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She stood up so quickly that she knocked the board, sending the chess pieces flying. “I amnota confidence woman,” she said in a furious whisper. “And this game isover. Good night, Mr Hartfield.”
She walked away quickly. She could feel the eyes of the other passengers on her as she walked, but she didn’t turn to look at them. She threw back her shoulders as she walked, carrying herself like a queen. She didn’t want anyone to think that he had cowed her, and she was fleeing the room like the criminal he had insinuated she was.
Her heart slammed in her chest as she walked up the stairs to her room. At least they knew where they stood with one another now. She would ignore him for the duration of this trip. The mask of even common affability was gone now. And she was forced to admit to herself that it would probably make the eventual parting much easier. For as Sister Mary Majella had said, hate was far easier to bear than love.
Chapter 32
Ambrose picked up the strewn chess pieces with a shaking hand. He had been too angry and pushed her too far. His frustration with the situation had gotten the better of him. He had handled it all so badly that there was probably no way to fix it now.
He tried not to look at the other coach passengers who were still sitting at the table where they had all eaten, but he could feel their eyes upon him. It had been a public display. None of them would be in any doubt now thatsomethingwas happening between him and Delia. For why would they argue in such a way if there was no intimacy between them?
And the worst of it was he was almost sure that Deliawasn’ta confidence woman now. He had seen the look of hurt affront on her face when he had accused her of it. Either that reaction was genuine, or she was the best actress that had ever lived.
He sighed heavily, running a hand through his hair. He hadn’t ever really believed she was one. But the fact remained that, in all probability, shewaslying about who she was. Either she was Minnie Reeves, or she had taken that woman’s place on the coach. But she was refusing to tell him the truth.
He gazed around the room. The coachman was sitting in a far corner, drinking ale with a local man. He hadn’t socialised with the passengers on the coach he was driving at all this trip, and he wasn’t doing so now. His gruff manner was a little intimidating, but Ambrose decided to brave it. For it had just dawned upon him that there might be another way to find another piece of this puzzle.
He walked up to the man, forcing a smile onto his face. The man paused, putting his ale on the table, looking up at him expectantly.
“I was just checking when you think we might be leaving,” said Ambrose.
The man guffawed. “What, do I look like a soothsayer that can predict the weather?” He jutted a thumb towards a window, where the snowstorm could be seen. “Unless it suddenly clears overnight, we won’t be making tracks tomorrow, squire.”
Ambrose’s heart sank, even though it was the answer he expected. He took a deep breath, his heart thudding in his chest.
“I asked because Miss Reeves is growing anxious,” he said slowly. “Her grandmother is expecting to meet her in Bradford, and there is no way of getting word to her that the coach has been delayed.”
“Miss Reeves?” asked the man in an impatient tone. “The young woman who got on in Surrey?”
Ambrose frowned. “That is the name she told us,” he said, his heart thudding harder. “SheisMiss Reeves on your passenger list? Miss Minnie Reeves?”
“Aye,” said the man, squinting at him. “That’s her. Why do you care about her grandmother in Bradford?” His eyes lit up with sudden understanding. “Oh, I see. Sheisvery easy on the eye. I don’t blame you at all, squire.” He winked at Ambrose.
Ambrose forced himself to keep smiling. “Ah, yes, she is lovely, isn’t she? But I was just asking on her behalf as she is too shy to approach you herself.” He paused. “Thank you for your time.”
He walked quickly away. He felt a little sick.
He walked to the bar, ordering a whiskey. When it came, he sipped it slowly, feeling the burn of the liquor down his throat.
The coachman had just confirmed that Delia was supposed to be Miss Minnie Reeves.
Shewaslying. She had either taken Miss Reeves’s place on this coach, or she was indeed Minnie Reeves and operating under an alias. He took another sip of whiskey. He half wished he hadn’t gotten confirmation of it from the coachman now. His hand gripped the glass of whiskey so tightly it was a wonder it didn’t shatter.
His mind was spinning. He was certain she wasn’t a confidence woman. The only other reason he could think that a woman would be lying about her identity was because she was running away from something. And Delia was not a regular woman. He was almost certain now that shewasa proper lady.
What would make a high-born lady so desperate that she would pretend to be someone else, fleeing her entire life?
It must be something bad, he thought, taking another sip of whiskey. Something that she couldn’t admit to him, even though they had grown so close, and she had numerous opportunities to tell him the truth about herself. She had just denied that she was misrepresenting herself to his face.
But he realised that he still couldn’t ask her if she was Minnie Reeves. He could mention that the coachman had said that her ticket was booked under that name, but she could still wiggle out of it, saying that Minnie was a friend or something and that she had merely taken her place because Minnie couldn’t travel.
Such a thing could happen, after all. Names weren’t checked when a passenger boarded. It wasn’t as if she had to produce her birth certificate to board the coach.
He couldn’t push her about it, ask her why she was travelling with Minnie’s trunk, because she would know immediately that he had been in her room spying upon her. The fragile thread of trust between them was already fraying. If he admitted that he had done that, it would break completely. She would refuse to have anything more to do with him.
His hand shook as he gulped the last of the whiskey. It was probably broken already after their argument. She was in high dudgeon. She had marched out of the room stiff-backed and offended, still maintaining that she wasn’t lying about herself.
One thing was certain: she didn’t trust him with her story.
