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
