” He blinked back tears. “And the irony is that I never even got a cough. Always fit as a fiddle.”
Ambrose shook his head. What a terrible loss. The man’s family, wiped out in one fell swoop. Life could be very cruel sometimes.
“Anyway, I just couldn’t stay at the house,” continued Mr Giles. “It reminds me of them. My sister Janet wrote to say I could stay with her and her family in Bradford for a while, and I thought, why not? It will give me time to think about what I might do with my life next.”
“You are a wine merchant?” asked Ambrose.
The man nodded. “Yes. But I have done many different things over the years. Selling wine is just the latest. It hasn’t been going that well, so I may try something new. If I can ever pluck up the will.”
Ambrose reached into his jacket pocket, taking out a card. He passed it to the man. “Come and see me once you have settled in Bradford. If you decide to stay, I may be able to find some work for you.”
Mr Giles stared down at the card. Then he looked up at Ambrose. “That is very kind of you, Mr Hartfield.” He grinned. “If we ever get to Bradford. At this rate, it might be quicker to walk there.”
“I know,” said Ambrose, frowning. “It is driving me to distraction. I need to get to my factory. I have been gone too long as it is.”
“And do you have a family of your own in Bradford, sir?” asked Mr Giles, smiling at him.
Ambrose shook his head. “I am married to my work. It would just be a distraction, and I have no time to devote to a family.”
Mr Giles stared at him, looking puzzled. “But a wife and family are the comfort of this life, Mr Hartfield.” He smiled tremulously. “Even though I am burdened by my loss, I would never turn back the hands of time and change anything. I would rather have experienced that love than forever be bereft of it.”
“You loved your wife very much by the sound of it,” said Ambrose in a gentle voice. “And your daughter, of course.”
Mr Giles nodded, his eyes misty. “I can still remember the first time I laid eyes on Nell,” he said, in a wistful voice. “She was the most beautiful girl I had ever seen. I couldn’t believe it when she agreed to go courting with me. I felt like I was the luckiest man on this earth.”