Innocent in the Regency Ballroom. Christine Merrill
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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?’