by Anne Gracie
She wasn’t sure if he’d been inspired by the romance of Lizzie and Reuben’s reunion, or whether it was a result of their argument about his plans to give up diplomacy. Either way, she didn’t care.
But he lifted himself a little away from her, cupped her face between his hands, and fixed her with an intent gaze. “I do have faith in you,” he told her. His blue eyes glittered in the candlelight. “More than faith.”
And then he proceeded to make love to her with a bone-melting combination of tenderness and intensity, and as the candles guttered in their sockets, she shattered in his arms, tears pouring down her cheeks.
Shattered. And was made whole.
He hadn’t said the words she ached to hear, but he’d shown her, in more than words. Nash Renfrew had given himself to her, as much as he was able. It was enough.
It would have to be.
Twenty-three
The day of the wedding dawned clear and bright, a perfect spring day. Maddy woke alone. Since they’d arrived at Whitethorn Manor two days before, she’d slept alone. Nash’s decision. Some peculiar masculine form of honor, she supposed. She didn’t care what the servants thought, she missed him.
Amazing how she could sleep alone for years, then in a matter of a few weeks find that a lanky masculine body curled around her had become essential to a good night’s sleep.
Lizzie brought her a hearty breakfast on a tray, but Maddy’s stomach was too full of butterflies to eat. She forced herself to nibble on a warm roll and drink some hot chocolate. Lizzie ate the bacon and eggs, saying, “A shame to waste it, miss.”
After a long, hot bath, using some delicious-smelling French soap delivered by Nell’s dresser, Maddy dressed for her wedding.
Her dress was the most beautiful she’d ever seen, let alone worn. Giselle and Claudine had outdone themselves. Made of heavy white satin, the bodice was covered in fine, handmade Brussels lace to just below the waist. The same lace rose from the hem to midthigh, like foam rising up the dress.
Lizzie and Cooper, Lady Nell’s maid, lifted the dress carefully over Maddy’s head, careful not to disturb her hair. Lizzie had outdone herself, twirling Maddy’s hair into a knot high on the crown and letting it fall in a tumble of artless curls. The hairstyle looked soft and pretty but was designed to bear the weight of a long lace train held in place by a slender tiara.
Maddy owned no jewelry, only Grand-mère’s locket, which Grand-mère had worn as a bride, one of the few things she’d saved from the Terror that Maddy hadn’t sold.
But how to wear it? She’d long ago sold the gold chain that held it. Maddy didn’t want to pin it onto the dress and risk tearing the fine satin, but she wasn’t going to be married without it.
“Perhaps you could string it on a white satin ribbon, miss,” Cooper suggested. “Tie it around your neck.”
They were searching for a suitable ribbon when a knock sounded at the door. Lizzie went to answer it. She returned with an air of suppressed excitement. “Mr. Nash said to give you this, with his compliments, miss.” She handed Maddy an oblong box covered in creamy velvet.
“Oh,” Maddy whispered as she opened it. Inside was a pearl necklace, along with a pair of diamond and pearl earrings, the most beautiful she’d ever seen.
She took out the necklace and held it against her neck. There was a small clasp at the center. Suddenly breathless, she opened the clasp and hooked on her grandmother’s locket. The clasp snapped shut and she stared at it in amazement. It was as if the necklace had been designed solely to hold her grandmother’s locket. “It’s perfect. But how . . . ?”
“Mr. Nash asked me about jewelry, miss, and I told him you only had this,” Lizzie confided. “You showed it to me once, and told me it was your gran’s.”
“And he had a necklace especially made to fit it.” Maddy’s eyes swam. How could he have known how much it meant to her?
She tried to put the necklace and earrings on, but her hands were shaking so much she had to let Lizzie and Cooper do it for her.
She stared at her reflection in the looking glass, at the beloved locket gleaming at her neck in its frame of pearls, at the diamonds and pearls dangling from her ears.
Grand-mère, see what he did for me? So I can wear your locket for my wedding.
“Are you ready, Maddy?” John asked. Dressed in his new, smart, formal suit, her little brother was taking his role as head of the family very seriously. Had he grown taller in the last few weeks? she wondered. Or was it simply that he’d been modeling himself on Nash and his brothers and held himself taller?
The boys hero-worshipped all the men, Nash and Harry in particular, and Nash’s care for them all, and Harry’s attitude to Nell and Torie, had certainly rubbed off on John and Henry. Several times Maddy had been caught between laughter and tears, realizing that some strange action by John or Henry was actually a small-boy attempt to be protective of her. It was very, very sweet.
“I’m ready,” she told him. They stepped into the church and paused to let their eyes to adjust to the dimmer light. It smelt of beeswax, brass cleaner, and flowers—flowers brought by the ladies of the parish: graceful sheaves of foxglove, chrysanthemum, and delphinium; branches of lilac, lilies, daffodils, and sweet-scented stocks.
To Maddy’s surprise every pew was filled and people stood around the walls. Lavishly dressed, elegant strangers, as well as the new friends who’d drawn Maddy into their close-knit circle. Harry and Nell had driven down two days before with Ethan and Tibby. Luke had come with his mother and sister, who loved weddings, and brought his friend, Rafe Ramsey, and Rafe’s lovely dark-haired wife, Ayisha.
Most of the villagers had crammed into the church as well, all dressed in their Sunday best. Maddy looked out over the sea of hats and her eyes blurred. Every village woman who’d ever had a hat refurbished by Maddy was wearing it now, at her wedding.
Maddy started trembling. So much love and goodwill was gathered here . . . for her. It was overwhelming. She’d felt so alone for so long.
The music started and John and Maddy walked slowly down the aisle, followed by Jane, Henry, Susan, and Lucy. Maddy was vaguely aware of Nash’s brothers standing beside him at the altar, of the bishop, gorgeous in his robes, of Mr. Matheson beaming, and Mrs. Matheson at the organ, of a sea of faces, some beloved, some strange, most smiling, Lady Gosforth dabbing lace to her eyes and Lizzie smiling wistfully, but Maddy’s gaze never wavered from Nash, who waited, tall and handsome, his blue eyes fixed on her, blazing . . .
He held out his hand to her and she took it, glad of the strong, male warmth of him. Rev. Matheson glanced at Nash, gave a little nod, and began, Dearly beloved . . .
The words passed in a blur . . . ordained for the procreation of children . . . A child of her own, hers and Nash’s. Perhaps in Russia . . . any just cause why they may not lawfully be joined together, let him now speak . . . She would to have to speak soon, make her vows. Would her voice even work?
“Stop the wedding,” a voice thundered through the church. “That woman is legally promised to me.”
There was a sudden silence, then a buzz of speculation. As if in a dream, Maddy turned. “Mr. Hulme,” she whispered. Her knees buckled under her, but Nash caught her and held her against him, his arm like a band of steel around her, holding her up, claiming her.
“What is the meaning of this, sir?” the bishop boomed.
Mr. Hulme strode down the aisle waving a document. “Madeleine Woodford is promised to me and I have the paper to prove it.”
“Hulme? The old goat?” Nash’s eyes blazed with a martial light. “He dares to interrupt my wedding? Look after Maddy,” he said and passed her to Marcus, then stepped out into the aisle to face Mr. Hulme.
“Hulme?” Marcus asked Maddy. “George Hulme?”
She nodded, her eyes glued to the drama taking place before her.
Daunted by the expression on Nash’s face, Mr. Hulme stopped dead in midmarch. He snapped his fingers and a liveried servant stepped forwa
rd. A second servant stood behind, his collar turned up high.
As one, Harry, Luke, Ethan, and Rafe stepped forward to flank Nash.
“Magnificent collection of masculinity, don’t you think?” Lady Gosforth’s comment was audible. A few titters sounded in the nearby pews.
“This is a house of God!” Rev. Matheson and the bishop boomed almost in unison.
Mrs. Matheson appeared at Maddy’s side. “Come, my dear, wait in the vestry. The gentlemen will sort everything out.”
But Maddy could see how the gentlemen were planning to sort it out. With fists. She shook off the restraining hands and pushed between Nash’s friends. “I won’t have my wedding turned into a brawl. I can deal with this.”
Nash took her hand and said firmly, “We will deal with it.”
The bishop and Rev. Matheson made their way to the no man’s land between Mr. Hulme and the wedding party. “Show me this document,” the bishop demanded.
Mr. Hulme handed over the paper, saying loudly, “Sir John Woodford promised me his daughter, Madeleine, in marriage, in exchange for debts incurred by him. This is a legal document properly signed, sealed, and witnessed.”
A horrified buzz rippled through the church, followed almost immediately by a sea of shushing from people who wanted to hear.
“I am not a piece of property,” Maddy snapped. “I told you before, I don’t care how many seals it has or what my father promised you, I repudiate that document. And I’m marrying Nash Renfrew, so go away.”
“Good gel!” Lady Gosforth said, and there was a murmur of agreement from the congregation.
The bishop finished scanning the document. “As I understand it, Miss Woodford is over the age of consent, and I can see no reason why she should be bound by such a document. Slavery is illegal in England and women cannot be sold for debts.” He handed it back to Mr. Hulme. “Take yourself off, sirrah, and let the wedding service resume.”
The congregation burst into spontaneous applause, and Marcus, Harry, Luke, Ethan, and Rafe seized Mr. Hulme and his servants by the collar and began to march them out. There was a loud yelp and a scuffle, then Luke dragged one of the servants forward.
“Miss Woodford, meet the Bloody Abbot,” Luke said, shaking the man like a dog shakes a rat. “He’s wearing the black eye I gave him, among other bruises. No wonder he was skulking in the background.”
The congregation buzzed and shushed furiously.
“The villain whose shoulder I winged the other night?” Marcus leaned forward and poked the man just below the shoulder and the man yelped again. “So he is,” Marcus agreed. “Well spotted, Ripton.”
“Terrorize my woman and children will you, you filthy cur!” Nash strode toward the cringing man, a murderous light in his eye.
“Not in the house of God,” the bishop shrieked. Maddy grabbed Nash’s arm and hung on with all her strength. Mr. Hulme and the Bloody Abbot had done enough to spoil her life; they were not going to ruin her wedding.
“It weren’t my fault,” the man whined. “Mr. ’Ulme, ’e made me do it, said to drive the girl out of ’er cottage, starve her out, or burn her out so she ’ad no choice but come back to ’im.
A loud buzz of outrage rose at his words and the man hastily added, “But I never ’urt nobody, I swear.”
“That’s not all Hulme’s done,” Marcus said when there was a slight lull.
“What?” Nash demanded savagely.
“In my investigations into the illegal depredations of your man Harris,” Marcus began.
“Harris? Harris?” The whisper went through the church. Then instant, hushed silence.
Marcus continued, “Among Harris’s papers I found a promissory note. One hundred pounds to be paid to Harris when a certain woman is evicted from her home, hounded out of the district, and forced to return to Leicestershire. Signed by one George Hulme.”
Five large menacing men turned toward Hulme, who turned gray and backed toward the exit, his lips writhing with fear, babbling, “Lies, all lies . . .” But nobody believed him.
“Hold him!” Nash snapped and a dozen men responded. Nash took a step forward. Maddy clung to his arm and he glanced down at her tense, white face. Slowly the ugly light died from his eyes.
“Would someone ensure these . . . men are delivered to the authorities?” Nash said without taking his eyes off Maddy. “There’s a brave and beautiful bride here who’s suffered quite enough at the hands of this scum, and I won’t allow her wedding to be ruined. This is neither the time nor the place for anger or retribution—only joy. And beauty.” He lifted Maddy’s hand and kissed it.
Maddy’s eyes misted up. She managed a tremulous smile.
“We’ll take ’em, Mr. Renfrew, sir.” It was Grainger, the groom from Whitethorn Manor, flanked by half a dozen burly fellows. “We’ll haul ’em off to the magistrate, our pleasure, sir, ma’am.”
“Thank you, Grainger,” Nash said.
Grainger nodded to Maddy. “Beautiful, you look, miss. Bonniest bride this church has ever seen.” There was a murmur of agreement from the congregation, and in seconds, Mr. Hulme and his two servants were bundled out of the church.
There was an audible sigh of relief in the church, then everyone began talking.
Nash slipped his arm around her. “Are you all right, sweetheart?”
“A bit shaky,” Maddy admitted, “but very glad it’s all over.”
“Do you need some time to compose yourself, my dear?” Rev. Matheson asked anxiously. “Smelling salts? A brandy?”
Maddy took a deep breath. “No,” she said. “I’d like to get on with my wedding, please.” Nash’s hand tightened around hers.
Rev. Matheson cleared his throat loudly, once, twice, but everyone was too excited to listen. The bishop joined him in a clerical throat-clearing duet and eventually the congregation settled down.
“Now, where were we?” the vicar said. “Oh, yes. If any man can show any just cause why they may not lawfully be joined together, let him now speak, or else hereafter forever hold his peace.” He paused and there was not a breath, not a rustle in the church. “Nobody? Excellent, then let us continue . . .”
“Good-bye, good-bye.” The carriage pulled away from Whitethorn Manor to the sounds of well wishes and laughter. The reception was over and the honeymoon begun.
Nash and Maddy settled back against the comfortably padded leather seats of Marcus’s carriage. “Might as well take it as a wedding present,” Marcus had grumbled, but Nash only wanted it for a few hours.
“The reception, at least, went well,” Nash found himself saying. “Everyone seemed to have a good time.”
The servants at Whitethorn had performed a miracle with the old house. No longer dusty and neglected, the old house now gleamed with polish and pride. Vases were bursting with greenery and flowers, the carpets, thoroughly beaten, glowed with ancient glory, the curtains were freshly washed and ironed, and the best linens, silverware, crockery, and crystal had been brought out of retirement and presented in pristine order. And the food was delicious—the cook had excelled herself.
“Yes, it was wonderful.”
“The wedding less so,” he added. “I expect people around here will be talking about it for many years to come.” Ye gods, making small talk to his bride. He was absurdly nervous.
“Yes, but I don’t mind. Even Mr. Hulme’s interruption couldn’t spoil it for me,” Maddy told him. “And it’s wonderful to start married life with all that behind us—Mr. Hulme, the Bloody Abbot. I was so shocked to discover it. I never once thought Mr. Hulme might be behind the Bloody Abbot.”
“Me, neither. I was certain it was Harris. And that it was about the cottage, not the inhabitants.” Nash stretched out his legs, crossing them at the ankle. Looking relaxed and in control. “Bow Street will hunt Harris down soon enough.”
“I wonder how Mr. Hulme found me?” She slipped her arm through his and rested her cheek against his shoulder. “We ran away from him, you know, one day when
he was away on business overnight. His housekeeper helped us. She knew how uncomfortable I felt. She had a cousin who was a carter and arranged for us to get a lift with him. Mr. Hulme never suspected we would ride in a slow-moving wagon. He actually passed us on the road, in pursuit of the stage coach, but we hid under a canvas cover.”
Nash slid his arm around her. He hated to think of her being driven to such straits. “Why couldn’t you leave openly?”
“He’d become very possessive. Even when I was a child, I felt uncomfortable around him. But his strangeness was growing. One day I saw him staring at Jane in the strangest way, as if he’d take her if he couldn’t have me. I panicked.” She sighed. “Later, after we’d settled in at the cottage, I wondered if I’d overreacted, exaggerated his strangeness.”
“Which is why, when you were desperate, you were prepared to return.” Nash put his arm around her. He’d come so close to losing her that day. He couldn’t imagine how his life would be if he’d lost her. His arm tightened.
“Yes, but seeing him today, I know I did the right thing.”
“In marrying me? Definitely.”
She laughed. “You know I didn’t mean that. Of course marrying you was the right thing to do. I meant I did the right thing in running away from Mr. Hulme. He’s not . . . normal, is he?”
“No, he’s not. But he’s safely locked away now, and he’ll never bother you or anyone again. So let us forget unpleasant matters and contemplate the prospect of our honeymoon.” Nash leaned forward and pulled the blinds of the carriage down.
Maddy laughed. “This looks exciting.”
“You are my prisoner, and if you don’t behave, you will suffer a terrible punishment,” he growled.
“Oh, I’m terrified. What’s the punishment?”
“This.” He kissed her.
“How very dreadful. Do it again.”