Innocent in the Regency Ballroom: Miss Winthorpe's Elopement / Dangerous Lord, Innocent Governess

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.