Читать книгу One Week To Wed - Laurie Benson, Laurie Benson - Страница 9

Chapter One

Mayfair, London—1819

There was no mistaking the inviting look in the eyes of the widow as she studied Lord Andrew Pearce across the coffin of her dead husband.

In a stealthy manoeuvre, Andrew shifted his leg and ground the heel of his boot into his brother Gabriel’s foot, determined to scuff the impeccable black leather. It would serve him right for dragging Andrew here. In true ducal fashion Gabriel exhibited no reaction, aside from the slight clench of his jaw.

It was all his brother’s fault Andrew was being subjected to this. As the eldest, Gabriel had informed his brothers it was their family’s duty to pay their respects, even though they all hated the man.

It was the thing to do. It was only proper.

And Andrew was counting the minutes until it was over.

Being this close to a dead body was hard enough, bringing back memories he would just as soon forget. But the attention from the widow of the newly deceased Twelfth Duke of Skeffington in addition to that was making this unbearable.

At nine and twenty, Elizabeth, the Duchess of Skeffington, was only two years younger than Andrew. With her thick black hair, big brown eyes and graceful figure she was considered by many to be a diamond of the first water. However, Andrew wasn’t attracted to her. Even knowing she was going to be a very wealthy widow did little to make her any more enticing.

She was a woman who appeared obsessed with rank and prestige. As the brother of a duke, he had experienced his fair share of people who were interested in him only for his family connections. And as a duchess in her own right, he assumed her prejudice against families of lower status was one of the reasons she always seemed interested in him. There were very few ducal families in Britain. Her choices were limited. However, he didn’t want a wife.

The Duchess slipped a wayward tendril of black hair over her ear and offered him a shy smile. If Gabriel noticed her attention had been fixed on Andrew since they entered the room, he gave no indication. However, Monty, on his other side, pressed his knee firmly into Andrew’s leg. At least one of his brothers was aware of his plight.

‘You have our condolences, Elizabeth,’ Gabriel said, over the murmur of voices from the other mourners in the ballroom that was darkened with black cloth around the windows.

Her attention finally shifted away from Andrew to Gabriel, and she gave his brother a polite smile. ‘Thank you for coming to pay your respects. It’s no secret you and Skeffington were on opposing sides on many issues through the years.’

‘We were. His death did come as a shock, even with his advanced age. He just addressed the House on Monday.’

Monty tilted his head and eyed the outline of the short thin body lying before them under the shroud. ‘Forgive me, but I’ve not heard what caused his demise. Was he suffering from an illness?’ Andrew’s younger brother asked.

‘He choked on a chicken bone during dinner. The footmen were not able to save him.’ It was said with such a calm demeanour, one had to wonder if she had been present to witness what must have been a ghastly event.

Andrew’s heart began to pound harder. He knew what it was like to watch someone die. Taking a step back, he looked away from the dead body in front of him and tried to push the memories out of his head. Over the years he had become adept at locking them away, but this was bringing them all back. He should have refused to come today.

As if he realised Andrew was ready to bolt from the room, Gabriel made a move to end the conversation and Andrew’s torture. ‘Well, I’m sure there are many others here who wish to pay their respects. We will not keep you any further.’

Andrew’s sense of unease at being around this much death was starting to lift. Until the Duchess stepped around the coffin and called softly to him as he turned to walk towards the door with his brothers.

He squeezed his eyes shut before turning to face her. ‘Yes, Your Grace?’

She gave him a small smile as she started to blush. ‘You may call me Elizabeth. We’ve been acquainted with one another for twelve years.’

‘But I’d never presume to be on such intimate terms with you.’ It was paramount he stated that, since he had no intention of becoming so familiar with Skeffington’s widow.

‘But there is no reason we couldn’t be now.’ There was a hopefulness in her eyes.

He 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 you understand what it is to be widowed.’

Charlotte searched her younger sister’s face, trying to determine how she was coping with her loss. ‘I left shortly after I received your letter, but we had terrible rain which impeded my journey. I know how difficult this can be. How are you faring?’

Her sister waved her hand as if losing her husband was of no true consequence. Which it probably wasn’t, to Lizzy. ‘It truly is a relief.’ She eyed Charlotte’s black dress and then studied her bonnet.

Silently, Charlotte began counting down the seconds before her sister voiced her opinion of her ensemble. She got to seven.

‘I like your bonnet. The ostrich feather is a nice touch. It’s rather fetching. Perhaps I’ll have one made for me.’ Lizzy wrinkled her brow. ‘That isn’t four years old, is it?’ The concern for liking something that might not be deemed the latest fashion clearly concerned her sister.

‘No, I did not have this when I went into mourning for Jonathan. I bought the bonnet some months ago and added the feather before I left.’

A sense of relief brightened Lizzy’s expression. ‘You’ve become quite skilled with trimmings. Had you married a prosperous duke as I had done, and not a third son, you would have no need to alter your bonnets or gowns. You’d simply buy new ones. What do you think of this dress? It’s from Madame Bouvier. I’m not certain about the flounces at the hem.’

‘It’s lovely, Lizzy. Perhaps you’d like to borrow my fichu? I believe that gown was designed to wear with one.’

‘Nonsense. I am in a position now to search for a husband. I see no reason to hide the assets God has given me.’

‘Your husband has just died.’

‘And?’

‘He is lying over there.’

Lizzy rolled her eyes. ‘Skeffington is dead. He can’t see me.’

‘But those in attendance can.’

‘If one is to catch a husband, one needs to bait them.’ She cast a disapproving eye at Charlotte’s fichu. ‘How I wish you would put away your widow’s weeds. I haven’t seen you out of mourning attire in years.’

None of her family and friends understood what it was like to have the man you loved ripped from you. When the letter arrived, informing her Jonathan had perished nobly during the Battle of Waterloo, the pain of losing him was more than she thought she could bear. He had been aide-de-camp to Wellington. A man in that position was not supposed to die. A man in that position should have returned from the war and settled with her into a comfortable life. Other men had returned. Why couldn’t he?

‘For the hundredth time, I will not marry unless I become destitute and I’m forced to do so. The heart isn’t capable of falling in love twice in a lifetime and there is no reason to marry if it’s not for love.’

The moment the words left her mouth, she wished she could have taken them back. Charlotte had been fortunate to be allowed to marry the man she loved because it cemented an age-old alliance between their families. Lizzy had been ordered to marry a pompous old man for his title. There was no need to remind her of that.

‘You always were the sentimental one. Not everyone needs to marry for love. However, I assure you the next time my marriage banns are read in church people will not give me pitying looks. This time, I will see jealousy in their eyes.’

‘Why does it sound as if you have already set your sights on the man you’d like to marry?’

‘Perhaps I have,’ she replied with a broad smile. ‘Which reminds me. You need to go upstairs.’ She began pulling Charlotte towards the door by the elbow.

‘I assure you I am not in need of a respite. Violet is unpacking my belongings as we speak. I want to be here by your side through all of this, just as you supported me. I know how distressing this can be.’

‘Charlotte, do I look distressed?’ Lizzy tilted her head. ‘I thought not.’

‘But I haven’t even paid my respects to the Duke.’

‘I assure you, he won’t miss you. I need you to have Marie get my dress ready for this evening. And perhaps you can go to Lock and Company and purchase me a hat like the one you are wearing. Or you can let me borrow your hat. Oh, please let me borrow yours. The more I look upon it, the more I like it and there probably isn’t one exactly like that in the shop.’

‘Tonight? Where are you going tonight?’

‘I’m going to the burial service.’

Charlotte pulled her to a stop. There were rules and as the oldest Sommersby sister it often fell to her to remind Lizzy of them. ‘You can’t go,’ she whispered sternly. ‘It’s not done.’

‘I’m a duchess. I can be as eccentric as I wish.’

‘What of the new Duke? Surely he will not approve of such behaviour.’

‘He is not in London to offer any opinion on the matter. I am going to that church tonight. You can either help me with my arrangements or you can add to the pain this whole event is causing me by trying to thwart me. Either way, I will go.’

Why did Lizzy have to be so stubborn? ‘It’s too dangerous to travel with the funeral procession through the streets of London at night.’

‘I shall have the funeral furnisher arrange armed escorts for my carriage.’

‘You don’t think it will cause gossip?’

‘I am a grieving widow who wants to be with my husband to the very end.’ She opened her eyes wide and batted her lashes.

‘Lizzy, do you not believe Skeffington is dead? Do you think he will sit up and prove everyone wrong? Is that what this is about?’

‘No, of course not. I witnessed his last breath. I even poked him with my fork to be certain. The man is dead. But another man will be at the service and he is the reason I need to be there.’ She gave Charlotte a genuine, warm smile. ‘Do this for me, Sister. It isn’t that much to ask of you, is it? I need to be there.’

Three years separated them in age. They had been very close growing up. Before Charlotte married Jonathan, they had been inseparable. Lizzy raised her eyebrows and smiled again, resembling the young girl who loved to try on Charlotte’s gowns and sit on her bed to fix her hair. It was hard not to smile back.

‘Will you help me pick out a suitable gown, Charlotte? Please.’

‘Very well. I will help you with your plan to attend church this evening. But you must permit me to go along with you. I do not want you to travel alone. Now go back to do your duty as his widow and I will arrange to have a suitable dress ready for you.’

‘And your hat? You’ll let me wear your hat?’

Charlotte covered her lips to hide her smile. ‘Yes, Lizzy. I will let you wear my hat.’

Her sister kissed her on the cheek and squeezed her hand. ‘You are the best of sisters. Thank you again for coming to Town to be with me through this. I know how much you dislike leaving your village, however you shall not regret it.’

While Lizzy might have been glad she was here, Charlotte knew her calm and orderly life was about to be disrupted in unknown ways. She could feel it.