Regency Collection 2013 Part 1. Louise Allen
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