Chapter Twenty-Five
Edward was barely familiar with Angelica's local church. Tradition dictated that they should marry in the bride's parish, and he had seen no need to break with it. They were in no rush, after all. At least, no rush save for the tender feelings which had increased with each passing moment, until he had found himself wishing away the days leading up to this most important one.
The Earl of Lathkill stood at his side, and actually had the nerve to be merry. Edward himself was too tightly-wound to sit still. He paced up and down across the front of the altar, ignoring the scent of flowers which filled the air from the numerous pink and white bouquets lining the aisle, and greeted his guests with nothing more than a nod.
Frederick, on the other hand, was bowing and beaming and introducing himself to all of Angelica's innumerate acquaintance. "Frederick Grey, Earl of Lathkill, at your service, sir! Delighted to meet you, Miss!"
Edward felt a prickle of unease at the thought that his life would soon be overrun with all these blushing young ladies. How many friends did Angelica have?
"You are not doing your reputation any favours," Frederick muttered. He himself sported a glowing smile, which caused girlish giggles to break out in the congregation whenever he turned it their way.
"I am marrying the best girl in England," said Edward curtly. "If that cannot mend me, nothing will."
He caught Frederick looking at him oddly. "What on earth is the matter now? I've shaved, haven't I? Isn't that enough?"
Frederick bit his lip. "You really do care for her, don't you?"
"What of it?" Edward demanded defensively.
Frederick shook his head. "It's simply... Miracles do happen, after all. It's wonderful. And to think that I nearly brought the whole thing crashing to a halt because of one lost letter!"
"Don't think of that," said Edward, putting a hand on his shoulder. "It's done."
"Your Grace," a voice interjected smoothly – a voice which spoke with the sort of feminine confidence only found in the daughters of powerful men. "I am longing to be introduced to your friend."
Frederick abandoned the usual forms and took Lady Cecily Balfour's hand eagerly. "Frederick Grey, Earl of Lathkill, entirely at your service, Miss!"
Cecily permitted him to kiss her hand as Edward completed the introduction. He was pleased to see that there was at least one woman in London who was not immediately besotted at the sight of Lathkill.
"You must think I have some nerve coming to the very wedding I did my best to hinder," said Cecily, turning her eyes on Edward. She was not a bit abashed. Indeed, she carried herself with a lofty hauteur that Edward was sure had most gentlemen eating out of her hand.
"Not at all. Angelica will be delighted that you could come. I hope your mother is recovering her health?"
"Despite the antics of her household, she is growing better every day," said Cecily. "Your forgiving nature is quite the surprise, Your Grace, and I must say I do not deserve it – but I am thankful for it all the same. I wish you joy."
She inclined her elegant neck and took her seat some rows behind Angelica's family, inspiring many admiring glances as the guests tried subtly to decide whether Lady Cecily or Mrs Stirling was the most elegant. Mr Stirling, of course, was not able to benefit from the happy thought that his wife was one of the most admired ladies in the room, for he was outside awaiting Angelica's carriage.
"What time is it?" Edward asked, for what must have been the hundredth time.
"She'll be here any minute, old chap," said Frederick, with infinite patience. Edward toyed with the watch in his fob pocket and fixed his eyes on the door.
To his surprise, it was thrown open immediately and with some force.
The man who came limping down the aisle was not one of the wedding guests. In fact, his face was the last one Edward had expected to see on that day, of all days.
Lord Oliver Barnet was still tall and strong despite his disability. He made his way across the church so quickly that Edward had to hurry to meet him in the middle.
"How dare you show your face in this place, on this day!" he shouted, not caring that every head in the room had turned towards him. "I've given you cause enough to keep out of my way, but I swear on my father's grave, I'll do it again if I must!"
Lord Oliver leaned on his twin canes and raised a placating hand. "Peace," he said softly. "I come in peace, Thorne."
"There is no possible reason for you to be here other than to do me harm," Edward snapped. "Lathkill! Assist me in removing this man from the church."
"Don't let your anger get the better of you," hissed Lord Oliver.
The words had an astonishing effect on Edward. In a moment he was transported back to Eton, in his schooldays, where he was standing above a young bully he had recently knocked to the ground.
It was his two dearest friends in the world who were holding him back – Frederick Grey and Oliver Barnet.
"Don't let your anger get the better of you," Lord Oliver had shouted. "You've given him a taste of his own medicine, now let him be!"
And at the very moment that Edward allowed the bully to scramble to his feet, the Headmaster came around the corner.
"Very well," he said, jerking his mind back to the present. "Say your piece."
Lord Oliver grimaced, half in pain and half in relief, and slowly lowered himself onto a pew. "I did my best to prevent this wedding, I'll admit. I have never forgiven you for that duel, Thorne, just as I suppose you have never forgiven me. But we were young fools then – at least, I have grown wiser. I hope neither of us would act now as we did before."
"Get to the point," Edward snapped. "My patience wears thin."
Lord Oliver ran a hand over his forehead wearily. "The fact is, Thorne, that Miss Stirling will not be joining you at church this morning."
"What?"
Edward's fist was raised before he knew what he was doing. Only Frederick's quick responses prevented him from striking Lord Oliver down where he sat.
"Have a care, Thorne!" gasped Frederick, hanging from his arm. "Listen, Lord Oliver, if you've something important to say you'd better come out and say it. I must say I like you being here as little as Thorne does."
"When Reginald Thorne approached me with a scheme to do you ill, I readily accepted," said Lord Oliver, the words coming out in a rush. "But the man has gone half-mad now that his first scheme failed. He has taken it too far – entirely too far – and put the young lady herself at risk." A shadow passed over his face. "I cannot live with another innocent lady's death on my conscience."
"You dare mention Addy to me –"
"Easy, Thorne," said Frederick, wrestling him back. Edward felt the world losing focus around him. There was only one thing he cared about, and that was Angelica's safety.
"What has he done to her?"
"If his scheme went to plan, Angelica has been taken against her will to a small house just outside London. I do not know exactly where – I fear I could not mask my horror when I heard the plan, and Reginald would not tell me. I entreated him not to harm her. The man thinks that if you are thwarted in this marriage it may well be another ten years until you try for happiness again – and who knows what those ten years may bring?" Lord Oliver sighed and hunched over his canes. "There. I have told you all I know. Thorne, I can't undo the things I did to you and your family. I freely admit that I have hated you for years. But let this put an end to our enmity. I give you my word, I will not try to harm you again. The cost to others is too great. I only wish I had seen it sooner."
Edward hardly heard his final words. Before Lord Oliver had finished speaking, Edward was running for the church door. Frederick caught up with him, panting.
"Thorne! We must summon the Bow Street Runners! We cannot delay!"
"I know where he has gone," said Edward. "There's only one house Reginald hasn't gambled away, and that's the one he grew up in."
"What do you mean to do? Ride there and confront him? He might have any number of accomplices!"
"Then they had better not get in my way." Edward burst through the church door, to the astonishment of Mr Stirling. "Lathkill, explain everything to Mr Stirling and see that the Bow Street Runners are summoned. I will be at Thorne House on the outskirts of London. Did you ride here?"
"Of course not –"
"Blast."
Edward had walked to the church that morning, stopping off at Adelaide's grave. He'd been expecting to leave in the Stirling's curricle, Angelica at his side. Now he was left looking about for a way to ride to her rescue.
"You mean to ride off somewhere?" asked Mr Stirling, blinking in confusion. Edward ignored his question. There was no time to explain - he would have to trust in Frederick for that. He marched across to the waiting carriages nearby and selected what looked to be the finest horse of the bunch.
As a young man, he'd been accustomed to riding bareback, though his father had chastised him for it. It looked as though that old habit would come in handy.
"Your Grace!" stuttered the waiting footman, as Edward began freeing the horse from the carriage. Edward tossed him a coin.
"I will return," he promised, swinging himself easily up onto the horse's broad back. Without a moment's hesitation, he kicked it into a gallop unsuited to London's cobblestones.
If Reginald Thorne had harmed a hair on Angelica's head, he would soon learn the meaning of wrath.