One Week To Wed. Laurie Benson

the new Duke?’ he whispered, tipping his head towards Monty.

      ‘You mean Skeffington’s mysterious heir? No one I know has ever heard of him.’

      ‘Nephew?’

      ‘Distant cousin.’

      ‘Married?’

      ‘I would assume he’s married or a widower.’

      Could he have run into the new Duchess of Skeffington when he was leaving the wake? It might explain why she was in the front of the church now. If they lived in the country they might not know women in Town did not attend burials.

      Andrew craned his neck further to try to get a glimpse of the new Duke, but his view was blocked by the rows of mourners. His attention was drawn once more to the back of the black bonnet. If only her face hadn’t been covered with a veil, he would have a better idea of what she looked like.

      As if the universe had called out to her, the woman turned and scanned the rows of mourners. However, this wasn’t the woman Andrew had almost knocked over. It was Skeffington’s widow. There was no mistaking her in the dim light of the cathedral with the veil of the bonnet tucked above the brim, revealing her face.

      As her eyes locked on to his with the precision of a sniper, Andrew shifted his gaze to the bishop so quickly, it was a wonder he hadn’t injured his eye sockets.

      * * *

      The bishop was telling them not to mourn Skeffington’s death, but celebrate the life he lived. Charlotte hadn’t known Lizzy’s husband very well. He had barely spoken to her when they were in the same room and what he had said could be considered rather dismissing. From the newspaper accounts she had read about him and from Lizzy’s letters, he appeared to have behaved that way with most people.

      But regardless of what she thought of Lizzy’s husband, the bishop was still wrong. There was no celebration in death. It only left intense pain for those who loved them. When Jonathan died on the battlefield, Charlotte died along with him.

      Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Lizzy turn around. Softly, Charlotte stepped on Lizzy’s slipper, drawing her sister’s attention back to the front of the church.

      ‘Why did you do that?’ Lizzy whispered harshly.

      They bent their heads so the brims of their bonnets were touching. ‘You really should be paying attention to your husband’s eulogy.’

      ‘The bishop’s probably expressing the same thing he did at the house this afternoon when he offered his condolences. Honestly, how many different ways can one talk about death? He probably says the same thing at all his burial services and just adjusts the names. And he is getting paid a tidy sum to say those words.’

      ‘You may find comfort in what he is saying?’

      ‘Do I truly look as though I need comforting?’

      ‘Not exactly, but you could pretend.’

      There was a distinct pause to Lizzy’s movements. ‘That’s it. I’ll appear the grieving widow in need of comfort.’ She dabbed under her eyes with a handkerchief.

      ‘You look as though you have something in your eye.’

      ‘I’m crying.’

      ‘No matter how hard you wrinkle up your face, tears will not flow.’

      ‘Step on my foot.’

      ‘Why?’

      ‘Just do it.’

      ‘I will not. I’ve already stepped on your foot.’

      ‘Yes, yes, but do it harder this time. It needs to hurt so much, it brings tears to my eyes.’

      ‘I will not help you perpetrate a lie in the house of God.’

      ‘It won’t be a lie if you step on my foot hard enough.’

      ‘I will not. Now, stop talking and pay attention,’ Charlotte whispered firmly back.

      Lizzy turned around once more. And once more Charlotte stepped on her foot.

      ‘I said harder. How am I to cry if you can’t manage to maim me?’

      ‘What in the world has captured your attention at a time like this?’

      ‘He’s here.’

      ‘Who? The next Duke? If you wish to remain here, I suggest you do nothing to call attention to yourself. He might drag us both back home, which I could understand.’

      ‘Not him. The man I’ve wanted ever since my first Season, but Father made me marry Skeffington instead. He is the brother of the Duke of Winterbourne.’

      Charlotte turned to try to see who her sister was looking at, but the men behind them blocked her view. ‘How is it you’ve never mentioned him before?’

      ‘I did, the night of my coming-out ball, but shortly after that Father told me I’d be marrying Skeffington. I thought I’d lost my chance to marry him, but all this time he has remained unwed. Now I can finally have him.’

      Charlotte had tried to convince their mother to speak out against Lizzy’s marriage. Their mother would not hear of it. For years Charlotte had suffered with guilt that she could have done more to stop the marriage. She had been newly married herself then and Jonathan advised her not to approach her father on the issue. She had often wondered if she had, would it have made a difference. Whoever this man was, Lizzy deserved him. She deserved to fall in love with that one person who would make her life so much better just by being in it—everyone did.

      They were leaving for Charlotte’s home in Cheshire in a few days, so Lizzy could begin her full mourning period away from the tempting entertainments of London. She was relieved her sister agreed that, if she remained in Town reading newspaper accounts of all the balls, routs and dinners that she was missing, she would be miserable. Now they had months to spend together again. And when Lizzy returned to Town, Charlotte was certain there would be no stopping her sister from trying to win the gentleman who stood somewhere behind them.

       Chapter Three

      Four months later...

      Andrew stood outside Gabriel’s study and knocked on the large mahogany door. There was a time when he wouldn’t have had to wait for approval to enter, but since his brother had reconciled with his wife a little less than a year ago, Andrew had got into the habit of knocking. At the muffled sound of Gabriel’s response, he turned the handle and walked into the room.

      His brother was seated at his massive desk and his attention was on a piece of paper resting on its surface, while he absently ran his fingers through his short light brown hair. Andrew sank into the well-cushioned chair across from him and held back a yawn. Gabriel barely acknowledged him since he was so engrossed in the task at hand. As the head of an organisation that protected the King and Prince Regent, as well as being a Member of Parliament, it wasn’t uncommon for Gabriel to be in the middle of something when Andrew entered his study.

      After a few more minutes, Gabriel looked up and arched his brow. ‘Hell, man, you look awful.’

      Andrew had ridden back to London in the early morning hours from Windsor and he hadn’t had any sleep. ‘I realise I’m not as impeccably attired as you, but I do believe awful is an exaggeration.’

      ‘I wasn’t referring to what you are wearing. I was referring to those bloodshot eyes you can’t seem to keep open and the shave you desperately need.’

      ‘I’m fine.’

      ‘You need sleep.’

      Andrew waved the suggestion away. His leather glove rubbed against the cut on his right hand, irritating it through the bandage. As he removed both gloves, Gabriel’s keen eyes focused on the cotton strip.

      ‘How