One Week To Wed. Laurie Benson
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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.
Andrew saw no sense in accompanying the funeral procession to St Paul’s and helping to add to the spectacle. His brothers could do that for him. He arrived at the Cathedral after the funeral service had already begun, making his way up the aisle past prominent Members of Parliament and the ton to slip into the row his brothers were occupying not far from the altar. Monty covered a yawn as he nodded a silent greeting to him.
It wasn’t until the bishop began the eulogy that Andrew shifted his gaze and noticed a black-ostrich plume sway in the front row, across the aisle. He shifted his head and saw the back of a woman wearing a black bonnet like the one he had seen on the woman he almost ran into while leaving Skeffington’s house. This wasn’t the place for a woman.
‘What do you know of 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