He exhaled long and slow, his gaze drifting to the few friends and family seated in the pews…and then his muscles knotted up again. Seven pairs of eyes locked on to him from the front row, ranging in age from three to fifteen. Martha’s children. Soon to behischildren. Though he’d asked each of them, and somewhat miraculously all seven had agreed to this wedding—even Harriet—reactions had been mixed, from thrilled to coolly accepting to Frankie’s “That’s all right by me but—hey! Yer not goin’ to kiss my mum, are ye?”
A smile twitched Charles’ lips as his gaze passed from the boy to Harriet. For once she didn’t have a hostile gleam in her eyes, but neither was it effervescent. This wouldn’t be an easy transition for any of them. What did he know of being a father? How did one rear a small human to become a fully functioning adult? Certainly a whack with a truncheon or a slapped-on pair of darbies wouldn’t do the trick, and yet that was all he knew. His palms turned slick with sweat. He’d faced down some of the worst criminals in London, but nothing—nothing—had prepared him for the role he was about to take on.
Great heavens. The weight of this moment was too much to bear. Maybe he should walk away. Apologize profusely for the mistake he’d committed. Repent of ever thinking he’d make a good husband and father. He shuffled his feet, gut twisting. Organ music began, the first strains of “All Creatures of Our God and King” lifting to the rafters. If he were going to bust out of here, now was the time.
Jackson elbowed him. “Here she comes.”
Charles’ gaze shot to the back of the sanctuary, and the moment his eyes fixed on Martha, every fear and doubt fled like a hot-footed cutpurse. With each steady step, she radiated elegance in her simple gown of soft pink, the same hue that glowed on her cheeks. Her hair was pulled back in a loose braid, uncaught tendrils framing her heart-shaped face and curling against her bare neck. Ahh, but she was a picture. Nay, a masterpiece. His pulse raced.
And when she joined his side at the altar, her gaze of adoration nearly buckled his knees.
The ceremony blurred. He’d not be able to repeat a blessed word spoken by the reverend were a gun held to his head. But one thing he knew now for certain: he was in love with this woman, and he’d give every day for the rest of his life proving that to her.
“Charles?” Martha’s blue eyes looked hopefully into his.
He stiffened, aware now that he ought to be doing something. Saying something. But what? More organ music played, yet for the life of him, he couldn’t think what to do. How could he? All his thoughts were filled with the beauty in front of him.
“That’s your cue, old man.” Jackson nudged him. “Give her a kiss and take her away.”
He didn’t need any further urging. Pulling Martha into his arms, he kissed her soundly to the cheers of those in the sanctuary. His heart swelled as he took her hand and led his wife—his wife!—down the aisle. Her children trailed behind, flower petals raining over them save for the handfuls Frankie used to pelt him in the back. They emerged into bright sunlight to a waiting carriage, the horses festooned with ribbons and flowers. He grinned. Kit’s handiwork, no doubt.
He opened the door then turned to his wife with an extended hand. “May I help you up, Mrs. Baggett?”
“Oohh, I like the sound of that.” Smiling, she gripped his fingers, then called over her shoulder, “Behave yerselves, children, or ye’ll have Miss Kit and Mr. Jackson to answer to.”
“Kipes!” Frankie bellowed.
Without missing a beat, Kit promptly cuffed the boy in the head.
Chuckling, Charles helped Martha into the carriage then took his place beside her. As the wheels lurched into motion, he wrapped his arm around his wife’s shoulders. “Well, we did it.”
“We did—and about time, too!” She rested her head against his chest, a contented sigh making his heart soar.
The carriage rolled onward, an uncertain future stretching before them, but one they would face together with love and determination.
“Kipes!”
“Mind your tongue, young man.” Kit smacked a light yet firm warning on Frankie’s head, then peered up at Jackson, a squirming Bella in his arms. “Are you ready for chaos?”
“I married you, didn’t I?” He arched a brow.
She scowled. “I meant with watching Martha’s children for the next few days.”
“Yes, Wife.” A handsome smile lit his face, the dark stubble of a newly forming moustache making him all the more attractive. “If things get out of hand, we’ll just lock them up down at the station.”
“You read my mind.”
“Now that would be a miracle.” Bending, he buffed a light kiss on her brow.
“You, sir, are a scoundrel, but speaking of miracles—” She lunged for three-year-old Hazel and snatched her back before the girl tore off into the road. How Martha had managed for so long on her own was a wonder. It truly hadn’t been fair of her to add to her friend’s load by asking her to care for Bella this past month.
Handing Hazel her unused bag of flower petals to play with, Kit then faced Jackson. “Speaking of miracles, I think I’ve finally come up with a solution to my dilemma about how to juggle being a detective and a mother.”
“Oh?” He jostled Bella to his other arm, prying her little hand from his jaw. “Pray tell.”
She should, and she would…but not quite yet. She gave him a mysterious smile. “I need to discuss it with my father—I mean, my partner, first.”
His brows pulled into a dark line. “But I am your husband.”
