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to happen. Therefore, it was his place to conclude it with as little harm done to the woman as possible. The best solution would be to return to London, where his money, if not his social standing, would facilitate the necessary legal maneuverings to finalize this strange union.
    He had merely to get there—bride in tow, apparently—to repair this. After all, it wasn't as if such a scandal as marrying outside his class would shock anyone among the
ton
. He could likely marry an orangutan ape from the Royal Menagerie and people would merely nod sagely and say they'd always known he was a bad one.
    People other than the inhabitants of Derryton. In fact, there had been a shocking lack of interest in questioning his particulars. And what of the teenage giant who never seemed to leave his presence?
Companion? Or keeper
?
    He'd been too preoccupied with Foster, Nathaniel realized. Instead, he ought to have been questioning the village about why they couldn't wait to wed their allegedly beloved daughter to a complete stranger.
    Was there something wrong with the girl? She might be tragically mad or shamelessly promiscuous. So far, Nathaniel had noticed that while she might be considered a bit odd, he'd seen no sign of real madness. Looking at her now as she walked up the makeshift aisle, her hands trembling so that petals were falling from her garden bouquet like pink snow, Nathaniel had trouble believing that the latter was the case. She looked as fair and innocent as any bride ever had. His bride—one he never thought he'd have.
    Nathaniel cleared his throat against an unexpected lump.
    Truly, it was a lovely day for a wedding.
    The vicar made no pretense of drawing out the ceremony. In fact, he raced through it as if someone had paid extra for speed. "If ye discern any impediment to be lawfully joined in matrimony, do ye now confess it?" The words came so fast they were slurred together. How curious.
    A whisper came. "Pardon me, sir, but do you snore?"
    His concentration thrown, Nathaniel peered down at the lace-covered head below his chin. She wasn't looking at him, but her head was cocked in such a way that she was clearly waiting for an answer.
    Snore? The very idea. "Absolutely not!" he whispered into the lace where he thought her ear might be.
    "Thank you." She gestured for the clergyman to continue.
    As the man rattled on, Nathaniel decided to withhold judgment on the madness question. After all, one never knew.
    "Sir? Wilt thou?"
    The giant poked Nathaniel. "
I will
!" the younger man hissed.
    Nathaniel inhaled deeply. There was no help for it. "I will."
    "Have thee a ring?" the vicar asked.
    A ring. He'd forgotten in his need to search for Foster. He ought to have remembered—but really what did it matter? He shook his head sharply. At his motion, Miss Trent snatched back the hand she'd half-extended to him as part of the ceremony.
    The vicar cleared his throat to cover the awkwardness of the moment. "Then I now pronounce thee man and wife!" The vicar snapped his book shut, and the villagers burst into applause all around them. Loud, prolonged, enthusiastic applause.
    That could mean nothing good.
    Tentatively, Nathaniel reached out to lift the veil from his bride's face. She peered out at him from the lace, blinking like a plump and rosy angel.
    The vicar tapped a fingertip on the holy book. "Aren't ye going to kiss the bride?"
     
    Willa stood back as Dick and Dan carried her packs into the stable with a careless knock of the contents against the door frame and tossed them negligently on the straw.
    Willa put her hands on her hips. "Be gentle, lads. My parents' books are in those."
    The two giant young men hung their heads like errant schoolboys before her. She sighed. "Now, I know you don't like this any more than I do, but we simply have to make the best of it."
    Dick toed the floor with one giant boot. "Are you happy to be leaving us, Willie?" Dan didn't say anything, but then he never did if he had Dick to speak