Trem knew the moment was now. He had his penknife in one hand and the orange in the other. He took the orange and, underhanded, threw it hard towards the back of the greenhouse. He had aimed it towards the back wall, but, instead, when it clattered against a ceramic garden ornament and made a bloody racket, the results were better than what he had hoped.
Hartley lowered his pistol and turned towards the sound behind him. And, when he did so, Trem ran, trying to reach Hartley before he was able to turn fully back around.
Trem slammed into Hartley. A gunshot rang through the orangery and Trem heard glass shatter and then rain down from above. The bullet had gone through the ceiling.
He had Hartley pinned to the floor and the pistol had fallen out of his reach. Hartley tried to fight him, but Trem had him pinned under him and soon he had the sharp point of the penknife at the younger man’s throat.
“Don’t move,” he barked. “Or I will not hesitate to ram this knife into your throat.” To punctuate his words, he pressed hard on Hartley’s sternum and the man coughed in response.
“I should call the magistrate and report what you have done. Instead, however, I will settle for your aunt, you swine. You will be locked in my root cellar until she can come and retrieve you. Given that that may take upwards of a week, I hope you enjoy your time amongst my housekeeper’s potatoes and turnips. And your behavior will be made public. If you ever come near my fiancée and myself again, on any occasion, then I will not hesitate to kill you. Do I make myself understood?”
Hartley was still seething but Trem could see the tears in his eyes. He was, truly, a stupid boy, Trem thought.
“Do I make myself understood?” He slammed his arms against the younger man’s chest. “Or should I kill you now?”
He increased the pressure of his knife against his throat.
“Yes,” Hartley coughed back.
“And I’m taking your pistol. You can’t be trusted with a weapon.”
Hartley merely wheezed in response.
“Fellows,” Tremberley called out to John, Leith, Montaigne, and Sebastian, “could you please take this idiot to the root cellar?”
The four other men came forward and held down Hartley as Tremberley got up.
The moment that Trem was free, Henrietta was in his arms. She was crying but also kissing him and he was kissing her back, the stress of the moment turning to gratitude that she was unharmed.
“We’re all right,” he repeated to her, pressing her to him, and kissing her. “We’re all right.”
Chapter Thirty-Four
They were married. After the fight in the orangery, Henrietta would ever after only be able to remember the ceremony itself but faintly. She remembered walking into the chapel on John’s arm, doubtlessly looking a bit worse for wear, although everyone afterwards claimed that she had been radiant. The guests did not discover the truth about what had happened until a week later when Montaigne released the story to the scandal sheets, as Trem had asked. It seemed that the slightly disheveled appearance of the groom and especially the four gentlemen who had carried Hartley to the root cellar had been not particularly noteworthy.
She remembered Tremberley placing the ring on her finger and the solemn feeling of the moment and, as she came up the aisle, how overwhelming it felt to see the faces of everyone she loved in one place.
But the truth was that, to her, she and Trem were already married in every way that counted. The wedding felt like an acknowledgment of what they already were to one another. It was a truth that was all the more apparent to her given that he had just minutes before tackled a madman wielding a gun to protect her.
The one thing that Henrietta would never forget about her wedding, however, was, as she exited the chapel on Trem’s arm, she saw her mother, Mary, sitting in one of the narrow pews, with Mr. Ryerson. She had come, after all.
After the ceremony, the guests cavorted in the banquet hall. Mr. Foxcroft had done an impeccable job with the decorations. The energy of the guests was jubilant; Henrietta thought that, perhaps, after all the scandal they had caused in the lead-up to the wedding, everyone felt particular relief that they had made it through the ceremony. Any trouble that had bedeviled the couple had been washed away by the soothing balm of matrimony.
Before the wedding breakfast began, John stood. Henrietta saw that he was about to make a toast and she exchanged an anxious look with Trem. He had seemed a scintilla warmer to Trem in the orangery but, given all the commotion, it had been difficult to tell.
“Henrietta and Trem,” John said, tipping his flute of champagne, “I wish you all the joy I have found in my own marriage.” He smiled at Catherine and the guests cooed. Henrietta laughed—her brother and Catherine’s popularity was, truly, undying. “I give you this wish, but I know you will not need it. Sometimes, in life, we do not realize what we have when we have it. God knows, that I am sometimes guilty of this sin.” Appreciative laughter flittered among the guests and Henrietta heard a hint of apology in John’s voice. “You can easily assume the worst of people’s natures. But you two—wild and impulsive though you might be—” more laughter “—have always seen the best in each other. In short, you are two of the most pure-hearted people that I know and that is, undoubtedly, why I love you both so much. And, perhaps, why you are perfectly suited for another. I wish you joy, even though I know you won’t need my blessing to find it.”
Henrietta felt tears welling up in her eyes. John was no longer cross with them. It was all the wedding gift she needed.
She felt Trem’s mouth at her ear and his arm came around her waist. “Do you think that John’s forgiven me because he realized how close he came to having Hartley as a brother-in-law?”
Henrietta laughed and slapped Trem’s leg playfully before wiping the tears from her eyes. It was too much emotion at once for one person, perhaps, but she was feeling it all at once anyway.
After the breakfast was done and the guests milled around and spoke to one another, Henrietta saw John and Trem in the corner. They were clapping each other’s shoulders and smiling. She considered going over to them, but then thought better of it. Let them have this moment, she thought.
Then her eye caught Sebastian and Cassandra at the other end of the banquet hall. They were standing so close together that she was sure that Mrs. Seymour would regard it as scandalous, but that lady was talking in animated tones at a table with Lady Trilling, Mary Forster, and Lady Wethersby, heedless of her daughter’s actions. Curious.
Cassandra waved her over. A lump formed in her throat. She felt guilty, she realized, for putting them both in harm’s way—particularly Sebastian.
