Innocent in the Regency Ballroom. Christine Merrill

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