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

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?’

‘Sign a licence?’ she prompted.

‘Of course! Let us do that, then. And then we shall have some more brandy.’ He seemed to think it was all jolly fun, and reached for the door handle, nearly losing his balance as Jem opened it in front of him. The servant caught his elbow and helped him down out of the coach, before reaching a hand up to help Penny.

When they were on the ground together, Adam offered his arm to her. She took it, and found herself leading him, steadying him, more than he ever could her. But he went along, docile as a lamb.

She led him to the blacksmith, and listened as Jem explained to the man what was required.

‘Well, git on wi’ it, then. I have horses ta shoe.’ He looked critically at Penny. ‘Da ya mean ta ha’ him?’

‘I do,’ she said formally, as though it mattered.

‘Yer sure? He’s a drunkard. They cause no end a trouble.’

‘I wish to marry him, all the same.’

‘And you, sir. Will ya ha’ the lady?’

‘Marriage?’ Adam grinned. ‘Oh, I say. That is a lark, isn’t it?’ He looked down at her. ‘I cannot remember quite why, but I must have intended it, or I wouldn’t be in Scotland. Very well. Let us be married.’

‘Done. Yer married. Na off with you. I ha’ work ta do.’ He turned back to his horses.

‘That is all?’ Penny asked in surprise. ‘Is there a paper to be signed? Something that will prove what we have done?’

‘If ya wanted a licence, ya coulda staid on yer own side o’ the border, lass.’

‘But I must have something to show to my brother, and the solicitors of course. Can you not provide for us, sir?’

‘I canna write, so there is verra little I ca’ do for ya, less ya need the carriage mended, or the horse shoed.’

‘I will write it myself, then. Jem, run back to the carriage and find me some paper, and a pen and ink.’

The smith was looking at her as if she were daft, and Adam laughed, patted the man on the back and whispered something in his ear, offering him a drink from the brandy flask, which the Scot refused.

Penny stared down at the paper before her. What did she need to record? A marriage had taken place. The participants. The location. The date.

There was faint hammering in the background and the hiss of hot metal as it hit the water.

Their names, of course. She spelled Felkirk as she expected it to be, hoping that she was not showing her ignorance of her new husband by the misspelling of her new surname.

She glanced down at the paper. It looked official, in a sad sort of way. Better than returning with nothing to show her brother. She signed with a bold hand and indicated a spot where Jem could sign as witness.

Her new husband returned to her side from the forge, where he had been watching the smithy. He held a hand out to her. ‘Now here, angel, is the trick if you want to be legal. Not married without a ring, are you?’ He was holding something small and dark between the fingers of his hand. ‘Give over.’ He reached for her.

‘I think your signature is all that is needed. And that of the smith, of course.’ She smiled hopefully at the smith. ‘You will be compensated, sir, for the trouble.’

At the mention of compensation, he took the pen and made his mark at the bottom of the paper.

‘Here, here, sir.’ Her husband took another drink, in the man’s honour. ‘And to my wife.’ He drank again. ‘Your Grace.’

She shook her head. ‘Now, you are mistaking me for someone else, Adam. Perhaps it would be best to leave off the brandy for a time.’

‘You said I could have all I wanted. And so I shall.’ But there was no anger as he said it. ‘Your hand, madam.’ He took her left hand and slipped something on to the ring finger, then reached for the pen.

She glanced down. The smith had twisted a horseshoe nail into a crude semblance of a ring, and her hand was heavily weighted with it. Further proof that she had truly been to Scotland, since the X of the smith held no real meaning.

Adam signed with a flourish, beside her own name. ‘We need to seal it as well. Makes it look more official.’ He snatched the candle from the table and dripped a clot of the grease at the bottom of the paper, and pulled out his watch fob, which held a heavy gold seal. ‘There. As good as anything in Parliament.’ He grinned down at the paper and tipped the flask up for another drink.

She stared at the elegant signature above the wax. ‘Adam Felkirk, Duke of Bellston.’

‘At your service, madam.’ He bowed deeply, and the weight of his own head overbalanced him. Then he pitched forward, striking his head on the corner of the table, to fall unconscious at her feet.

Chapter Three

Adam regained consciousness, slowly. It was a mercy, judging by the way he felt when he moved his head. He remembered whisky. A lot of whisky. Followed by brandy, which was even more foolish. And his brain and body remembered it as well, and were punishing him for the consumption. His head throbbed, his mouth was dry as cotton, and his eyes felt full of sand.

He moved slightly. He could feel bruises on his body. He reached up and probed the knot forming on his temple. From a fall.

And there had been another fall. In the coach yard.

Damn it. He was alive.