He gazed at her thoughtfully over the top of the newspaper. “The robbers are.” He rattled the paper and disappeared behind it.
Left to her thoughts, Maddie studied him from his glossy black top boots to his snug-fitting cream pantaloons. The cream-and-tan striped waistcoat stretched over his chest, his carmelite brown coat unbuttoned. His tall beaver hat was on the seat beside him. Her gaze rested on his elegant hands and long fingers holding the newspaper when he suddenly lowered it, and his blue eyes met hers with a question.
Had she just sighed? “I was thinking about that bank robbery.”
“Yes?”
“The money you saw on my uncle’s table. Could he be behind these robberies?”
“I can call several criminal activities to mind.” Hart put down the newspaper and uncrossed his legs, drawing her eyes to another part of his anatomy. She hastily looked up at him. “My initial thought was Wakeham ran a smuggling gang,” he said. “They land smuggled goods on the Kentish coast from where they’re whisked inland.” He stroked his chin. “But I suppose these audacious bank robberies are a possibility. I need to find out more about them.”
“How might we do that?”
“We?” Hart sat forward to place a hand on her knee. “Not you, Maddie, never you. That’s impossible, surely you know that.”
“How will you find out?” she amended with a frown. “Rather than leaving for Tunbridge Wells as soon as we arrive in London, why not consult Bow Street?”
“Yes. I intend to have a word with the Bow Street Magistrate before I leave for the country.”
Hart picked up the newspaper again.
Subject closed, she thought. That her uncle might be behind the robberies had occurred to him, although he’d generously allowed her to first suggest it. That was thoughtful, but it was all he would allow, and being wrapped in cotton wool and tucked away somewhere safe never appealed to her. If she thought he needed her help, she would act on her own initiative. It made her smile.
Hart raised his eyebrows and looked at her. “Why the smile?” He folded the newspaper and held it in his lap.
Didn’t he trust her? “Nothing worth mentioning,” Maddie said airily.
Chapter Thirteen
After five daysof travel, Hart’s coach reached their destination, Coldstream Bridge. Surrounded by lush countryside, the fine stone bridge spanned the River Tweed, and beyond it was the large village and parish church with a square clock tower. The Marriage House, which was also the toll house, sat snug against the approach to the bridge on the Scottish side of the border. The unassuming, single-story sandstone dwelling with a small garden walled off from the road shocked him. He wasn’t sure what Maddie made of it. But, believing they should not delay, left the coach, and went inside to make the arrangements.
He booked them into an inn on the High Street where they would spend the night, and he and Maddie, with Henry and Jane as witnesses, returned to the Marriage House an hour later. They met another young couple emerging from inside, who looked curiously back at them. Hart and Maddie entered a small parlor, where the celebrant awaited them. The small room smelled of the river. He warmly greeted them and invited them to sit at a long table. What followed was shockingly brief. Hart insisted on a document he supplied to be signed, although the celebrant assured him no certificate was required. Hart removed the signet ring he wore on his little finger and slipped it onto Maddie’s wedding finger. It would do until he retrieved the family rings from the bank.
Less than half an hour later, Hart paid the man and escorted Maddie back to the coach.
“Is that it? We are married?” she asked as he helped her inside.
Hart tucked the document into his pocket. “Yes, our marriage is legal.” He smiled at her. “Although we must be seen to have spent the night together.”
She flushed. “Oh, of course,”
His gaze lingered on her face. They had avoided this aspect of their agreement, and he remained unsure of her feelings.
“I wish it could have been a lavish wedding with all the trimmings,” he said.
“Did you want that, Hart?”
“No.” He grinned. “Men seldom do.”
She smiled. “A simple church ceremony would have been nice. But I’m relieved to be finally free from my uncle.”
It wasn’t exactly what he wanted to hear. But they were man and wife. “We’ll dine at the inn. Celebrate with champagne.”
It was colder here with a brisk wind, the skies a flat, dull gray. He would have liked Maddie to remember her wedding as something special, but it was hardly an auspicious start. She had been quiet during most of the last few days’ travel. If he had a daughter, he would want something far better for her than this hurried affair in that humble little Marriage House. But in the future, there was nothing to prevent them from having a church wedding if Maddie wanted it.
Hart regretted the necessity to return immediately to London. He would prefer to honeymoon in Scotland, just him and Maddie, staying at quaint inns and enjoying the beauty of the countryside, but the closing date set by his uncle’s trustees drew near. He would send a letter in the post tomorrow to advise them of his marriage, although it would do little to delay matters. The wording of his uncle’s will still bothered him. When he’d spoken of it to Tate, the duke was incredulous. “It’s a ruse,” he said after some thought. “Designed to make you pull up your bootstraps. What sort of fellow was your uncle?”
“Eccentric, I have to say. But a nice fellow, and decent. I was fonder of him than of my father. But whether or not it was a ruse, the fact remains, unless I comply with the terms of his will, I won’t inherit.” Remembering their conversation, Hart smiled. It was only a few months since Tate married the girl of his dreams, and he still believed in fairytales. Hart hadn’t believed in such things, but hoped his life would take a decided turn for the better. He clasped Maddie’s hand in his and, feeling relieved, and a little triumphant, smiled at her.
