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Her face flushed. “It is kind you think my complexion flawless, Mr Hartfield.” She hesitated. “I do have a few small scars but luckily, not on my face. I try to keep them well hidden. I am rather embarrassed about them. I am sure you understand.”
“Naturally,” he said, clearing his throat again and gazing down at the board. He made a move, taking her knight. He looked pleased with himself, shooting her a triumphant look.
Delia smiled slightly as she gazed at the board. She could finish this game now, and it was probably time. More people were arriving in the room, including Mr Hawkins, Miss Tilney, and Mr Giles. It was getting close to dinner time, and she was hungry.
She made her move. “Checkmate.”
He stared at the board in amazement, scratching his head. Then he let out a low whistle.
“Ingenious,” he said in a low voice, staring at her in admiration. “You are a clever woman, Miss Parker. Your late father taught you well indeed.”
Delia couldn’t help grinning. She felt very pleased with herself, basking in his admiration. She was sorry that the game was over, even though she was starving. He was very easy to sit and chat with, and he played a good game of chess.
“Thank you,” she said, raising her chin. “I pride myself on my game, Mr Hartfield.”
“We will have to play again,” he said, meeting her eye. “I have enjoyed this very much.”
Their gazes locked and held once again. Delia felt a delicious shiver all the way down her spine. What an attractive man he was. Suddenly, she recalled that vivid dream she had about him in the carriage. The way he had touched and kissed her haunted her. It really was as if it had actually happened.
She looked away. Her face was burning. Mercifully, Miss Tilney approached at that moment.
Just in the nick of time, thought Delia.
Chapter 16
The room was filling up now. Locals were arriving, chatting and laughing at the bar. The air was filled with pipe smoke. Ambrose slid into a chair at the table which Miss Tilney had reserved for them, trying not to stare openly at Miss Parker, who was seated across from him.
She had played a very good game of chess—so good that she had beaten him with a swift move he hadn’t seen coming at all. He had told her the truth. He had enjoyed it very much. It hadn’t just been matching his wits against hers, of course. That had been extremely enjoyable, but it was more than that. Just sitting with her, basking in her beauty, and talking with her in that companionable way had been so pleasurable, he hadn’t wanted it to end.
He frowned slightly. She had lightly chided him for devoting his life to his business, and he had defended himself vigorously. But now, he wondered if she was right. Surely, there must be more to life than just working?
He had achieved so much already. Beyond his wildest dreams. He was one of the most successful industrialists in Bradford. He had plans to expand. Another factory? Maybe two? The sky was the limit. He had always been ambitious, and that determination hadn’t waned. If anything, the more he achieved, the more he wanted.
But at the end of the day, he could accrue all the wealth in the world and still have no idea what to do with it. He had bought himself a fine house. He wore the best clothes. He had the finest brandy in his study. The house was equipped with the most expensive furniture that money could buy. Until recently, he had a top-notch carriage. What else was there to spend money upon? It was just gathering in his bank account like hay being baled upon a summer field.
He was alone. He had no one to share his life or his time with.
It had never particularly bothered him before. He was too busy to think about it. But now…now, therewastime to think about it. This infernal trip was doing it to him. Too much idle time to think and reflect. He was a man of action, and it didn’t sit comfortably with him at all. He wasn’t a philosopher. But still—what the deucewasthe purpose of it all?
Sister Mary Majella arrived at the table, looking flustered. She squeezed into a chair.
“I fell asleep,” she said, shaking her head. “I almost missed the evening meal!” She gazed around. “Have we ordered yet?”
“Not yet,” said Mr Giles, grinning at the nun. “You won’t go to bed hungry, Sister. Never fear.” He looked around at the group. “A round of drinks?”
He got up to get them before anyone could reply. Miss Tilney stared after him, a look of distaste on her face.
“That man is adrunkard,” she said in a low voice. “He has a secret flask that I know contains liquor! It is shameful.”
Mr Hawkins nodded. “Aye, he has a flask. But do not be so hard on the man, Miss Tilney. I talked to him privately, and he told me all about his recent tragedy.” He shook his head sorrowfully. “He just lost his wife and young daughter. They were buried only last week. He is on his way to Bradford to stay with his sister and try to get his life back together again.”
“Oh, my dear Lord,” said Sister Mary Majella, crossing herself. “The poor man.”
“He told me he knows he is drinking too much at the moment,” continued Mr Hawkins, in a thoughtful tone. “But it is the only comfort he has. He is lost. He says it makes him forget his troubles.” He paused. “He said he doesn’t normally imbibe this way.”
Ambrose stared at Mr Giles at the bar. He felt a rush of sympathy for the man. He had been the same as Miss Tilney, judging him swiftly, assuming he was just a drunkard. But it wasn’t as simple as that. The man had just suffered two great losses and was trying to find his way through it.
Everyone has a story,he thought.A reason why they do what they do.It is just a matter of finding out what it is.
