Gentle organ music filtered out of the chapel as Freya, Simon and Matty hurried the two bridegrooms along the gravel path.

“You sure this looks okay?” Hank was asking, tugging at his maroon jacket. “Only I’m not sure it isn’t too tight.”

“It fits very well,” Freya assured him for the eleventh time.

“And is this gonna stay put?” He reached up towards his hair, miraculously lying flat and under control.

“Don’t,” Simon said quickly. “If you start playing with it you’ll undo all my good work.”

Hank looked at him guiltily. “Sorry. Just feels odd.”

“Well, it looks good.”

“You sure?”

Freya nodded. “You look handsome. You both look handsome.”

Matty laughed. “I take it I look a mess, then?”

She patted him on the arm. “You look handsome too.” He did as well, she considered. A slightly smaller, less bulky version of his brother, and clean-shaven, he was wearing a striped shirt that looked almost familiar. Perhaps they had similar tastes, too.

“I’m considering feeling insulted,” Simon added, touching the small capture maker in his pocket and making sure it was still there.

“You always look good,” Freya said, linking her arm through his. “But these two are going to be the centre of attention.”

Hank swallowed hard. “I thought that was the brides’ job.”

“You too. Standing up there, all eyes on you …”

He shook his head. “Just be glad when this is all over.”

Freya was about to hit him, only gently, when she saw four figures hurrying towards them from the main gate.

“We haven’t missed it, have we?” one of them called.

“Dillon!” Freya ran over to her dear friend, embracing him. “I’m so glad you could all make it!”

Dillon Malfrey hugged her, then let Breed do the same. Callum, their manservant and factotum, held out a hand until she enveloped him in her arms, then let his own come up around her.

Sir Warrick Harrow stood back a little and smiled into his beard. “We wouldn’t have missed this for the world, my dear,“ he said, adjusting his sash