It was his wife, most certainly. But transformed.

The gown was a pale green, and with her light hair and fair skin she seemed almost transparent. As she came towards him he imagined he was seeing a spirit, a ghost that belonged to the house, that had been there long before he had come.

And then the light from his lamp touched the gown, and the sarsnet fabric shifted in colour from silver to green again, and the silver sequins sparkled on the drape of netting that fell from her shoulder to the floor.

His friends would not call her a beauty, certainly. She was most unlike all the other women who were lauded as such. But suddenly it did not matter what his friends might say. It only mattered what he knew in his heart to be true. She looked as she was meant to look. And now that he had removed her from whatever magic realm she belonged to, he was overcome with the desire to protect her from the coarse harshness of the world around them.

Christine Merrill lives on a farm in Wisconsin, USA, with her husband, two sons, and too many pets—all of whom would like her to get off the computer so they can check their e-mail. She has worked by turns in theatre costuming, where she was paid to play with period ballgowns, and as a librarian, where she spent the day surrounded by books. Writing historical romance combines her love of good stories and fancy dress with her ability to stare out of the window and make stuff up.

Recent novels by the same author:

THE INCONVENIENT DUCHESS

AN UNLADYLIKE OFFER

A WICKED LIAISON

Author Note

I can’t point to any one place or idea that inspired me to write the story of Penny and Adam. But I started on a day when I really just wanted to sit by myself and read. That is probably why I have a book-loving heroine. There is nothing quite like the feeling of sitting down with a good book, although I can’t seem to read as many as I buy. Penny’s overstocked library is definitely inspired by my own.

I don’t normally use pictures as inspiration, but the little china figurine in Penny’s sitting room really exists. I don’t own anything like it, but I wanted something that would remind me of long afternoons I spent in an aunt’s living room, surrounded by ‘breakables’. I found just the thing, searching the internet: a figurine so fussy that it seemed the polar opposite of serious scholarship.

I hope you enjoy MISS WINTHORPE’S ELOPEMENT as much as I did. Come back soon, to discover what happens to Adam’s friend Tim.

MISS WINTHORPE’S ELOPEMENT

Christine Merrill

www.millsandboon.co.uk

To Sean: For doing his homework on the Greek classics. Without you, honey, I’d have to do all my own research.

Chapter One

In the quiet of the library, Penelope Winthorpe heard the front doorbell ring, and set her book carefully aside, pushing her glasses up the bridge of her nose. She smoothed her sensible, bombazine skirt. Then she stood and strolled toward the front hall.

There was no reason to rush since hurrying would not change the results of the trip. Her brother had accused her of being too prone to impulsive actions. Seeing her hare down the hall every time the front door opened would reinforce his view that too much education and too much solitude were affecting her nerves.

But her package was two days late, and it was difficult to contain her anticipation. She rose eagerly with every knock at the door, hoping each one to be the delivery she’d been expecting.

In her mind, she was already holding the package, hearing the rustle of crisp, brown paper, running her fingers along the string that held it in place. She would cut the twine with the scissors on the hall table, and the book would be in her hands at last. She imagined she could smell the fresh ink and the paper, caress the leather of the binding, and feel the gold-embossed title under her fingertips.

And then, the best part: she would take it back to the library and cut the pages open, spread them carefully, turning each one and catching glimpses of words without really reading, not wanting to spoil the surprise, even though she knew the story, almost by heart.

At last, she would ring for tea, settle into her favourite chair by the fire, and begin to read.

It would be heaven.

When she got to the hall, her brother was sorting through a stack of letters. The post had come, but there was no sign of a package from the book seller.

‘Hector, did a delivery arrive for me? I had expected it by now, but I thought perhaps it might come with the post.’

‘Another book?’ He sighed.

‘Yes. The latest printing of The Odyssey.’

Her brother waved a dismissive hand. ‘It came yesterday. I sent it back to the shop.’

‘You did what?’ She stared at him, incredulous.

‘Sent it back. You already have it. I did not deem it necessary.’

‘I have translations,’ she corrected. ‘This was in the original Greek.’

‘All the more reason to send it back. I dare say the translations will be much easier for you to read.’

She took a deep breath and tried counting to ten before speaking, to control her rash tongue. She made it almost to five before blurting, ‘I do not expect to have trouble with the Greek. I read it fluently. As a matter of fact, I am planning a translation of my own. And, since I cannot translate words that are already in English, the new book will most certainly be necessary.’

Hector was looking at her as though she had sprouted a second head. ‘There are many adequate translations of Homer already available.’

‘But none by a woman,’ she responded. ‘I suspect that there are insights and subtleties I might bring to the material that will be substantially different than those already available.’

‘Inferior, perhaps,’ countered her brother. ‘The world is not clamouring for your opinion, Penny, in case you haven’t noticed.’

For a moment, the truth of that statement weighed heavy on her, but she shook it off. ‘Perhaps it is because they have not yet seen what I can accomplish. I will not know until I have tried. And for that, I will need the book I ordered. Which only cost a few pounds.’

‘But think of the time you would spend wasted in reading.’ Hector always considered such time wasted. She remembered his discomfort in the schoolroom, and his desire to escape from it as soon as possible, when their father was ready to leave the business in his hands. That a printer had such a low opinion of books never ceased to amaze her.

‘For some of us, Hector, reading is not a waste of time, but one of life’s great pleasures.’

‘Life is not meant to be spent in pleasure, Penelope. I am sure, if you put your mind to it, that you can find a better way to use your time.’ He looked her up and down. ‘While you needn’t be so frivolous as some young girls who are hellbent on matrimony, you could devote your time to higher pursuits. Helping with the poor, or the sick, perhaps.’

Penelope gnashed her teeth and set to counting. It was not that she had a distaste for charity work. It was certainly necessary. But it only showed how awkward she was around people, both rich and poor. And it served as a continual reminder to all that she was properly on the shelf, with no hope of a husband or children of her own to tend to. It felt like giving up.

Although, perhaps it was time.

And yet, she reminded herself, if she meant to give up, she could do it just as successfully at home, in front of the fire, alone except for her Homer.

This time, she made it to eight before speaking. ‘It is not as though I do not wish to contribute to society,’ she argued. ‘But I think that what I can do for the scholarly community is just as valuable as what I might accomplish tending the ill. And I do make regular donations to the church. The help that does not come by my hand can come from my purse instead. There have been no complaints.’

Her brother glared in disapproval. ‘I believe there are complaints, Penelope, although you may think that it is possible to ignore them, since they come from me. But Father has left me in charge of you and your inheritance, and so you must listen to them.’

‘Until such time as I marry,’ she added.

He sighed. ‘We both know the unlikelihood of that, Penny. I think it is time that we accept it.’

We meant her, she supposed.

‘It is one thing to be a bluestocking for a time. But I had hoped that you would have put such nonsense behind you by now. I do not expect you to spend your whole day at the dressmakers, or in idle gossip. But to spend no time at all on your appearance and to fill your head with opinions? And now, Greek?’ He shook his own head sadly. ‘Someone must put a stop to this nonsense, if you will not. No more books, Penny. At least not until you can prove to me that you are ready to grow up and accept some responsibility.’

‘No books?’ She felt the air leaving the room. She supposed it was as some girls might feel if their strict older brothers had said, ‘No gowns. No parties. No friends.’ To be denied her books was to be left companionless and unprotected in a hostile world. ‘You cannot speak to me thus.’

‘I believe I can.’

‘Father would never have allowed it.’

‘Father expected you to have started a family by now. That is why he tied your inheritance to the condition of your marriage. You have not yet found a husband. And so control of you and your money belongs to me. I will not see you fritter away the fortune that Father left to you on paper and ink.’

‘A few books are hardly likely to fritter away a fortune, Hector.’

‘Only a few?’ He pointed to the stack on the table next to the door. ‘Here are “a few books”, Penny. But there are more in the dining room, and the morning room and the parlour. And your room as well, I dare say. The library is full to overflowing.’

‘As it was when Father was alive, Hector. He was a man of letters. What I have added to the collection hardly amounts—’

‘What you have added to the collection is hardly necessary. There are books enough to last a lifetime already in your possession.’

Perhaps if she read as slowly as her brother did… But she held her tongue and began to count again.

‘And now you are buying books that you already own. It must stop, Penny. It really must. If we are to share this house in peace, I will have no more of it.’

She lost count and her temper failed her. ‘Then I do not wish to live with you a moment longer.’

‘I fail to see what choice you have.’

‘I will marry. Someone more agreeable than you. He will be sensible and understanding, and will not begrudge me a few pounds a month for my studies.’

Hector was looking at her with pity again, but his tone was sarcastic. ‘And where will you find such a paragon, dear sister? Have you forgotten the disaster of your come-out Season? Even knowing of the substantial fortune attached to it, once you opened your mouth, no one would have you. None of them was good enough for you. You are too opinionated by half. Men want a woman who will follow where they lead, not one who questions her husband’s wisdom and ignores the house and the servants because she is too busy reading.’

It had been four years, and the sting of embarrassment still rose to the surface at the mention of the utter failure that had been her Season. ‘But surely there is a man who wishes an intelligent wife. Someone with whom he can converse.’

Hector sniffed in disapproval. ‘At such time as you find him, you are welcome to marry. But I do not see you in pursuit of such a man, nor is he in pursuit of you. Since you show no inclination to leave your desk, unless he comes stumbling into the house by mistake, it is unlikely he will find you. And thus, I am left to make your decisions for you.

‘I will not push you into society, for we both know that would be hopeless. But neither will I encourage you to further education, since what you have gathered so far has caused you nothing but trouble. Good day, sister. I suggest you find something to occupy your hands, and you will see no need to busy your mind.’ And he went back to reading his mail.

She was dismissed. One, two, three… She retreated to the stairs before she could say something that would further solidify her brother’s opinions.

He was right in one thing, at least. He was entitled to make monetary decisions for her, until she could find another man to take the responsibility from him.

Not that she needed any man to do so. She was quite smart enough on her own. Smarter, she suspected, than her brother was. His hand with the family business showed none of the mastery that her father had had.

Her father loved the books he printed and bound, loved everything about the papers, the inks, and the bindings. He turned the printing of even the simplest invitation or calling card into a statement of art. And to her father, a finished volume was a masterwork.

Four, five, six… To her brother, it would never be more than profit and loss. And so, there was more loss than profit. Given a lifetime, Penny expected to see her own part in the inheritance disappear, pound by pound, to cover the shortages that would occur from his mismanagement.

Of course, it was her mention of the fact at dinner the evening before that had caused her brother’s sudden interest in bringing her to heel.

Seven, eight, nine… It was unbearable. She could not live out the rest of her life under Hector’s thumb, sneaking books into the house on the sly and hoping that he did not notice. To live by his rules would be impossible.

Ten.

Which left her one choice in the matter: she must marry. Even the thought of her brother’s edict and the lack of books made her throat tighten in panic.

She must marry quickly.

She walked to the corner of the room and tugged the bell pull three sharp times, then turned to her wardrobe for a valise, tossing in travelling clothes from the collection of half-mourning that she had never quite managed to leave behind, although her father had been gone for two years.

In a few moments, there was a discreet knock upon the door.

‘Come in, Jem.’

The senior footman looked uncomfortable, as he always did when summoned to her rooms. He had often expressed a wish that she would find a ladies’ maid, or some other confidant. She had reminded him that she would do so at such time as she needed her hair dressed or a ribbon ironed. But if she needed wise counsel, she would always call upon him.

‘Miss?’ He stood uneasily at the door, sensing a change in the air.

‘I need you to hire a carriage and prepare for travel.’

‘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.

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.

He closed his eyes again. If he’d have thought it through, he’d have recognised his mistake. Carriages were slowing down when they reached the inn yard. The one he’d stepped in front of had been able to stop in time to avoid hitting him.

‘Waking up, I see.’

Adam raised his head and squinted into the unfamiliar room at the man sitting beside the bed. ‘Who the devil are you?’

The man was at least twenty years his senior, but unbent by age, and powerfully built. He was dressed as a servant, but showed no subservience, for he did not answer the question. ‘How much do you remember of yesterday, your Grace?’

‘I remember falling down in front of an inn.’

‘I see.’ The man said nothing more.

‘Would you care to enlighten me? Or am I to play yes and no, until I can suss out the details?’

‘The carriage you stepped in front of belonged to my mistress.’

‘I apologise,’ he said, not feeling the least bit sorry. ‘I hope she was not unduly upset.’

‘On the contrary. She considered it a most fortunate circumstance. And I assure you, you were conscious enough to agree to what she suggested, even if you do not remember it. We did not learn your identity until you’d signed the licence.’

‘Licence?’

‘You travelled north with us, your Grace. To Scotland.’

‘Why the devil would I do that?’ Adam lowered his voice, for the volume of his own words made the pounding in his skull more violent.

‘You went to Gretna, to a blacksmith.’

He shook his head, and realised immediately that it had been a mistake to try such drastic movement. He remained perfectly still and attempted another answer. ‘It sounds almost as if you are describing an elopement. Did I stand in witness for someone?’

The servant held the paper before him, and he could see his shaky signature at the bottom, sealed with his fob and a dab of what appeared to be candle wax. Adam lunged for it, and the servant stepped out of the way.

His guts heaved at the sudden movement, leaving him panting and sweating as he waited for the rocking world to subside.

‘Who?’ he croaked.

‘Is your wife?’ completed the servant.

‘Yes.’

‘Penelope Winthorpe. She is a printer’s daughter, from London.’

‘Annulment.’

‘Before you suggest it to her, let me apprise you of the facts. She is worth thirty thousand a year and has much more in her bank. If I surmise correctly, you were attempting to throw yourself under the horses when we met you. If the problem that led you to such a rash act was monetary, it was solved this morning.’

He fell back into the pillows and struggled to remember any of the last day. There was nothing there. Apparently, he had fallen face down in the street and found himself an heiress to marry.

Married to the daughter of a tradesman. How could he have been so foolish? His father would be horrified to see the family brought to such.

Of course, his father had been dead for many years. His opinions in the matter were hardly to be considered. And considering that the result of his own careful planning was a sunk ship, near bankruptcy, and attempted suicide, a hasty marriage to some rich chit was not so great a disaster.

And if the girl were lovely and personable?

He relaxed. She must be, if he had been so quick to marry her. He must have been quite taken with her, although he did not remember the fact. There had to be a reason that he had offered for her, other than just the money, hadn’t there?

It was best to speak with her, before deciding on a course of action. He gestured to the servant. ‘I need a shave. And have someone draw water for a bath. Then I will see this mistress of yours, and we will discuss what is to become of her.’

An hour later, Penelope hesitated at the door to the duke’s bedroom, afraid to enter and trying in vain to convince herself that she had any right to be as close to him as she was.

The illogic of her former actions rang in her ears. What had she been thinking? She must have been transported with rage to have come up with such a foolhardy plan. Now that she was calm enough to think with a clear head, she must gather her courage and try to undo the mess she’d made. Until the interview was over, the man was her husband. Why should she not visit him in his rooms?

But the rest of her brain screamed that this man was not her husband. This was the Duke of Bellston, peer of the realm and leading figure in Parliament, whose eloquent speeches she had been reading in The Times scant weeks ago. She had heartily applauded his opinions and looked each day for news about him, since he seemed, above all others, to offer wise and reasoned governance. As she’d scanned the papers for any mention of him, her brother had remarked it was most like a woman to romanticise a public figure.

But she had argued that she admired Bellston for his ideas. The man was a political genius, one of the great minds of the age, which her brother might have noticed, had he not been too mutton-headed to concern himself with current affairs. There was nothing at all romantic about it, for it was not the man itself she admired, but the positions he represented.

And it was not as if the papers had included a caricature of the duke that she was swooning over. She had no idea how he might look in person. So she had made his appearance up in her head out of whole cloth. By his words, she had assumed him to be an elder statesmen, with grey hair, piercing eyes and a fearsome intellect. Tall and lean, since he did not appear from his speeches to be given to excesses, in diet or spirit.

If she were to meet him, which of course she never would, she would wish only to engage him in discourse, and question him on his views, perhaps offering a few of her own. But it would never happen, for what would such a great man want with her and her opinions?

She would never in a million years have imagined him as a handsome young noble, or expected to find him stone drunk and face down in the street where he had very nearly met his end under her horse. And never in a hundred million years would she expect to find herself standing in front of his bedchamber.

She raised her hand to knock, but before she could make contact with the wood, she heard his voice from within. ‘Enter, if you are going to, or return to your rooms. But please stop lurking in the hallway.’

She swallowed annoyance along with her fear, opened the door, and stepped into the room.

Adam Felkirk was sitting beside the bed, and made no effort to rise as she came closer. His seat might as well have been a throne as a common wooden chair, for he held his position with the confidence of a man who could buy and sell the inn and the people in it, and not think twice about the bills. He stared at her, unsmiling, and even though he looked up into her eyes it felt as though he were looking down upon her.

The man in front of her was obviously a peer. How could she have missed the fact yesterday?

Quite easily, she reminded herself. A day earlier he could manage none of the hauteur he was displaying now. Unlike some men, the excess of liquor made him amiable. Drunkenness had relaxed his resolute posture and softened his features.

Not that the softness had made them any more appealing. Somehow she had not noticed what a handsome man she had chosen, sober and clean, shaved and in fresh linen. She felt the irresistible pull the moment she looked at him. He was superb. High cheekbones and pale skin no longer flushed with whisky. Straight nose, thick dark hair. And eyes of the deepest blue, so clear that to look into them refreshed the soul. And knowing the mind that lay behind them, she grew quite weak. There was a hint of sensuality in the mouth, and she was carnally aware of the quirk of the lips when he looked at her, and the smile behind them.

And now he was waiting for her to speak. ‘Your Grace…’ she faltered.

‘It is a day too late to be so formal, madam.’ His voice, now that it was not slurred, held a tone of command that she could not resist.

She dropped a curtsy.

He sneered. ‘Leave off with that, immediately. If it is meant to curry favour, it is not succeeding. Your servant explained some of what happened, while he was shaving me. It seems this marriage was all your idea, and none of mine?’

‘I am sorry. I had no idea who you were.’

He examined her closely, as though she were a bug on a pin. ‘You expect me to believe that you were unaware of my title when you waylaid me to Scotland?’

‘Completely. I swear. You were injured in the street before my carriage. I was concerned for your safety.’

‘And so you married me. Such a drastic rescue was not necessary.’

‘I meant to marry someone. It was the intent of the trip.’

‘And when you found a peer, lying helpless in the street—’

‘As I told you before, I had no idea of your title. And I could hardly have left you alone. Suppose you had done harm to yourself?’

There was a sharp intake of breath from the man across the table from her and she hoped that she had not insulted him by the implication.

‘I am sorry. But you seemed insensible. You were in a vulnerable state.’

‘And you took advantage of it.’

She hung her head. ‘I have no defence against that accusation.’ She held out the mock licence to him. ‘But I am prepared to offer you your freedom. No one knows what has occurred between us. Here is the only record of it. The smith that witnessed could not read the words upon it, and never inquired your name. I will not speak of it, nor will my servant. You have but to throw it on the fire and you are a free man.’

‘As easy as that.’ The sarcasm in his voice was plain. ‘You will never trouble me again. You do not intend to reappear, when I choose to marry again, and wave a copy of this in my face. You will never announce to my bride that she has no legal right to wed me?’

‘Why should I?’ she pleaded. ‘I hold no malice towards you. It is you that hold me in contempt, and I richly deserve it. Do I wish to extort money from you? Again, the answer would be no. I have ample enough fortune to supply my needs. I do not seek yours.’

He was looking at her as though he could not believe what he was hearing. ‘You truly do not understand the gravity of what you have done. I cannot simply throw this on the fire and pretend nothing has happened. Perhaps you can. But I signed it, with my true name and title, and sealed it as well. Drunk or sober, for whatever reason, the result is the same. I am legally bound to you. If my name is to mean anything to me, I cannot ignore the paper in front of me.’

He stared at the licence, and his eyes looked bleak. ‘You are right that no one need know if I destroy it. But I would know of it. If we had been in England, it would be a Fleet marriage and would mean nothing. But by the laws of Scotland, we are man and wife. To ignore this and marry again without a formal annulment would be bigamy. It matters not to me that I am the only one who knows the truth. I cannot behave thus and call myself a man of honour.’

She willed herself not to cry, for tears would do no good. They would make her look even more foolish than she already did. ‘Then you shall have your annulment, your Grace. In any way that will suit you. I am sorry that scandal cannot be avoided, but I will take all the blame in the matter.’

‘Your reputation will be in ruins.’

She shook her head. ‘A spotless reputation has in no way balanced my shortcomings thus far. What harm can scandal do me?’

‘Spotless?’ He was eyeing her again. ‘Most young girls with spotless reputations have no need to flee to Scotland for a hasty marriage to a complete stranger.’

‘You thought I was…’ Oh, dear lord. He thought she was with child, which made her behaviour seem even more sordid and conniving then it already was. ‘No. That is not the problem. Not at all. My circumstances are…’ she sought a word ‘…unusual.’

‘Unusual circumstances?’ He arched his eyebrows, leaned back and folded his arms. ‘Tell me of them. If we have eliminated fortune hunting, blackmail and the need to find a father for your bastard, then I am out of explanations for your behaviour.’

He was staring at her, waiting. And she looked down into those very blue eyes, and, almost against her will, began to speak. She told him of her father. And her brother. The conditions of her inheritance. The foolishness over the book. ‘And so, I decided that I must marry. It did not really matter to whom. If I could find someone on the way to Scotland… And then you fell in front of the carriage.’

He was looking at her most curiously. ‘Surely you hoped for better than a total stranger.’

‘Once, perhaps. But now I hope only for peace and quiet, and to be surrounded by my books.’

‘But a girl with the fortune you claim…’

It was her turn to sneer at him. ‘A plain face and disagreeable nature have managed to offset any financial advantages a marriage to me might offer. Only the most desperate would be willing to put up with me, for I can be most uncooperative when crossed.

‘Since I know from experience that I will refuse to be led by my husband in all things, I sought someone I could control.’ She looked at him and shook her head. ‘And I failed, most dreadfully. In my defence, you were most biddable while intoxicated.’

He laughed, and it surprised her. ‘Once you had found this biddable husband, what did you mean to do with him?’

‘Gain control of my inheritance. Retire to my library and allow my husband to do as he chose in all things not pertaining to me.’

‘In all things not pertaining to you.’ He was staring at her again, and it occurred to her the things he might expect from a woman who was his wife. Suddenly, the room felt unaccountably warm.

She dropped her eyes from his. ‘I did not wish for intimacy. But neither did I expect fidelity. Or sobriety. Or regular hours, or even attendance in the same house. I had hoped for civility, of course. But affection was not required. I did not wish to give over all of my funds, but I certainly do not need all of them for myself. If they remain with my brother, in time I will have nothing at all. I have thirty thousand a year. I should suspect that half would be more than enough for most gentlemen to entertain themselves.’

Again, there was an intake of breath from the man across from her. ‘Suppose the gentleman needed more.’

‘More?’ She blinked back at him.

‘One hundred and fifty thousand, as soon as possible.’

One hundred and fifty thousand. The number was mind-boggling, but she considered it, doing the maths in her head. ‘I should not think it would be a problem. I have savings. And I do not need much to live on. While it will reduce my annual income considerably, it will leave more than enough for my needs.’

He studied her even more intently, got up and walked slowly around her, considering her from several angles. Then he returned to his chair. ‘If I go to your brother and present myself as your husband, which indeed I am, then you would give me one hundred and fifty thousand pounds and the freedom to do as I wish with it?’

‘It is only money. But it is my money, and I can do as I will.’ She looked back into his eyes, searching for anything that might give her a clue as to his true nature, and hoping that it aligned in some small way with the man who had written such wonderful speeches. ‘I should as soon see you have it as my brother, for I am most angry with him. You may have as much money as you need. If you agree to my other conditions, of course.’

He met her gaze without flinching. ‘Why would I have to do that? Now that I am your husband, I can do as I please with all the money. You are a woman, and lost all say in the matter when you were foolish enough to wed a stranger.’

‘There was the flaw in my plan,’ she admitted. ‘I expected to find a man slower in wit than the one I seem to have married. A drunken fool would be easy enough to gull. I could distract him with pleasures of the flesh. By the time he sobered enough to realise the extent of his good fortune, I meant to have the majority of my assets converted to cash and secured against him.’

She looked as closely at him as he had at her. ‘But you are likely to know better. And I have given you the licence that proves your right to control my money, should you choose to exercise it. In truth, I am as much at your mercy now as you were at mine yesterday.’

There was a flicker of something in his eyes that she could not understand.

She said, ‘You say you are a man of honour. And so I must appeal to your better nature. If you wish it, you may destroy the paper in front of you or we can go to London and seek a formal annulment.

‘Or we can go directly to my bankers, and you can take control of the fortune, which is your right as my husband. If so, I beg you to allow me some measure of freedom, and the time and money necessary to pursue my studies. The choice is yours.’

She thought to dip her head in submission, and decided against it. She waited in silence, watching for some sign of what he might say next. And the look in his eyes changed gradually from one of suspicion, to speculation, to calculation and eventually to something she thought might be avarice. He was thinking of the money. And what he might do with it, God help her.

It was a day too late to inquire what that might be. She had found the man, drunk as a lord in a public place. Who knew what vices he might be capable of? If she had not cared to discover this yesterday, it did no good to care now. And if his lechery and drunkenness were strong enough to run through the whole of her money, then it would prove to her brother just how foolish she was.

At last, he spoke. ‘When you found me, I was near the end of my rope. An investment that should have returned enough to tide me and my estate through the coming year had failed, utterly. I have responsibilities. People are depending on me for their welfare. And I am destitute.

‘Or was, until you appeared and offered me this opportunity. What I need to do may take a larger portion of your money than you had hoped to part with. But I hope it will be a temporary loss. My land is fertile most years, and returns more than enough to live in luxury. Had I not gambled with the profits, hoping for an increase, I would not be in need of your help.’

Gambling? Although it did not please her, it made perfect sense. Many men of considerable wealth lost all over a green baize table. She could but hope that she might hide some of the money from him, or perhaps, through sound advice, she might prevent him from making a similar mistake in the future.

He was waiting for some response on her part, and she gave him a faint nod of understanding.

He continued. ‘In exchange, you shall be a duchess, which will make it possible to do largely as you please in all things. No one will dare to question your actions or your spending, least of all me. If you do not have cash in hand, no one will deny you credit. The bills will come to me, to be paid at such time as we have the funds for them.’

Doing business on credit went against her nature. But the prospect of freedom beckoned, and hope flared in her. ‘And my studies?’

‘If you do not wish to question my diversions, then what right would I have to question yours?’

As her husband? He would have every right in the world. But he was being most reasonable about things, so she held her tongue on the literalities. ‘I doubt we would have much in common—in the matter of diversions, I mean.’

He nodded. ‘Quite possibly not. We might live comfortably as strangers, although in the same house.’ There was no sense of remorse as he said it. ‘But I see no reason that we cannot succeed at it. As long as we have no intention of impeding each other’s pleasure, we might manage well together. Certainly better than some couples I know who seem bent on ensuring their spouse’s misery.’

It seemed so cold, when stated thus. But her new husband seemed content with it. He did not care that she wished to be alone with her books. And looking at his full lips and the seductive light in his blue eyes, she suspected the less she knew about his activities when he was not in Parliament, the happier she would be.

She ventured, ‘It sounds most pleasant when you describe it thus.’ Which was not precisely true. ‘And very much what I was hoping for.’ Which was. It was exactly what she had hoped for, and she must not forget the fact.

He smiled in return, although there was a frozen quality to his face that made her unsure. ‘Very well, then.’ He reached out a hand to her, and she stared at it for a moment before offering him her own. He took it and shook. ‘We are in agreement. Let us hope that this union will prove mutually beneficial.’

‘Will you be ready to start for London today?’

He started at the impertinence of her request. He was not accustomed to having another set his schedule.

She hesitated. ‘I admit to being most eager to bring the news of my marriage to my brother. And my bankers, of course.’

He remembered the money, and his resistance to her suggestion evaporated. ‘Today would suit me nicely. Have your footman prepare the carriage.’ He nodded in such a way that she knew the interview was at an end and she was dismissed.

Adam watched his new wife exit the room and sank back into his chair, exhausted. What in God’s name had he just agreed to? He’d sunk so low as to marry a cit’s daughter, just to get her money.

And a cool voice at the back of his head reminded him that it was better than his first plan, if it meant that he could be alive to correct his mistake and rebuild his fortune. He had been given a second chance and would make the most of it. There would be money in the bank before his creditors noticed that there had been an absence. And by next year, the drought would be over, the coffers refilling and the present state of penury no more than a bad dream.

And he would be a married man. What was he to do with—he struggled to remember her name—Penelope Winthorpe?

He shook his head. She was Penelope Felkirk now. And there was nothing to be done, according to her. She wished to be left alone.

He was more than willing to grant her wish. He could not very well parade her in front of his friends as the new duchess. He’d be a laughing stock.

He immediately felt guilty for his pride. He’d be a laughing stock in any case, knowing his circle, who often found the humour in the misfortunes of others. Let them laugh. It would not matter, if he managed to save the estate.

But it pained him that they might laugh at her, as well, with her unfashionable clothes, her spectacles and outlandish ideas. To what purpose did the world need another translation of Homer? The majority had had more than enough of that story, by the time they’d left the schoolroom. And yet she was still worrying over it.

But he could find no indication that she meant him harm, by picking him up out of the street. In truth, she had saved his life. And her money would save his land as well.

What would people think of it? She was most obviously not his sort, in temperament or in birth. She was nothing like the ladies of the ton that he usually chose as companions. The world expected him to marry someone more like Clarissa Colton: beautiful, worldly, and with wit that cut like a razor. He shuddered.

Perhaps it told him something of his true mental state that he had married Clare’s opposite. Penelope Winthorpe’s clothes were without style, and her manner was bookish and hesitant. And her looks?

He shook his head. She’d called herself plain, but it was not truly accurate a definition. Plainness implied a commonality with the norm. A face unmemorable. And that did not describe his new wife.

Her looks…were disturbing. Her hair was too pale, almost white. Her skin as well, from too much time spent indoors with her books. And her spectacles hid eyes that were bright and far too observant. He wanted to know what she saw when she looked at him, for she had been studying him most intently. It was like being pierced to the soul, when her eye had held his. A gimlet, not a razor.

The intelligence in that gaze was daunting. And in her words as well. He’d have expected it from another man, but to hear such reasonable behaviour from a woman? There had been no nonsense. No tears behind the lashes. No attempt to appeal to him with her frailty. Their interview had been a frank meeting of intellectual equals.

Her presence had been both calming and stimulating. The combination made him uneasy. It was far too much to take before one had had one’s morning tea.

But it shouldn’t matter, he reminded himself. He needed nothing more from her than her money, and she needed nothing from him but his name. There would be scant little time staring into those disquieting eyes over breakfast. If she did not care for his title, then she need not concern herself with society, after the briefest introduction. And he would be spared the expenses of time or money that were involved in the keeping of a wife in the height of fashion.

And it dawned on him that there were other responsibilities in the taking of a wife that had nothing to do with the purchase of jewels and the redecoration of the manor.

There should be children.

He thought of her eyes again, and imagined a brood of little eyes following him with that same direct stare: dangerously clever children with insatiable curiosity. The prospect intrigued him, but it was not something he was likely to experience, if their current plan went forwards.

It came as somewhat of a relief to know that the title could follow another branch of the family tree. He had his brother as heir. That had been a fine plan yesterday. And if not William, then perhaps William would marry and have sons of his own. Good-tempered and intelligent children, just like their father. Any of those might do for the next duke.

Very well, then. He would take her back to London, or let her take him. And if what she said was true, he would sort out the money, right enough. And once she and her books were safely stowed at Bellston, then he could return to his comfortable old life. They would live, happily ever after, as was told in folk tales.

Just not with each other.

Chapter Four

The carriage ride to London was nothing like the one to Gretna. The trip outbound had been more excitement than misgiving, since she was convinced of the soundness of her plan and the immediate improvement it would bring to her life.

But now that she had succeeded, she found it most disquieting. Jem had been relegated to a seat beside the driver, leaving her alone with her new husband with a morose shake of the head that showed no confidence in a brighter future.

The man seated across from her was not the drunkard she had rescued on the way to Scotland. That man had been relaxed and friendly. His posture was familiar, as was his speech.

But when sober, the duke continued to behave as a duke. She hoped he was still feeling the effects of the liquor, for his expression was most forbidding, and she hoped it was not she that had put the look of disgust on his face. Or, worse yet, that his foul mood was habitual. Perhaps it was only the strain of travel, for they had been almost two full days on the road.

For whatever reason, her new husband sat rigidly in his seat across from her, showing no desire to close the distance between them.

And in response, she felt repelled from him.

It was foolish to care on that account. Jem’s original fears were quite the contrary to the truth. He had imagined her wrestling a brute for her virtue in the back of a moving carriage. But this man no more desired the physical contact of his spouse than she did herself.

The chatty voyage to Gretna had been replaced with an uninterested silence that she suspected could stretch the length of the trip and far into the future.

And it was all right with her, she reminded herself. Once they were settled, she would return to her books and would appreciate a husband who was not likely to interrupt her work with demands for her attention.

Still, there were things that must be decided before they arrived in London. And that would be impossible without some communication.

She cleared her throat, hesitating to speak.

He looked up at her expectantly.

‘I was wondering if you had considered what we might do once we reach London.’

‘Do?’

‘Well, yes. I wish to go to my bank, of course. And make my father’s solicitors aware of my change in status.’

He nodded.

‘But once that is done? Well, we cannot very well live with my brother. There is room, of course, but I doubt that it would be in any way comfortable…’

He was staring at her and she fell into embarrassed silence. He spoke. ‘When we arrive in the city, we will be going directly to my townhouse, and can make the financial arrangements after that.’

‘Your townhouse.’

‘Of course.’

She readied an objection, but paused before speaking. He was her husband, after all. And a man used to being obeyed. Insisting on her own way in this was liable to meet with objections. She said, ‘Wherever we reside, I will need room for my collection of books, which is quite substantial. And a quiet place to study. A London townhouse might not be the best choice…’

He sighed, quite out of patience with her. ‘Perhaps not the ones you have seen. But I assure you, the Bellston property in London is more than sufficient. We will not be staying there for long, since no one of any fashion is in London at this time. We will adjourn to the manor, once you have settled your business.’

‘Manor?’

He was still looking at her as though she were an idiot. ‘My home. I have a hunting lodge near Scotland, as well. I was visiting there when you found me. But there is no reason for you to see it at this time or ever, if you have no interest.’

‘A manor,’ she repeated.

His expression had grown somewhat bemused. ‘And where did you think I lived, madam? Under a bridge?’

‘I did not think on it. At all.’ And now she looked foolish. It annoyed her even more that she probably was. She had acted in a fit of temper, without considering the consequences.

‘So you truly gave no thought to my title.’ There was still a touch of amazement in the statement, as though he found the fact hard to comprehend, even after two days’ trying. ‘The peerage has both responsibilities as well as advantages. A title such as mine comes with a reward of land. In many years, it is a gift, but in some, it is a burden. In either case, I cannot simply walk away from it to indulge a whim.’

‘A burden?’

‘A recent fire has left portions of the manor house unlivable. Repairs are in effect, even as we speak. Expensive repairs,’ he added significantly.

She nodded, understanding his most specific request for funds.

‘Most of the house is livable, but I have business to complete in town. And so we will remain for a time in London, and reside in the townhouse. You will find space ample for your needs, I assure you.’

‘That is good to know.’ She was not at all sure that it was, but there was little she could do to change it.

‘We will go to your bank as soon as you wish. You will introduce me as your new husband, and I shall need to make it clear to my solicitors that I have taken a wife. I doubt we can escape without the marriage becoming an on dit, for it is rather irregular.’

And there was another thing to worry about. She had not taken into account that his social life would be disrupted by the sudden marriage. No wonder he seemed cross. For her part, the idea was more than a little disturbing.

He continued. ‘As soon as is possible, we shall retire to the country. We will take your books, of course. Have no fear of that. I doubt anyone shall wonder very much about us, once we are out of the public eye. I will need to return for Parliament, next session. But whether you choose to accompany me is your own affair.’

She searched his plan for flaws and found none. After the initial shock of it wore off, of course. She had expected to choose her own dwelling, and that her circumstances might diminish after leaving her brother’s home. Why did she need a large house when a smaller one would suit her needs? But a manor…

‘Did you have a better solution?’ There was a touch of acid in the tone, but it was said mildly enough, considering.

He had taken pains to assure her that she would not lose her books. The least she could do was attempt to be co-operative. ‘No. No. That is most satisfactory.’

‘Satisfactory.’ His mouth quirked. ‘My holdings are not so rich as some, but I assure you that you will find them much more than satisfactory, once the improvements have been made.’

‘Of course.’

Silence fell again. She looked down at her hands and out at the passing countryside, trying to appear comfortable. So, she was to be lady of a manor in the country. What part of the country? She had forgotten to ask. It would make her appear even more ignorant, if she waited until they were packed and driving toward it, to inquire.

Of course, once she was back in London, it would be easy enough to find the information, without having to ask her husband.

Unless her failure to ask made her appear uninterested in her new spouse…

It was all becoming very confusing.

He cleared his throat. ‘This brother of yours. Is he a printer as well?’ There was a pause. ‘Because the servant mentioned that your father had been. And I thought, perhaps, family business…’ He trailed off, displaying none of the eloquence that she had expected from him. Apparently, he was as uncomfortable in his ignorance as she was with hers.

She smiled and looked back at him. ‘Yes. It is a family business. My father loved it dearly, and the books as well. And reading them, of course. He and Mother named us from the classics. My brother’s name is Hector. Father always said that education was a great equaliser.’

‘It is fortunate that a lack of education does not work in the same way. I was sent down from Oxford. It has had little effect on my status.’

They fell silent, again. She longed to ask why he had been forced to leave Oxford, but did not wish to seem impertinent. Was he like her brother had been, unimpressed by her desire for scholarship?

If so, he was biding his time before making the fact known. He’d had ample opportunity in the last few days to point out her foolishness over the translation. But he had said nothing yet.

‘Marriage is also a great equaliser,’ he said, to no one in particular.

Did he mean to refer to her sudden rise in society? If so, it was most unfair of him. She looked at him sharply. ‘Apparently so. For once we reach the bank, your fortune shall be the equal of mine.’

She noted the flash of surprise in his eyes, as though she had struck him. And she waited with some trepidation for the response.

Then his face cleared, and he laughed. And suddenly she was sharing the carriage with the man she thought she had married. ‘Touché. I expect I will hear similar sentiments once my friends get wind of our happy union, but I had not expected to hear them from my own wife. I recommend, madam, that you save some of that sharp tongue to respond to those that wish to offer you false compliments on your most fortunate marriage.’

People would talk.

Well, of course they would. Why had she not realised the fact? And they would talk in a way that they never would have had she married the drunken nobody she was seeking. She was a duchess.

She would be noticed. And people would laugh.

A hand touched her, and she jumped, and realised that she had forgotten she was not alone in the carriage. She looked up into the face of her new husband, and read the concern on his face.

‘Are you all right?’ He said it very deliberately, as though he expected her to misunderstand. ‘For a moment, you looked quite ill.’

‘It is nothing. We have been travelling for some time, and the trip…’ She let her words drift away, allowing him to make what he would of them.

‘Shall I tell the driver to stop?’

‘No, really. I will be fine.’

‘Perhaps if we switch seats—a change of direction might help.’ He took her hands and pulled her up off her bench, rising and pivoting gracefully in the tight space of the rocking carriage, to take her place and give her his. Then he pulled the shade on the window so that the moving scenery did not addle her gaze.

‘Thank you.’ She did still feel somewhat faint at the realisation of what she had done by marrying, and the impact it might have on the rest of her life. The distant and strange idea occurred to her that her husband was being most helpful and understanding about the whole thing. And that it might be nice to sit beside him, and rest her head against his shoulder for a time, until the world stopped spinning around her.

Which was a ludicrous idea. He was solicitous, but he had done nothing to make her think she was welcome to climb into his coat pocket. She looked at him again, even more beautiful in his concern for her, and closed her eyes against the realisation that they were a ridiculous study in contrast. A casual observer could not help but comment on it.

If he noticed the clamminess of her hand, which he still held, he did not comment, but reached out with his other hand as well, to rub some warmth back into the fingers. ‘We will be in the city soon. You will feel much better, I am sure, once we have had some refreshment and a change of clothes.’

She certainly hoped so, for she doubted that she could feel any worse.

Chapter Five

When she opened her eyes a while later, the carriage was pulling up in front of a row of fine houses, and he tapped on the door, waiting for the servants to open it and put down the step. Then he descended and offered his hand to her. ‘My dear?’

She reached out nervously to take it, while her mind raced to argue that she was in no way dear to him. The endearment was both inaccurate and unnecessary.

He saw the look in her eyes, and said, before she could speak, ‘It might go easier with the servants if we maintain a pretence of familiarity. They will obey you, in any case. They would be foolish not to. But all the same…’

She nodded. ‘Thank you, Adam.’ There. She had said his name.

A footman opened the door before them, and she entered on the arm of the duke, who greeted the butler with a curt, ‘Assemble the staff. Immediately.’

The man disappeared. He reappeared a short time later, accompanied by what Penny assumed must be the cook and the housekeeper, and, as she watched, an assortment of maids and footmen appeared from various entrances, lining up in an orderly row behind them.

She counted them. It must be a great house, as he had said, to need a staff so large. The home she had managed for her brother had made do with a staff of four. She reminded herself with some firmness that they were only servants and it did not do to show her fear of them.

The duke looked out over the small crowd assembled. ‘I have called you all out from below stairs for an announcement. On my recent trip north, things did not go quite as expected.’ He paused. ‘Actually, they went much better than I expected. I married.’

There was an audible gasp from the room, before the servants managed to regain control of their emotions.

‘May I present her Grace, the Duchess of Bellston—’

Before she could stop herself, she felt her knees begin to curtsy to the non-existent duchess, and her husband’s hand came out to lift her back to her feet.

‘—formerly, Miss Penelope Winthorpe. In celebration of this fact, you may all take the rest of the day off, to do as you will.’

There was an unexpected moment of tension.

‘With pay, of course,’ he added, and she could feel the staff relax again. ‘We will be dining out. You need do nothing on our behalf until breakfast.’

The gasp had turned to a murmur of excitement, as the staff realised their good fortune.

‘Three cheers for his Grace and the new lady of the house.’ The butler made an offer of ‘huzzah’ sound subdued and polite, but she accepted it with pleasure, as did her husband. ‘Thank you. And now, you are dismissed. Enjoy the rest of your day.’

As quickly as they had gathered, the staff evaporated.

She looked at him, waiting for some indication of what was to be done next.

He glanced around him, seeking inspiration. ‘Perhaps, a tour of the rooms would be in order. And then we will refresh ourselves, before a trip to your bankers.’

She nodded. ‘An excellent plan. Please, your Grace, lead the way.’

He flinched. ‘Remember, I am to be Adam to you. And you shall be?’ He cocked his head to the side. ‘Do you prefer Penelope, or are you a Penny?’

‘Penny.’

‘Then Penny it shall be, and whatever small endearments I can muster. Come, Penny.’ There was a hesitation, as though he was struggling with a foreign language. ‘Let me show you your home in London.’ He led her down a short corridor, to doors that led to a parlour, which was grand; and a dining room, grander still, with room to seat twenty people. At the back of the house were a study, and a morning room.

‘And this shall be yours.’ He gestured into the sitting room, hesitating in the doorway as though he were afraid to enter.

She could understand why. Whoever had decorated the room had been the most ladylike of ladies. The furniture was gilt and satin, with legs so delicately turned that she was almost afraid to sit on it. If she chose a second sandwich at tea, the settee might collapse from the additional weight. And the desk, which would need to hold her books and writing materials, looked as though it might faint dead away, if expected to hold anything more serious than social correspondence. The other tables in the room were too small for anything larger than a rosebud, which would have to be candy pink to match the horrible silk upon the walls. The total was so sweet it made her teeth ache to look at it.

She looked in disgust at the ormolu clock on the mantel, which was supported by tiny gold goats and overflown with cherubs.

In response to her glare, the clock chimed the quarter hour, if such a stubbornly unobtrusive bell could be considered a chime.

She looked to her husband and struggled to speak. The correct response should have been ‘thank you’. But it was quite beyond her. Eventually she said, ‘It is very—pretty.’

He nodded in apology. ‘We can find you furniture more suitable for work, and install additional shelves.’ He pointed to a rather foolish collection of porcelain shepherds that graced a corner of the room. ‘The bric-a-brac and nonsense can be dispensed with, if you wish.’

She looked dubiously around her.

‘The room itself is large enough, is it not?’

She tried to ignore the design, and focus on the dimensions. It was larger than the one she had been using. She nodded.

‘Very good, then. Redo it to suit yourself. I expected nothing less than that, from whatever woman I married. The rest of the house as well. If you see something that does not suit your tastes, it is well in your power to change it.’ He paused. ‘Except for my rooms, if you please. I would prefer that my bedroom and study remain as they are now.’

‘I think that is not an issue. For I have seen nothing so far that needs alteration, and have no desire to change everything for change’s sake.’ She neglected to point out that, since any cosmetic changes to the house were to be made with her money, it hardly seemed like a sensible use of the funds. ‘But this—’ she gestured into her new work room ‘—must go.’

‘Thank you.’ He seemed relieved as well. There had a been tension in his back that eased as she said the words, and she suspected the first marital hurdle had been jumped with ease. He made no effort to open the door to his study, and she suspected that he wished some areas of his life to remain unviewed as well as untouched.

Fair enough.

‘Let us go upstairs, then, and see the bedrooms.’ He led her up the wide marble staircase and turned to the left, opening a door for her. ‘These will be your rooms. There is a bedroom, a dressing room and a small room for your maid.’

None of which had been aired, she noted. The fireplace was cold and empty, and there was an uncomfortable chill in the unused room.

He noticed it as well, and wrinkled his nose. ‘Well. Hmm. It seems I spoke too soon, when sending the staff away for a day of celebration. I have left no one to light you a fire.’ He stepped across the room and opened a connecting door to his suite. There was a nervous pause. ‘And I see the servants have brought your things to my room. They assumed…’ He looked back at her, helplessly. ‘This is not as it appears.’

What upset him more? she wondered—that she might think he wished to bed her, or that the servants had assumed that he would? ‘It is all right. We will work things out between us, somehow.’

He nodded. ‘Do you wish to change? You are welcome to use my room. There is a basin of fresh water. And clean towels. I could send for a maid to help you… Oh, damn. If you need help, I suppose, I…’

She imagined the feel of his hands at her back, undoing buttons. ‘No. Thank you. I have become most adept at managing for myself, if there is no one to help me. If you will give me but a few minutes?’

He nodded and stepped aside, allowing her access to his room.

As the door shut behind her, she went hurriedly to the portmanteau on the floor and chose a fresh gown, struggling briefly with the closures at her back and slipping out of the travelling dress. Then she splashed some water from the basin on to her face, slipped into the new gown and used her brush to arrange her hair as best as was possible.

She could not help it, but glanced in the mirror behind her, examining the room. The man they had rescued from the street was obviously wealthy, but had seemed to have little care for health, his own cleanliness or welfare.

But the room behind her was orderly and immaculate. A sign of good housekeeping, perhaps. But there was more to it than that. The items in the room were expensive but well used and well cared for. The style and arrangement were elegant but simple. The whole suggested a well-ordered mind in repose. It gave her some level of comfort, knowing that her new husband’s private rooms looked as they did. This was what she had expected from the Duke of Bellston.

She opened the door to the wardrobe and examined the line of coats and neatly hung breeches and trousers, and the row of brightly polished boots. Expensive, but not gaudy. The man was well tailored, but not a dandy. If he had sunk his fortune because he was prone to excess, there was no indication of it here.

From behind her, he cleared his throat.

She whirled, shutting the wardrobe door behind her.

‘I am sorry. I knocked, but obviously you did not hear. Is there something you needed?’

That would cause her to snoop in his closet? He did not finish the sentence, allowing her a scrap of pride to hide her embarrassment. ‘No. I am quite finished, thank you.’

‘Then I would like to use my room as well, if you do not mind…’ There was a hint of challenge there, but his face showed bland inquiry.

‘I’ll just wait downstairs. In the sitting room?’

‘Thank you.’

She turned and exited the room before he could see the blush on her cheek, retracing her steps to her room on the first floor.

Adam waited for the click of the door latch before struggling out of his coat. It would be easier to call for his valet and admit that he had spoken in haste when releasing the staff. But he could manage to do for himself, if his wife had done so. And a day of leisure for the servants would unite them in support of the new mistress, and quell fears of upheaval and negative gossip. The minor inconvenience would be worth the gains in goodwill. He untied his cravat and tossed it aside, washing his face in the basin. Then he chose fresh linen, managing a sloppy knot that he hoped looked more Byronic than inept. He glanced behind him at the open door of the wardrobe.

She’d been searching his room. The thought should have annoyed him, but instead it made him smile. His new bride had a more-than-healthy curiosity. He walked over and pulled a coat off its hanger to replace his travelling clothes. Then she’d likely have been disappointed. There was nothing to see here. No skeletons. And not, fortunately, the bodies of any previous wives. Perhaps he should reassure her, lest she think him some sort of Bluebeard.

He glanced at her portmanteau on the floor beside the bed. Two could play at that game. Although what he expected to find, he was not sure.

He laid his hand on a spare gown, a clean chemise, a night rail, trimmed with embroidery and lace. It was all to be expected. Neatly folded and cared for, even though his wife travelled without a maidservant. The case was large and very heavy for only a few days’ travel. But that was very like a woman, was it not? To pack more than was absolutely necessary. His hand stopped short of the bottom of the bag.

Books. Homer. Ovid. A book of poetry, with a ribbon tucked between the pages so that the reader would not lose her place. Not the readings of a mind given to foolish fancy.

He replaced things carefully, the way he had found them, and turned to go to meet her in the sitting room. She was as studious as she claimed, if she could not manage a few days without some sort of reading material. And it was well that she had brought her own to his house. There were many books he fully intended to read, when he had leisure. But for the life of him, he could not think what they would be, and he certainly did not have anything to read in the London house that held any enjoyment. It probably made him look a bit odd, to be without a library but well stocked in Meissen shepherds. But there was little he could do to change that now.

He approached her room in trepidation. The door was closed. Should he knock or enter freely? It was one of many decisions they would have to make together. If they did not mean to live as most married couples, then boundaries of privacy would have to be strictly observed.

At last, he settled on doing both: he knocked and then opened the door, announcing himself and thinking it damn odd that he should need to do it in his own house.

His wife looked up from a book.

‘You have found something to read?’ he said, and wished he did not sound so surprised at the fact.

‘There were a stack of books on the shelf, here. Minerva novels. And Anne Radcliff, of course.’ She glanced around her. ‘Overblown and romanticised. They are most suited to the décor.’

‘They are not mine,’ he said, alarmed that such things even existed on the premises.

‘That is a great comfort. For I would wish to rethink our bargain were they yours.’ There was a twinkle in her eye as she said it. ‘But if you favour melodrama, I suspect that this afternoon’s meetings will be quite entertaining.’

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