Miss Winthorpe's Elopement

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.

She examined him. He had an insubstantial quality. Harmless and friendly. She had feared that Jem spoke the truth when he had said that a real man might be more difficult to manage than the one she had imagined for her purpose. But Adam Felkirk seemed easy enough.

‘Thank you for your kind words, Mr Felkirk. And if you wish more brandy, then do not hesitate to inform me.’

He smiled and drank again, then offered the flask to her.

She took it and considered it for a moment, before deciding that drink would not help her gain the courage to speak. ‘But that is not all.’ She tried a smile that was welcoming and friendly, since seduction seemed inappropriate for her purpose. ‘You could have fine clothes as well. And a pretty mistress. Money always in your pocket, and a chance to do just as you please, in all things, at all times.’

He grinned at her, and she was taken aback by the whiteness of his smile. ‘You truly are an angel, darling. And leading me to a heaven most suited for a man of my tastes. I had imagined something more pious.’ He pulled a face. ‘Downy clouds, flowing robes. Harps and whatnot. But heaven, as you describe it, sounds more like a fine evening in London.’

‘If that is what you wish, you may have it. Whenever you want. I can relieve you of all cares. But first, you must do one thing for me.’ She handed the flask back to him again.

He took it and drank deeply. ‘As I suspected—it was far too pleasant to be heaven. And you are not an angel, but a demon, come for my soul.’ He laughed. ‘But I fear the devil might have that already, so what can I do?’

‘Nothing so dire.’ She smiled again, and told him her plan.

It was not at all clear that the truth was reaching him. He was smiling back at her, and nodding at the appropriate times. But with each sip of brandy, his eyes lost a little of their glitter. And, as often as not, he looked out the window rather than at her.

When she reached the word marriage, his eyes focused for a moment, and he opened his mouth. But it was as though he’d forgotten what it was he meant to say. He looked absently at her, then shrugged and took another drink, and his smile returned.

The carriage pulled to a stop, and Jem hopped down to open the door, announcing that they had arrived at Gretna Green. She stared at the man across from her, ‘Do you agree to my terms, Mr Felkirk?’

‘Call me Adam, my dear.’ He was staring at her with increased intensity, and for a moment she feared that he meant a closer relationship than she intended. And then he said, ‘I am sorry, but I seem to have forgotten your name. Oh, well. No matter. Why are we stopping?’

‘We are in Gretna Green.’

‘There was something you wanted me to do, wasn’t there?’