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She was silent for a moment. Then she sighed. “You are not married yet?”
He shook his head. “I have no time, Miss Parker. I am married to my work and devote most of my time to it. A wife would come a poor second, which would hardly be fair upon the woman, would it?”
She looked puzzled. “You spendallof your time working? You have no desire for a life beyond it?”
He nodded. “I built my factory up from the ground. It is all-consuming. And I could not bear the thought of losing it after all that work to attain it. I am content with my choices.” He hesitated, staring at her intently. “You are clearly unmarried. I see no wedding ring on your finger.”
“No, I am not married,” she said, her grey eyes inexplicably swimming with tears. Quickly, she looked away. “I…I did have a chance to marry, but I did not love the man. Nor could I ever love him. The thought of being in a loveless marriage is appalling to me. I believe in love and that it is worth every sacrifice. I am willing to wait for it.”
Her voice wavered slightly. He could tell that even talking about marriage was emotional for her. She was obviously a romantic, but that wasn’t uncommon in women, he had found. Still, women in the lower classes often ended up marrying for practical reasons, pushing the idea of romantic love away. It was hard being a woman alone in this world, after all, trying to keep the wolf from the door while waiting for that mythical love.
She looked so woebegone, so vulnerable, that his heart shifted slightly. A strange, unfamiliar feeling of protectiveness was stealing over him towards her. She was a young woman travelling alone, apparently, an orphan, with only a grandmother left as family. And she definitely wasn’t streetwise. Everything on this journey seemed to astonish or confuse her. It was almost as if Miss Delia Parker had just hatched from an egg and was viewing the world for the very first time.
What had happened in Surrey? Was the desire to see her ailing grandmother the only reason she had boarded a public stagecoach to make the long journey north alone?
He opened his mouth to ask but then closed it again. She had gotten a little defensive back at the inn when he had peppered her with questions about her life, and he didn’t want to rile her again. Besides, itwasrude to keep pressing her about her life. They were strangers to each other. She was under no obligation to tell him anything about herself at all.
“We should make our way back,” he said slowly, feeling a little disappointed that he couldn’t keep walking with her. He had enjoyed this time alone, talking with her. “The coach will be leaving soon.”
She took a deep breath, then nodded. Suddenly, he noticed a small leaf resting on her hair, at the front of her bonnet. It must have fallen on her head when they walked beneath a row of tall trees. Without thinking, he leaned over, retrieving it.
Her eyes widened. He felt a crackle of sensual tension between them. Their eyes locked. He felt his loins stirring in an almost unbearable way. He only just managed to stop himself from reaching for her, pulling her into his arms, and tasting those sweet lips.
She seemed to come to her senses, breaking the connection by walking swiftly away. He took a deep, ragged breath before he followed her. They walked back in silence, but he could still feel that tension between them, as thick as a fog.
When they had almost reached the road where the coach was parked, Miss Tilney suddenly appeared.
“There you both are,” said the schoolmistress, in a slightly disapproving tone. “The driver sent me to find you. The coach is almost ready to depart. We will be leaving in five minutes. Come along.”
Ambrose suppressed a smile. The woman was talking to them as if they were unruly children. He supposed it was an occupational hazard.
He didn’t look at Miss Parker as they settled back in the coach, heading off again. But the time spent alone with her, both in the inn and on the walk, had only deepened his fascination with her.
A lady’s companion, seeking work as a governess. An orphan. A girl who had been well educated against the odds and thus spoke with the dulcet tones of an aristocrat.
This was what she presented herself as. But he still had a nagging feeling that she wasn’t telling the truth. Or not the whole truth, at any rate. He wondered why he cared what her story truly was.
He understood desire. He was very familiar with it. He certainly was experiencing a lot of it for her. But there was something else, as well. That same feeling of protectiveness towards her swamped him. It was almost tender. And that was very strange indeed, given that she was a stranger to him, and he would never see her again once this damned coach finally got to Bradford.
He sighed, drumming his fingers impatiently against the side of the carriage. He needed to get home, and this was just a distraction. Perhaps he was just focusing on her so much as a way to pass the time. But somehow, he didn’t think so.
Chapter 14
Delia sighed heavily, attempting to stretch her legs. The coachman had been trying to make up lost time and had been hurtling along the rough roads at a breakneck pace. They had narrowly missed a large pothole in a road at one point, the driver veering widely, almost hitting the embankment.
Sister Mary Majella had crossed herself, rolling her eyes towards heaven. “For the love of all the saints, that driver is a demon, so he is. I just hope that we all make it to Bradford in one piece.”
Delia hoped so as well. She had never been transported in a carriage where the driver was quite so cavalier. What would Minnie do if she never arrived at her grandmother’s house but instead was lying lifeless on the side of a forlorn road in the middle of nowhere? Who would ever know what had become of her?
I am all alone. I could perish here, and my family and friends would never know.
The thought was depressing. She sighed again, trying to rally her spirits. But the long journey at rapid speed with few breaks was starting to wear upon her. She fervently wished they could rest and relax for a longer period of time. She wanted to refresh herself properly. She closed her eyes, dreaming of a long hot bath. If she didn’t bathe or wash properly soon, she would start to smell as offensive as Mr Hawkins.
The sky was just beginning to darken outside the carriage window when she heard a large thud from beneath the carriage. Everyone stopped talking, their eyes wide. It sounded ominous. Sure enough, the coach started to slow down, pulling over to the side of the road. They heard the driver jump down, cursing loudly. Delia blushed to the roots of her hair. She had never heard someone use such colourful language so openly before.
Mr Hartfield opened the door, leaning out. “What is wrong?”
“Damn pulley is damaged,” said a muffled voice, from beneath the carriage. “We will have to stop for the night. There’s an inn with rooms about a quarter of a mile down this road. We should make it there. We can fix it quickly first thing in the morning.”
