One Week To Wed. Laurie Benson

should have pretended he hadn’t heard her when she called his name.

      ‘Have you received your invitation to the funeral?’ Thankfully she changed the subject when he refused to acknowledge her suggestion. ‘The service will be this evening at ten, in St Paul’s. Skeffington wished to hold to old traditions and wanted an evening burial.’

      It was just like the man not to consider the safety of his mourners. Carriages in London were often robbed while they waited outside churches at night during funerals. Andrew was still uncertain why he had been invited to attend. Gabriel, as the Duke of Winterbourne, was fully capable of representing his family. ‘I’ve received it.’

      The gloved fingers on her right hand nervously toyed with the jet beads near her collarbone. ‘I know he was not well liked by many in Society, but it would be a shame if there weren’t many to offer prayers for his soul. I hope you will be there.’

      At least it wasn’t customary for the women of the ton to attend burial services. He would be safe in the church from her attention. Having someone watch him made him uncomfortable. ‘I’ll be there along with my brothers.’

      She lowered her head and looked at him through her lashes. ‘Thank you for calling on me,’ she said softly. ‘I expect we will see one another soon.’

      Did she have to make it sound as if he had called on her with romantic intentions? It was a wake. ‘Not too soon. It will be a year before we see one another.’ She was newly widowed. The year’s mourning period would keep her away from any entertainments he might attend.

      She bit her lip. ‘Unlike Skeffington, I find I am not all that traditional.’

      The walls were closing in. He was feeling like hunted prey and needed to get away from the Duchess and the dead body in the room. ‘Well, do have a pleasant day,’ he managed to choke out rather inappropriately, before making his way through the crowd of mourners and out the ballroom door.

      He was so intent on escaping he almost collided with a woman dressed all in black as he rounded the corner leading to the entrance hall. She let out a soft gasp through the veil covering her face and was able to stop him by raising her gloved hand just before she slammed into his chest. A pleasant floral scent drifted towards him as the black ostrich feather, curling over the front of her black bonnet, brushed against his brow. It was a soft brush, almost a tickle.

      Andrew stepped back and tipped his head in a wordless apology before they both quickly went on their way. But after he took a few steps, something made him look back and follow her hurried progress towards the ballroom. Perhaps it was the realisation that he hadn’t bothered to notice what she looked like or that she seemed preoccupied and eager to get around him. He couldn’t imagine anyone being in a rush to see a dead body.

      When he stepped into the entrance hall both of his brothers were waiting for him near the large marble staircase. They resembled matching bookends with their light brown hair, similar features, and black trousers and coats. They both also held the same amused expression as they watched Andrew walk towards them.

      Gabriel was fighting back a smile as he turned his attention to adjusting his gloves. ‘I see Elizabeth found a way to have a few words alone with you. We were going to leave for White’s without you, but decided to wait and see how long it took you to extricate yourself.’

      Andrew let out an annoyed breath and rubbed his chin. ‘If you both hadn’t walked away when she called me, I might have avoided the encounter entirely.’

      ‘She called your name, not ours,’ Monty replied with a smirk. ‘Who are we to come between you and a grieving widow? Dare I ask what she wanted, or would your answer shock my youthful innocence?’

      ‘You are Mother’s least favourite child. She has told me so on numerous occasions,’ Andrew replied pointedly. ‘Her Grace wanted to know if I’d be attending the burial service this evening. That is all.’

      ‘You don’t think she plans on attending, do you?’ Monty asked, appearing aghast. ‘She did seem rather interested in you.’

      As they made their way to the front door, Gabriel put on his hat. ‘She has always appeared taken with Andrew. However, what she finds appealing about him is a mystery to me. Since women in our circle do not attend funerals, I do believe he is in no danger of being cornered behind a pillar in St Paul’s tonight.’ His mouth twitched with amusement. ‘Although, that would be entertaining to witness.’

      * * *

      Charlotte had been hurrying towards the ballroom in Skeffington House, wishing she could have been going anywhere but there, when she nearly collided with a mountain of a man in the corridor. She didn’t even have the presence of mind to look at him and offer an apology. The brief incident left her more agitated than she already had been and her stomach started flying around like a bird in a cage. How she wished she was leaving along with him instead of heading towards the room filled with so much death...and so many people who would be expressing their condolences, even if their comments were not directed to her.

      Ever since Jonathan had been killed, hearing those sympathetic words would make her queasy, reminding her of the sentiments so many people expressed when they came to call on her for months after her husband’s death, making her relive the pain of her loss over and over.

      Thankfully, her stomach settled by the time she crossed the threshold of the ballroom which was set for the elaborate wake befitting the oldest Duke in Britain. At the far end of the room was a raised platform where his coffin was laid. Black curtains cascaded around the four corners of the platform from the cornice above, adorned with gilded angels. It was certainly a stately site, although she did find the angels odd knowing the temperament and uncharitable nature of the man lying under them.

      Moving past small groups of mourners clustered about the room, she tried to block out the murmur of their voices. The coffin was only a few yards away, with the shrouded body of the Duke. Charlotte had not seen her husband’s body to confirm his death. Jonathan’s remains were buried in Belgium. The only proof she had were the accounts of what happened to him from his fellow officers and the few personal effects of his that were returned to her. Reaching for the black ribbon around her neck, she clasped the gold signet ring which he had worn that now hung there. The only reason she was here was because her sister needed her.

      She spotted Lizzy standing to the left of the coffin, speaking to a well-dressed grey-haired gentleman. As if sensing Charlotte’s presence, her younger sister looked up and their eyes met. Lizzy carefully extracted herself from her conversation and hurried towards her. The urgency of her manner made Charlotte feel even more guilty for arriving late.

      ‘I’m sorry I did not arrive sooner, Lizzy. Please do not interrupt your conversation on my account. I know how people like to offer their condolences at a time like this.’

      And she would prefer not to hear them.

      ‘It was no bother,’ Lizzy said with a careless wave of her black-gloved hand. ‘Lord Liverpool can ramble on at times. Skeffington had appointed him executor of his estate. The will stipulates all parties must be present for it to be read and there has been little success in locating his heir. Lord Liverpool was apprising me of the details. Do not look so concerned. I know I will be left in very comfortable circumstances with Skeffington’s passing, so have no fear.’

      She took Charlotte by the arm to a window overlooking Green Park and wrapped her arms around her in an affectionate hug. The window sash was raised, letting in a breeze which was helping Charlotte breathe as the walls continued to close in on her.

      ‘It’s such a relief to have you here, Charlotte. I know you hate London, but Aunt Clara and Juliet are in Paris. They would never have arrived here in time and even if they were here, it’s you I really need by my side. Our aunt has never understood me the way you do. And, while our sister means well, Juliet is still so young.’ The three Sommersby sisters were always close, but Charlotte and Lizzy were especially dear to each other.

      ‘Juliet is two and twenty. She is not so young any more.’

      ‘But