Laurie Benson - One Week To Wed

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.