Читать книгу Miss Winthorpe's Elopement - Christine Merrill, Christine Merrill - Страница 8

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.