Page 134 of The Accidental Wedding
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.
