Three years later…

Bradford, England, 1820. 

Delia stepped out of the carriage, holding the small hand in her own tightly. She raised her eyes to the new sign above the factory. Hartfield Textile Mill, it proclaimed. Her heart clenched with pride. 

She squatted down to the child at her side, pointing to the sign. “Look, Johnathan,” she whispered. “It is Papa’s new factory!”

The chubby boy smiled uncertainly. “Papa? See Papa?”

Delia laughed, sweeping him up into her arms and planting a big kiss on his forehead. She gazed at her son, marvelling as always at how beautiful he was. An absolute angel, with his father’s jet-black hair curling on his head and her own grey eyes peering back at her. Johnathan had turned two just a week ago, and he was the light of both their lives.

Suddenly, she gripped her son tighter, watching as a smartly dressed man stepped out of the factory walking towards them. Ambrose, she thought, her heart somersaulting as it always did when she saw her husband again, even though she had just seen him this morning at breakfast. 

“There you are,” said her husband, kissing her on the cheek before turning to ruffle his son’s curls. “You are late. Everyone is waiting.”

Delia laughed, reaching up to stroke his cheek. “We are not that late, darling!” She gazed at their son tenderly. “Mr Johnathan decided to upset the applecart by stripping off his clothes at the last minute. I had to dress him all over again.”

Ambrose laughed, reaching out to take their son. Jonathan’s face lit up, eagerly going to his father. “Did you do that, Johnny? Did you make your mama run late?”

The boy giggled as his father tickled him. Then Ambrose reached for Delia’s hand, dragging her into the factory. It was the first time that Delia was visiting—Hartfield Textile Mill had only opened two weeks ago. Ambrose had worked hard for months to open his second factory, but now, here it was. She took a deep breath, looking around as they walked into the main section of the building.

A whirl of machines greeted her. All the workers smiled at her as they walked through, looking busy but happy. Delia knew that her husband had the well-deserved reputation as the best employer in Bradford, indeed in the whole of the North of England, for the way he treated his workers. The workers often told her as much. The last time she had visited Ambrose’s first factory, five of them had lined up to tell her what a great man her husband was.

I know, she had thought, feeling a bit smug. He is indeed a great man. The best man. My man.

They reached the end of the room, where Mr Giles was waiting for them. He had been made head manager of this new mill and looked as proud as punch as he smiled at Delia, leaning in to tickle Johnathan, who responded with a throaty chuckle.

“Mr Giles,” she said, kissing him on the cheek. “How well you look!”

He laughed, his cheeks turning pink. “As do you, Mrs Hartfield,” he said. “Thank you! Life is good. A promotion to the manager of this factory and a new wife and home all within the last six months.” He looked amazed as he said the words. “I never thought life would be good again three years ago.”

Delia smiled warmly at the man, her heart filling with joy for him. Mr Giles was indeed a changed man, looking completely different to the bereaved man she had met on that carriage, swigging from a flask to cope with his losses. He looked healthy and happy now. He had met his new wife when he went to work at the first Hartfield factory. It had been a long courtship. But now, they were wed and ensconced in their first home, a small cottage near this mill.

New love had transformed Mr Giles. But his transformation was also due in no small part to her husband mentoring him. Ambrose had kept encouraging Mr Giles when he employed him and helped him through his darkest hours. It thrilled her to know what a generous and kind man her husband was.

“I am so glad,” she said, squeezing his arm. “I am sure your late wife and daughter are so very proud of you. As we all are.”

At that moment, Ambrose took her arm, smiling at them both. “Are you ready to see our other new addition, Delia?”

Delia nodded. “I am, indeed! Lead the way.”

She said farewell to Mr Giles, who was straight back to work. Then Ambrose led her out of the factory to the back of the building. Delia saw a small brick building. She smiled slowly as they went into it.

A heartwarming scene awaited her. A large chalkboard at the front and rows of gleaming new wooden school desks, behind which sat a dozen children writing on slates. And in front of the chalkboard stood Miss Tilney, reading aloud from a book.

The schoolmistress closed the book when she saw them standing at the back, addressing the pupils. “We shall take an early recess, children,” she said to the class. “Please file out of the room in an orderly fashion.”

After the children had left, she approached them, smiling widely. “Mrs Hartfield,” she said, her eyes twinkling behind her spectacles. “How good it is to see you! Welcome to Hartfield School.” She turned to Johnathan. “And how big you have grown, Mr Johnathan! I almost didn’t recognise you.”

“It looks marvellous,” enthused Delia, gazing around. “How are the pupils settling in?”

“Very well,” said Miss Tilney. “It is only the first week, so we are getting into a routine, but they are responding well to it.” She sighed, turning to Ambrose. “It is so gratifying to see these children in school instead of being on the factory floor. And we have you, Mr Hartfield, to thank for it.”

“It makes sense,” said Ambrose, looking pleased. “My workers know that their children are safe and being educated, which means they are more productive. A good business decision.”

Miss Tilney stared at him. “We know it is not just good business sense which made you build this school, Mr Hartfield. If all you cared about was profit, the little mites would be on your factory floor rather than here.”

Ambrose looked embarrassed. “They should be educated. Every child deserves it.”

Delia’s heart flipped over with love and pride as she stared at her husband. Opening a school for worker’s children like this was unprecedented and had been a labour of love for him. He had been just as invested in opening this school as his new factory, racing to make sure it was completed in time for the grand opening of the factory.

“There you all are!”

They turned at the sound of the singsong Irish lilt. Sister Mary Majella was standing there, a large basket in her hands, beaming at them. 

“Sister,” cried Delia, rushing over to kiss the nun on her cheek. “Are you here for Bible lessons?”

“I am, indeed,” said the nun, her eyes twinkling. “Every Monday at eleven as agreed!” She plonked the basket on a desk. Delia saw it was full of pocket Bibles. “But we will let the children have a run around before we start. I want to talk to you. How are you, Delia?”

“I am well,” said Delia. “Better for seeing you. It was so kind of you to offer to do this for the children.”

“It is my pleasure,” said Sister Mary Majella. “How could I not offer to be involved in such a philanthropic venture?” She smiled at Ambrose. “And you know I would do anything for your handsome husband!”

They all laughed. They all chatted for a while, catching up on news. Delia was surprised that the time passed so quickly. But then Johnathan started to fuss. She knew it was time to leave. Her little boy was due for luncheon and then his afternoon nap.

Ambrose walked his family to the carriage. Before they got in, he smiled at Delia.

“Well?” he said. “What do you think?”

She reached up to kiss him lingeringly on the lips before pulling back. “I think I have never been more proud of you than I am in this moment, Ambrose. The factory is wonderful, but the school is the icing on the cake. You really are doing an amazing thing for those children.”

He smiled ruefully. “It is not big enough. I am already thinking of expanding it or building another one.” He frowned. “You know that a few of our new workers were unemployed for a long time after Baldwin’s factory collapsed. He just closed overnight, leaving them stranded. It still makes me angry to think about all that man has done. And what he did to you, Delia.”

Delia’s heart melted. “You do not need to worry about me, husband,” she said. “That was a long time ago. And I am fine. You saved me, remember?”

But he still looked troubled. “It could all have gone so differently. And all because I was such a fool to not realise the treasure I had right in front of me. How much I loved you.”

Delia sighed. “It would still have happened regardless, even if you had declared your love prior to what happened with Baldwin.” She paused, resting her hand gently upon his arm. “I know how much you love me. Just because you didn’t realise until that happened doesn’t change anything.”

He smiled, looking reassured. His eyes flickered over her face. “A game of chess tonight after Johnny is in bed?”

Delia laughed. “You are on, husband! I look forward to it.”

They climbed into the carriage. Ambrose stood there waving at them until they turned the corner. Delia settled back into the seat, hugging Johnathan close. The little boy snuggled into her, his eyes drooping. Her heart lurched with love.

She gazed out the carriage window at the familiar streets of Bradford as she gently kissed his head. This town was home now, even more than Twickenham Hall had ever been. 

She thought of her father. Ambrose’s money that had been gifted to him upon their marriage had transformed him. He had turned over a new leaf, renovating the ancestral home and curtailing his gambling. They saw each other twice a year, at mid-year and Christmas. He was a doting grandfather to Johnathan.

Lord Stanton had ended up marrying another local lady and getting the son and heir he desired. He had never challenged her marriage to Ambrose, for which she was grateful. Everyone had gotten what they wanted in the end. 

She sighed, thinking of Ambrose’s words just now. He was right—it could have ended so differently, of course. Jack Baldwin might have gotten her into his carriage and spirited her back to Surrey, claiming his reward. She might have been forced to marry Lord Stanton. 

But it hadn’t. Everything had worked out just the way it had always been meant to. And she knew, without a shadow of a doubt, that fate had been working a magic hand that day she had spontaneously decided to swap places with Minnie on the stagecoach heading north. 

***

That night, after she had put Johnathan to bed and before Ambrose got home, she wrote a letter to Minnie, telling her all about the opening of the new factory and the school. Her friend wasn’t living in Bradford any longer, for Minnie had fallen in love and married a man from Liverpool, closing her haberdashery store here and opening another in that place. 

She smiled as her quill flew over the parchment. Minnie was happy and busy. And while they didn’t see each other as often as when her former maid had lived in Bradford, Liverpool was still in the North, and they visited each other regularly. And in between visits, they wrote long letters to one another. 

The bedroom door opened. Ambrose stood there, looking weary.

She got up quickly, fixing him a drink. “Sit down, my darling. You have worked very late. It is not like you to do that anymore.”

He sighed, sitting down on a chair. “I know,” he grimaced. “I don’t like being home after Johnny is in bed for the night. But it was unavoidable this evening.” He ran a hand over his face. “I will try harder, Delia. You know how committed I am to not allowing work to rule my life any longer.”

“I know,” she soothed. “Do not be so hard on yourself, my darling. You are the best husband and father. Johnathan will always know how much you love and cherish him.”

He reached out for her, pulling her down upon his knee. “Have I told you lately how much I love you?”

“All the time,” she laughed, stroking his face tenderly. “Constantly.”

They kissed before they went downstairs so he could eat. After his dinner, they played the game of chess he had promised her. It was a fierce battle, but Delia trumped him in the end. They both still loved playing with each other and made sure they made time for a game at least once a week.

Then they retired to the bedroom. Delia had barely finished brushing her hair before he came to where she was sitting at the dressing table, placing his hands on her shoulders.

“Come to bed now, wife,” he said in a husky whisper. “I have been dreaming about you all day.”

Delia blushed, putting down the hairbrush. “I thought you would be too weary this evening,” she said, laughing softly, a warm glow infusing her flesh. 

“I am never too weary for you,” he whispered, leaning down to nibble her neck. 

Delia felt the familiar frisson of desire tingling through her flesh at his touch. She sighed, leaning back into him. He responded by reaching around to caress her breasts, tweaking the nipples, and sending electric sparks throughout her entire body.

She sighed in delight again. They still made love as frequently as ever, and it was always amazing. She often wondered how it could be so perfect and how their desire for each other never seemed to wane. If anything, they wanted each other with a hunger that had grown through the years. 

She stood up, facing him. With one swift movement, he removed her nightgown, so she was standing naked in front of him. He gave a hiss of desire as his eyes raked over her body, leaning down to suckle a nipple. She gripped his head, pulling him closer, moaning aloud.

She was only vaguely aware when they moved to the bed. He gathered her up, his lips moving down her body, until he was poised at the centre of her. Delia shivered in anticipation as she felt his tongue flicker over her hot flesh, arching her back as the sensations started to rise at a frantic pace within her. 

He kept licking and sucking at her as she clawed the sheet, a sweat breaking out over her entire body. When her climax hit her, sweet and fierce, she cried out over and over. The last aftershocks were still zinging through her body when he climbed atop her, plunging into her warm wetness. 

She gripped his back, gasping at the fullness of him within her. The first joining of their bodies always stunned her. For a moment, they simply stared into each other’s eyes without moving. Delia felt the love quiver between them as if it was a physical entity.

They didn’t speak, but at exactly the same time, they both started to move. Within minutes, they were frantic. He kept plunging into her, kissing her fiercely. She felt a thin sheen of sweat on his back. The aftershocks of delight were escalating again. When he groaned, clutching her tightly, twisting into her body, it exploded around her again, like a million shooting stars in the night sky.

They both cried out before collapsing onto the bed, completely spent.

After they had caught their breath, he turned to her, kissing her tenderly on the cheek.

“I love you so much, Delia,” he whispered. “I am so very glad I decided to get onto that stagecoach in London. I shudder to think of how my life would have turned out if my carriage hadn’t been stolen.”

She laughed softly. “I was thinking the exact same thing today. How making that quick decision to change places with Minnie gave me a whole new destiny.” She paused. “It is truly wondrous to think how so many chance decisions and occurrences led us to where we are now. For we would never have encountered each other otherwise.”

“The lady and the common man,” he laughed. “No, we would never have met. But I thank my lucky stars that we did.”

They kissed gently, before settling into each other’s arms. Delia felt languid and drowsy in the aftermath of their lovemaking. 

She had everything she had ever wanted. The great love she had always craved. A beautiful child. A wonderful home. And they had friends and family who were an integral part of their lives, as well. A beautiful life, that they had created together.

It was enough. It was more than enough. But she smiled, thinking of the tiny new life growing inside her that she hadn’t told Ambrose about yet. A life created from their love that would soon join this beautiful life.

Yes, she was very glad she had gotten on that coach that day. She wouldn’t change a minute of it.

THE END

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