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‘You are going out, miss?’
She gave him a fish eye. ‘I would not need a carriage, else.’
‘Are we going to the book seller’s, miss?’ He had overheard the conversation in the hall, she suspected. And balked at doing something in direct opposition to her brother’s wishes.
‘No, Jem. I am not permitted to do so.’
He sagged with relief.
‘So I mean to limit myself to something my brother cannot possibly object to, since he has given me permission. He wishes me to be behave as other young ladies do.’
‘Very good, Miss Penny.’
‘And so we are going to go and find me a husband.’
‘Lost with all hands …’ Adam Felkirk, Seventh Duke of Bellston, stared at the paper in front of him and watched it shake with the trembling of his hands. He tried to remind himself that the loss of almost one hundred lives far outweighed the loss of the cargo. Had the wives and families of the ship’s crew been in some way prepared for the possibility of this tragedy? Perhaps. But he had certainly been foolishly unready for the fact that his investment was a risky one.
A shipment of tobacco from the Americas had seemed like a sensible plan when he had put down the money for it. The spring lambing had not gone well, and his tenants’ crops were not likely to thrive in the dry weather they had been having. But tobacco was almost guaranteed to bring in more money. It was a valuable commodity, if one could pay to have it brought to England. He could sell it for a healthy profit, and the money would tide him through this year and the next.
And now, the ship was sunk, and he was ruined.
He could not help but feel that it was his own fault. God was punishing him for the mistakes of the last year, and punishing those around him as well. The burns on his brother’s arm were continual memories of his faithless actions and the fire he had caused by them.
Then summer had come and the crops had failed, and he was left with the decision to waive the annual rents or throw his tenants out into the street for non-payment. When they were already hungry, what good did it do to anyone to leave them homeless as well?
And now, one hundred innocent lives were lost because he had chosen what he thought was a sensible investment.
He must face facts and tell his brother that there was nothing left. Nothing at all of what their father had left them. The house was mortgaged to the rooftop and in need of repair. There would be no income this year, and he’d gambled what was left in the bank and lost all in a risky investment.
He was out of ideas, out of money, and afraid to take another step forwards, lest it bring disaster to some unsuspecting soul that might take his side.
He ordered another whiskey. If his calculations were correct, he had enough left in his purse to get stinking drunk. And not another penny, or a way to get one for at least a year. The innkeeper might allow him credit for the room, assuming by the cut of his coat that he was good for the debt. But soon the bill would come due, and he would have to stack it with the rest, unable to pay it.
Other than his father’s watch, and the signet on the fob, he had only one thing of value. The insurance on his miserable life.
His hand stopped shaking as the inevitable solution occurred to him. He was an utter failure as a duke, and a man. He had brought shame and ruin to his family. He had betrayed a friend, and been well punished for it. The gentlemanly thing to do would be to write a letter of apology and blow his brains out. Let his brother, William, have the coronet. Perhaps he could do better with it.
Of course, it would leave Will with all the debts and the additional expense of burying Adam. And the cleaning of the study from the final mess he’d made with his suicide.
But what if the present duke should die by accident, while travelling on business? Then his brother would be left with the title and a tidy sum that might cover the debts until he could find a better source of income.
Adam thought again how unjust it was that the better brain of the family had found its way into the younger son. Will had inherited wisdom, forethought and an even temper. But all the stubborn impulsiveness and pigheaded unwillingness to take advice was lodged in his own thick skull.
And Will, God love him, had not an envious or covetous bone in his body. He worshipped his older brother, although heaven knew why. He was content to see Adam make as big a mess as possible of the whole thing, never offering a word of criticism.
But no more. His brother would make a fine duke. Let Will step up and do his part to keep the estate solvent, for Adam was more than sick of trying.
But it was up to Adam to step out of the way and allow his William to come forward and take his place.
Adam set down the newspaper. He was resolved. A simple accident would solve many problems, if he had the nerve to follow through. But how best to go about it?
He ordered another whisky. As he drank, he felt the glow in his head fogging rational thought, and numbing the pain of the failure. And realised he was well on the way to the first step in his plan. Raise enough Dutch courage to do the deed, and create the level of befuddlement in his body to convince anyone that cared to ask that this was an unfortunate accident, and not a deliberate act. He finished his drink and ordered another, staying the hand of the barman. ‘Leave the bottle.’
The duke could hear the faint rumble of the coaches entering and leaving the busy courtyard. He imagined the slippery cobbles under his expensive boots, and how easy it might be to fall. And the great horses with their heavy hooves, and even heavier carriage wheels …
It would not be a pleasant death. But he doubted that any death was pleasant, when it came down to the fact. This would at least be timely, and easy enough to arrange. He poured himself another stiff whisky. He might be thought drunken and careless. But many knew him to be that already. At least they would not think him a suicidal coward.
Very well, then.
He took one final drink. Stood and felt the world tipping under his feet. Very good, indeed. He doubted he could make too many steps. He dropped the last of his coin on the table, turned to the tavern keeper and offered an unsteady bow. ‘Good evening to you, sir.’
And goodbye.
He worked his way toward the door, bumping several patrons along the way and apologising profusely, before he made it through the open door of the inn.
He could hear a carriage approaching, and deliberately looked in the opposite direction, into the sun. Now he was blind, as well as drunk. All the better, for his nerve could not fail if he could not see what was coming.
The sound was getting louder and louder and he waited until he could feel the faint trembling in the ground that told him the coach was near.
Then he started forward, ignoring the calls of the coachmen.
‘Here, sir. Watch where you are going.’
‘I say, look out!’
‘Oh, dear God!’
And his foot slipped from under him, sending him face down in front of the approaching horses.
Chapter Two
Penelope felt the steady rocking of the carriage, but the rhythm did nothing to lull the sense of dread growing in her. They had been travelling north at a steady pace toward Scotland, stopping at inns and taverns to dine or pass the night. And yet she was no nearer to her goal than when she had been sitting in front of the fire at home.
Jem’s misgivings had eased only slightly, once he realised that he was not expected to be the groom. ‘You cannot hire a husband as you would hire a coach, Miss Penny.’
‘How hard can it be?’ Penny announced, with an optimism that she hoped would carry her through the trip. ‘I think disappointments in the past were the fault of expectations on the part of myself and the gentlemen involved. I wished a soulmate and they wished a biddable female. I shall never be biddable, and the fact was emphasised by the surrounding crowd of prettier, more agreeable young ladies. After the lack of success in London, I am willing to accept that there will not be a soulmate in the offing.’
The footman stared at her, as if to say it was no concern of his, one way or the other.
She continued. ‘However, if I mean to hire a man to do a job of work? Times are hard, Jem. As we go further north, there will be many men seeking employment. I will find one and make my offer.’
Jem could hold his tongue no longer. ‘I hardly think that marriage should be considered a chore, miss.’
‘My brother assures me often enough that marriage to me is likely to be such. And that is just how I mean to phrase it to any worthy gentleman I might find. It will be the simplest of jobs, really. He has but to sign some papers, and spend a few weeks in my presence to pacify my brother. I will pay him amply for his time. And I will require nothing in the way of marital obligations. Not sobriety, or fidelity, or drastic change in lifestyle. He can do just as he pleases, as long as he is willing to marry.’
‘A man is not likely to be so easily managed as that, miss.’ His tone was warning, but the meaning was lost on her.
‘I fail to see why not. It is doubtful that he will have any designs upon my person. Look at me, Jem, and tell me honestly that you expect me to be fighting off the forced affections of some man, if he has freedom and enough money for any woman he wishes.’
The footman looked doubtful.
‘But I have brought you along to protect my honour, should my surmise be incorrect,’ she assured him.
The elderly footman was not mollified. ‘But when you marry, the money will no longer be in your control. It will belong to your husband.’ Jem gestured to fill the empty air with scenarios, all of which foretold doom.
‘I have no control of the money now,’ Penny reminded him. ‘If there is a chance that I can find a husband who is less resolute than my brother has become, then it is well worth the risk. I will need to act fast, and think faster. But I dare say I will find a way to take the reins of the relationship before my intended knows what I am about.’
He was not convinced. ‘And if the choice proves disastrous?’
‘We shall cross that bridge when we come to it.’ She glanced out the window at the change in scenery. ‘Will we be stopping soon? I fear we are getting near to Scotland, and I had hoped to find someone by now.’
Jem signalled the driver to stop at the next inn, and Penny crossed her fingers. ‘It will help if I can find a man who is slow of wit and amiable in nature. If he is given to drink? All the better. Then I shall allow him his fill of it, and he will be too content to bother with me.’
Jem looked disapproving. ‘You mean to keep the poor man drunk so that you may do as you will.’
She sniffed. ‘I mean to offer him the opportunity to drink. It is hardly my fault if he is unable to resist.’
Jem rolled his eyes.
The carriage was slowing, and when she looked out the window, she could see that they were approaching an inn. She leaned back against her seat and offered a silent prayer that this stop would be the one where she met with success. The other places she had tried were either empty of custom or filled with the sort of rugged brawlers who looked no more willing to allow her freedom than her brother was. Her plan was a wild one, of course. But there were many miles to travel, and she only needed to find one likely candidate for it to prove successful.
And surely there was one man, between London and Gretna, who was in as desperate a state as she. She had but to find him.
Suddenly, the carriage jerked to a stop, and rattled and shook as the horses reared in front of it. She reached out and caught the leather strap at her side, clinging to it to keep her seat. The driver was swearing as he fought to control the beasts and shouting to someone in front of them as things began to settle to something akin to normal. She shot a worried look at Jem in the seat across from her.
He held up a warning hand, indicating that she keep her place, and opened the door, stepping out of the carriage and out of sight to check on the disturbance.
When he did not return, she could not resist, and left the carriage to see for herself.
They had stopped before the place she had expected, several yards short of the inn. But it was easy to understand the reason. There was a body, sprawled face down in the muck at the feet of the horses, which were still shying nervously. The driver held them steady, as Jem bent to examine the unconscious man in the road.
He appeared to be a gentleman, from what little she could see. The back of his coat was well cut, and stretched to cover broad shoulders. Although the buff of the breeches was stained with dirt from the road, she was sure that they had been new and clean earlier in the day.
Jem reached a hand to the man’s shoulder and shook him gently, then with more force. When there was no response, he rolled the inert figure on to his back.
The dark hair was mussed, but stylish, the face clean shaven, and the long slender fingers of his hands showed none of the marks of hard work. Not a labourer or common ruffian. A gentleman, most certainly. She supposed it was too much to hope that he was a scholar. More likely a rake, so given over to dissolution that, left to his own devices, he was likely to drink himself to death before they reached the border.
She smiled. ‘He is almost too perfect. Put him into the coach at once, Jem.’
Her servant looked at her as though she’d gone mad.
She shrugged. ‘I was trusting to fortune to make my decision for me. I hoped that she would throw a man in my path, and she has done just that. You must admit, it is very hard to doubt the symbolic nature of this meeting.’
Jem stared down at the man, and nudged his shoulder. ‘Here, sir. Wake up.’
His eyes opened, and she could not help but notice the heavy fringe of lashes that hid the startlingly blue irises. The colour was returning to the high-boned, pale cheeks. He looked up into the blinding sun, and released a sigh. ‘There was no pain. I had thought …’ Then the man looked past Jem, and smiled up at her. ‘Are you an angel?’
She snorted. ‘Are you foxed?’
‘It depends,’ he muttered. ‘If I am alive, then I am foxed. But if I am dead? Then I am euphoric. And you—’ he pointed a long white finger ‘—are an angel.’
‘Either way, I doubt you should lie here in the road, sir. Would you care to join me in my carriage? I am on a journey.’
‘To heaven.’ He smiled.
She thought of Gretna Green, which might be quite lovely, but fell far short of Elysium. ‘We are all journeying towards heaven, are we not? But some of us are closer than others.’
He nodded, and struggled to his feet. ‘Then I must stay close to you if the Lord has sent you to be my guide.’
Jem tossed the man a handkerchief, and he stared at it in confusion. Finally, the servant took it back, wiped the man’s face and hands and brushed off his coat and breeches. He turned the man’s head to get his attention and said slowly, ‘You are drunk, sir. And you have fallen in a coach yard. Are you alone? Or are there friends to aid you in your predicament?’
The man laughed. ‘I doubt any of my friends could help me find my way to heaven, for they have chosen a much darker path.’ He gestured around him. ‘None of them is here, in any case. I am very much alone.’
Jem looked disgusted. ‘We cannot just leave you here. You might wander into the road again, if there is no one to stop you. And you seem harmless enough. Do you promise, if we take you along with us, not to bother the young mistress?’
‘Take liberties with such a divine creature?’ He cocked his head to the side. ‘I would not think of it, sir, on my immortal soul, and my honour as a gentleman.’
Jem threw his hands in the air and stared at Penelope. ‘If you mean to have him, miss, I will not stop you. He appears to be a drunken idiot, but not particularly dangerous.’
The man nodded in enthusiastic agreement.
‘Your brother will have my head if I’m wrong, of course.’
‘My brother will not hear of it. He will not take you back, Jem, once he realises that you have helped me. You had best stay with me and hope for a favourable outcome. If we succeed, I will reward you well for your part in this.’
Jem helped her and the man back into the body of the coach, climbed in and shut the doors behind him. They set off again, and the man across from her looked surprised by the movement, before settling back into the squabs.
She smiled at him. ‘I don’t believe I asked your name, sir.’
‘I don’t believe you did.’ He grinned at her. ‘Adam Felkirk. And what am I to call you?
‘Penelope Winthorpe.’
‘I am not dead, then?’ He seemed vaguely disappointed.
‘No. Are you in some sort of trouble?’
He frowned. ‘I most certainly am. Or will be, if I wake sober in the morning.’ He smiled again. ‘But for now, I am numb and free from care.’
‘Suppose I could promise you enough brandy that you need never to be sober again?’
He grinned. ‘At the moment, it is a most attractive proposition.’
‘Brandy, Jem. I know you have some. Give it to Mr Felkirk.’
Jem looked horrified that his mistress would force him to acknowledge the flask in his pocket, and even worse, that she would require him to part with it. But he gave it over to the man in the seat next to him.
Felkirk nodded his thanks. ‘If she is an angel, then you, sir, are a saint.’ He raised the flask in salute and drank.
