‘Yes, you can,’ Alton growled.
‘There will be no witnesses,’ the vicar pointed out.
‘Your wife will witness it.’ Alton was busy with his blade again, targeting the little old woman. ‘Unless, you’d rather I slice her?’ He shrugged. ‘Not that she’s got a whole lot of years left. Maybe I’d be doing you a favour. But then, who would hold the baby? Bea, give her the baby. I refuse to have squalling at my wedding.’ Alton was entirely unhinged now and she was forced to give up Matthew once more. But this time, the old woman had the good sense to stand on her side, putting Matthew and Preston behind her.
The vicar turned pale, rage making his hands tremble even more profusely. ‘I was wrong to take money from you.’
Alton laughed. ‘But you did. Now, you do your job. You can think of stained-glass windows and a proper cemetery if it helps salve your conscience.’ He turned towards her with a look that chilled her. ‘As for your conscience, the future Mrs Malvern Alton, you can think of me. It’s not rape if it’s your husband. But you can tell yourself whatever you need to justify it. You were always good at walls.’ He winked at the vicar. ‘The short version, if you please. You may proceed.’
The vicar’s hands shook as he glanced at his wife, yet another potential victim of Alton’s knife. His voice trembled but he began. ‘Dearly beloved, we are gathered together here in the sight of God, and in the face of this congregation, to join together this Man and this Woman in holy Matrimony; which is an honourable estate...’
The monstrous irony was not lost on Bea; she was supposed to be hearing these words with Preston, supposed to be surrounded by friends and beauty and hope, the occasion a celebration of life. Here in this poky church, with this man, the occasion was none of those things. The joy of the sunlit morning seemed ages ago. She felt a tear spill out of the corner of one eye. She didn’t want to cry, didn’t want to be reduced to this. But Matthew was safe. She was with him. Preston would be safe. Surely she could bear up as long as that was true. Maybe Preston had been right. Maybe they would have married for love after all. Wasn’t sacrifice the purest form of love? Putting others above and before self?
The vicar had barely started. Short version or not, Alton was impatient. They’d just got to the part about secrets of the heart, when Alton took her bodice in both hands and ripped, tearing away Evie’s intricate handiwork. She screamed, shocked at the sudden brutality. The vicar stopped, his mouth hanging open at the brazen violence.
‘You!’ Alton growled at the poor man. ‘Keep talking and speed it up!’ He dragged her to the floor, ripping fabric, pushing up skirts. ‘And you, Beatrice, scream. I want you to scream. Nice and loud for everyone to hear.’
Beatrice spat in his face and steeled her resolve. ‘I will not cry out for you!’ She fought him, knowing that the busier his hands were with her, the less likely he could harm anyone else. But her resistance was met with the back of Alton’s hand across her face. ‘I said scream, dammit! By the time Worth wakes up this marriage will be consummated and I want him to see it. I doubt he’d want you, then,’ Alton snarled. Somewhere in the background the vicar was mumbling the ceremonial words, nearly done now in his own race to flee the scene.
‘Do you think he’d ever be able to come to you without seeing you like this beneath me? Vicar, hurry up!’ he yelled, his attention breaking from her for a split second, long enough to give her an opening.
Beatrice took it, bringing her knee up hard into his crotch with a yell. ‘Get off me, you oaf!’
* * *
Beatrice! The thought woke him, the word joining the pounding in his skull. Oh, Lord, the noise! It was practically deafening. Every ounce of him hurt, but the hurt reminded him where he was, how he’d got there. Why he was there. Alton had Matthew and, from the sounds of it, Alton had Beatrice. Preston cracked open an eye, then both eyes. He was alone. The old woman was near him with Matthew. Matthew was as safe as he could be at the moment. Preston couldn’t say the same for Beatrice. The bastard was on her. Anger at his own impotence to rush to her side fuelled him. He needed a weapon. His hand crept slowly to the knife in his boot. It would have to be a throw from a semi-prone position. His sore body would be of no use in a fight and he’d never get to his feet in time.
Beatrice was scrambling now, trying to get away from Alton as he doubled over. Preston readied himself, praying for strength. The church doors in the back burst open with a yell Preston recognised as Liam’s and the two remaining henchmen went down. The disruption grabbed Alton’s attention. Preston yelled his command, his voice hoarse. ‘Bea, get down, move away!’ just seconds before he threw. It was a dangerous throw, but he would not get a better chance to save her. The knife took Alton in the shoulder.
Alton screamed, hysterical at the sight of his own blood, and stumbled backwards down the aisle, half-running, half-falling as he clutched at his privates, and his shoulder, in confusion over who had hurt him. ‘You bitch, you stabbed me!’
Suddenly Liam was there, neatly capturing Alton from behind and hauling him outside. Preston sagged against the pew, his strength spent. ‘Bea, are you all right?’ He held out an arm, reaching for her despite the agony the gesture caused his muscles.
‘I’m all right.’ She was beside him, but she was shaking, proof she wasn’t entirely all right. Many things were right in those minutes, though. Matthew in Bea’s arms, then them both in his arms. He wanted to touch the baby, wanted to touch Bea, wanted to hold them both close and know they were safe.
‘And Matthew? He’s all right?’
‘He’s hungry.’
‘Of course he is.’ Preston smiled. He drew Beatrice close. ‘Thank God.’ Those two words encompassed everything he was feeling; thank God his throw had been good. Thank God Bea and the babe were not hurt. Thank God they could look forward to a future together.
He had to give her up, though, for Matthew. He sat beside her in a pew, holding her hand and watching Matthew nurse. He was torn. He didn’t want to leave her, yet part of him wanted to be out there with Liam. Liam was wounded—what if Alton got away or worse? What if Alton circled back? Bea would be alone. His place was here. He had to stay.
‘Will Liam be all right?’ Bea asked quietly, reading his thoughts. ‘His shoulder...’
‘Liam is always all right,’ he assured her, cutting off the thought neither of them wanted to entertain. The door to the church opened. ‘See, I told you.’ Preston grinned. He rose and staggered back to meet Liam.
‘Well? Did he get away?’ Preston asked in low tones.
‘No,’ Liam said succinctly.
‘Is he outside?’ Preston probed.
‘In a manner of speaking, he is outside. But perhaps not in the way you mean it.’ Even for Liam, Liam was being cryptic. His hand tapped the butt of a pistol. Preston understood. Alton wouldn’t be bothering them again. He would tell Bea when the time was right. But not right now and maybe not even today. There’d been enough blood.
‘Thank you.’ His voice was unexpectedly gruff with emotion as he clapped Liam on the back.
‘Consider it a wedding gift.’
‘Is everything all right?’ Bea came up behind him, Matthew content in her arms, her ruined gown tied awkwardly but decently together. Preston’s heart swelled. He’d never wanted her as much as he wanted her right now, mess and all. He was tired of waiting.
‘Everything is fine.’ Did he dare? Horrible things had happened in this church. It seemed only fitting that something good should purify it. He got down on his knee, reaching for her hand. ‘Beatrice Penrose, I promised you a wedding today. I want you to know I’m a man of my word. Will you marry me? Right here. I find I cannot wait a minute longer.’
She made him wait. Perhaps she, too, was considering the rightness of the act in the wake of all that had happened in the last hours. ‘Yes. Right now. Not a moment longer.’
<
br /> In truth, Preston thought as he led his bride forward toward the altar and produced his rather crinkled special licence, weddings didn’t take that long to plan after all. One simply needed to do it. Flowers and gowns and violinists and rose petals were just things, symbols at best of what was already in one’s heart. Beatrice had proven that today.
She had been willing to sacrifice herself for him today and she’d done it without hesitation. He smiled. ‘You love me, Beatrice.’
‘I might.’ She smiled back. ‘Just a little.’
‘I guess we have that in common. I might love you, too. Just a little.’ He laughed softly as the vicar began again the words of the institution.
Bea adjusted Matthew, who laughed up at him and reached for his finger. Preston gave it to him as he repeated the vows.
‘I, Preston James Worth take thee, Beatrice Elizabeth, to be my wedded wife, to have and to hold from this day forward, for better for worse, for richer for poorer, in sickness and in health, to love, cherish, and to obey, till death us do part, according to God’s holy ordinance; and thereto I give thee my troth.’
‘Now for the ring?’ the vicar asked.
Preston panicked. The ring. It was back at Grosvenor Chapel.
‘I haven’t got it.’ After all this, he had no ring. But Beatrice smiled. She pulled at the chain about her neck.
‘Your grandfather’s ring. I should have given it back to you ages ago.’
Preston grinned, relief sweeping him. ‘I think now is the perfect time.’ He took the ring and put it on her finger. ‘With this ring, I thee wed, Beatrice.’ He meant those words with all his heart. Just as he meant the kiss that followed.
‘We’ll have to do it all again for show,’ Beatrice murmured as the vicar pronounced them husband and wife.
‘I know. But not tonight.’ Tonight he wanted his little family all to himself.
‘No,’ Beatrice said, taking his hand, her eyes brimming with promise. ‘Not tonight. Tonight is just for us.’
Epilogue
When they did it for show, it was not at the Grosvenor Chapel in Mayfair as Bea expected it might be, nor was it a chance for their parents to show off the union to society. It was instead, a double affair, a wedding mixed with a baptism held quietly at the end of the usual Sunday service at Seacrest. They were surrounded by Preston’s new tenants, their families and friends who had all made the journey for the occasion, some of them journeying further than others. Jonathon and Claire had come all the way from Vienna.
Beatrice’s eyes filled with tears as she looked out over the pews. Evie and Dimitri sat with her parents on one side of the aisle, the Worths and May and Liam on the other, Jonathon and Claire just behind them. She felt so blessed they were with her to share this moment. There were so many times in the last year she’d felt like an outcast, but much of that had been her own doing. She had come full circle, the man standing beside her with their son in his arms was proof of that. Every time she saw Preston with Matthew, her worries disappeared. Preston had faced down the demons of her past with her, slayed quite real dragons for her and for Matthew. Preston proved a man could love a child as much as a woman no matter who the father was and that a man could love a woman no matter her mistakes.
The vicar took the baby, frothy white christening gown and all, a new creation by Evie who had gifted her the gown last night, whispering in a quiet voice that she just might need the practice as there would undoubtedly be more christenings in the future. ‘I baptise thee in the name of the Father, the Son, and the Holy Ghost...’
The comfort of the old words washed over her as she exchanged a glance with Preston, his own gaze filled with emotion. His hand reaching out secretly for hers in the folds of her skirt.
Afterwards, there was a picnic on the lawn of the church, a casual affair so everyone could participate. Even the weather co-operated. Children ran among the picnic blankets and adults lounged beneath the early summer sky as Bea and Claire watched their husbands lay out their own picnic blankets beneath an oak near Evie and May. ‘I still can’t believe you came!’ Bea hugged her friend yet again. It had been nearly a year since she’d last seen Claire and she’d missed her.
Claire’s hand went to the small bump just beginning to form beneath her skirts. ‘Jonathon and I wanted our child to be born in Little Westbury. And raised there, too.’
It took Bea a moment to understand the implication. ‘You’re going to stay?’ This was perhaps the best surprise of all and nearly as unlooked for as Claire’s arrival. ‘What about Vienna? And Jonathon?’ Bea asked cautiously. As excited as she was about her friend’s permanent return, she knew how much the diplomatic posting to Vienna meant to Jonathon. He’d only held the post for a little under a year.
Claire smiled softly. ‘There are things more important than work, like family and a good community. We want a life here among friends where we don’t have to watch every word and wonder at every favour done for us.’
May and Evie approached, arms linked and smiling mischievously. ‘Did you tell her yet, Claire?’ May’s eyes sparkled and Bea sensed another surprise coming.
Claire shook her head. ‘Not yet, I was waiting for you. I wanted us all to be together.’
‘What?’ Bea glanced from friend to friend, all of them beaming with secret knowledge.
Claire took Bea’s hand and then Evie’s. ‘Jonathon is purchasing the old Adair place. He’s going to help Dimitri with his museum project.’
‘We’ll all be neighbours,’ May supplied, the shimmer in her gaze mirroring the tears Bea felt rising.
Bea took May’s hand and completed the circle. For a moment, she couldn’t speak. When she did, her voice was only a whisper. ‘Look at us. We are happy. It’s all I could have wished for each of us.’ And far more than she’d thought possible for herself. When she’d formed the Left Behind Girls Club a year ago, she’d done it to save her friends from lives of mediocrity and regret. She’d never dared to believe she’d have the same chance to rise above the circumstances of her situation.
She squeezed May’s and Claire’s hands and drew a deep breath. ‘There’s only one thing left to do. As there is no longer any need for it, I officially disband the Left Behind Girls Club, because everything changed when we did.’
* * * * *
If you enjoyed this story, you won’t want
to miss these other great reads in
Bronwyn Scott’s
WALLFLOWERS TO WIVES
mini-series
UNBUTTONING THE INNOCENT MISS
AWAKENING THE SHY MISS
CLAIMING HIS DEFIANT MISS
Keep reading for an excerpt from CLAIMING HIS HIGHLAND BRIDE by Terri Brisbin.
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Claiming His Highland Bride
by Terri Brisbin
Prologue
Castle Sween, Lands of Knap, Argyll,
Scotland—summer, ad 1370
‘Sorcha, come and sit with me a while.’
Sorcha glanced over at her mother’s companion for permission before approaching her bed. Anna nodded, so Sorcha climbed up on the high rope-strung mattress, having a care not to sit too close. Her mother had been ill and failing for years, but the last few weeks had brought a sunken and grey look to her face. From Anna’s grim expression and her mother’s glassy, weak gaze, Sorcha understood that Erca MacNeill had little time left living on this earth.
Sliding a bit closer and reaching out to touch her mother’s hand, Sorcha found it difficult to speak. Her throat tightened and clogged with tears as she understood this might be their last conversation. With a slight movement of her eyes, her mother dismissed Anna and soon the silence was disturbed only by the sound of laboured breathing.
‘Honour,’ her mother whispered before coughing. When she regained her breath, she struggled to say two more words, two words Sorcha knew would follow. ‘Loyalty. Courage.’ More rough, deep coughing that produced blood filled the chamber. Even when she tried to hush her mother from trying to speak, the woman shook her head and forced herself to continue.
‘Mother, I pray you, do not speak,’ she urged, as she leaned closer. Careful not to press against her mother’s frail body, Sorcha felt the tears tracking down her own cheeks.
Marrying the Rebellious Miss Page 21