One Week To Wed. Laurie Benson

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       Chapter Two

      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 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 СКАЧАТЬ