One Week to Wed Read online

  One stolen night...

  ...leads to unexpected wedding vows!

  Part of The Sommersby Brides: widowed Lady Charlotte Gregory believes she’ll never marry again after losing her husband. Until meeting dashing Lord Andrew Pearce brings her respectable, lonely world back to vibrant life! Left alone one night, they give in to their desires only to find their secret passion leads to shock, scandal...and a sudden marriage of convenience!

  The Sommersby Brides miniseries

  Book 1—One Week to Wed

  Look out for the next books, coming soon!

  “Delightfully unexpected plot twists, with lively dialogue and witty repartee.”

  —RT Book Reviews on The Unexpected Countess

  “This adventure and treasure hunt romance is a charmer.”

  —RT Book Reviews on The Unexpected Countess

  The Sommersby Brides

  Sisters, Scandals and Society Weddings

  Three sisters caught in scandalous situations

  find their love for each other stretched and tested. Three men will give each sister the happy-ever-after they deserve.

  There’s Lady Charlotte, who, as an independent widow, never thinks to find love again. Lady Juliet finds herself caught in a highly compromising situation, and Lady Elizabeth’s pretend marriage becomes all too real.

  Read Lady Charlotte’s story in

  One Week to Wed

  With Lady Juliet’s and Lady Elizabeth’s stories coming soon!

  LAURIE BENSON

  One Week to Wed

  Laurie Benson is an award-winning Regency romance author whose book An Unexpected Countess featured Harlequin’s 2017 Hero of the Year, as voted by readers. She began her writing career as an advertising copywriter. When she isn’t at her laptop avoiding laundry, Laurie can be found browsing antiques shops and going on long hikes with her husband and two sons. Learn more about Laurie by visiting her website at lauriebenson.net. You can also find her on Twitter and Facebook.

  Books by Laurie Benson

  Harlequin Historical

  The Sommersby Brides

  One Week to Wed

  Secret Lives of the Ton

  An Unsuitable Duchess

  An Uncommon Duke

  An Unexpected Countess

  Visit the Author Profile page at Harlequin.com.

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  For Terry. With every incredible challenge, you’ve responded with unbelievable strength. If I could write your happy-ever-after, I’d leave out all the bad stuff.

  Thank you to my wonderful editor, Linda Fildew; my team at Harlequin; and my agent, Courtney Miller-Callihan. Hugs to Lori, Mia, Jen, Harper, Anabelle and Michele for everything. Thank you to my family for your love and support. And thank you to my readers. For those of you who asked for Andrew’s story after you read An Uncommon Duke, this is for you.

  Contents

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Epilogue

  Author Note

  Excerpt from The Warrior’s Runaway Wife by Denise Lynn

  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 man
y 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 ap
prising 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.’