One Week to Wed

by Laurie Benson

  The excitement and jovial mood of the people around them brought a smile to Charlotte’s face as she allowed Ann to pull her along from stall to stall so they could admire the embroidered shawls and gloves, as well as straw bonnets adorned with ribbons and flowers. She made a point of complimenting the work of each woman she spoke to and purchased a lovely pair of lavender gloves embroidered with violets.

  She had just picked up a small watercolour of Oakwood House when Ann leaned in closer. ‘Have I mentioned Lord Andrew has accompanied Toby here today?’

  ‘You have...twice.’

  ‘Have I?’

  ‘You know you have, Ann.’

  ‘Well, I just want to be certain you know. This will give you time to prepare yourself should you see him.’

  Charlotte pulled Ann to a stop and led her by the elbow to a quiet spot in the shade of a nearby tree. ‘Prepare myself for what? Has something happened to Lord Andrew?’

  ‘No, however I know something happened between the two of you at breakfast. I’ve never seen two people not want to speak to each other more than the two of you that morning. I think if it wasn’t considered impolite, both of you would have excused yourselves from the table the moment Toby and I walked in.’

  ‘I cannot speak for Lord Andrew, but that is not true of me.’

  Scepticism was written all over Ann’s face. ‘You barely spoke to him.’

  ‘I had nothing to say.’

  ‘You wouldn’t look at him and he was sitting directly across from you, even though the night before you could barely keep your eyes off of him when we were sitting by the fire.’

  ‘Have you always paid such close attention to my actions?’

  ‘When those unprecedented actions relate to an eligible man, I do.’

  ‘Please stop. He is a titled bachelor. If he is looking for a wife, he is looking for one who can give him an heir. Obviously after many years married to Jonathan with no child of our own, I am not that woman. I am not able to provide him with a child—or any other man for that matter. So, let us not talk of Lord Andrew and his need of a woman who can provide him with a son.’

  ‘But—’

  ‘No, Ann. We are not going to continue this discussion.’

  Her feelings had spilled out in such a rush. It was all so unexpected. She had not considered being unable to have children as an impediment to marrying again. But she had found herself thinking about it the other night. Men of the privileged class wanted sons to carry on the family name and take over their estates when they passed on. Should an unmarried man find out she was a widow without children, he might not pursue her further. However, she had found as soon as she was out of her mourning clothes, that a widow without children was an attractive prospect for a mistress. She was grateful every day that Lord Aldrich had decided not to continue leasing nearby Willowbrooke Manor after she had turned down his offer of protection.

  She was about to walk away from their secluded spot and continue shopping when Ann’s words stopped her.

  ‘You have never talked with me about any of this before now. I’m sorry. Any man would be a fool to put having children above marrying you. You are a loving and kind woman, Charlotte, and some day a man will see that and fall in love with you.’

  Not this conversation again!

  ‘Ann, love does not happen twice in a lifetime. A woman’s heart is incapable of loving two men. Most people we know have never even experienced love once. That part of my life is over and I’m doing everything in my power to make certain I do not need to enter into a marriage of convenience just to have a roof over my head. I will not marry again. My marriage to Jonathan was enough for a lifetime.’

  Ann took her hand. ‘I do not mean to cause you distress. That was not my intention. I adore you and only want you to be happy.’

  ‘I am happy. I have friends and family and loyal servants who make my life easier than it could be. I am fortunate that I am able to live a relatively comfortable life.’

  Distress knotted Ann’s brow. ‘Relatively?’

  ‘Compared to Lizzy.’

  ‘Compared to Lizzy we all live relatively comfortable lives.’

  That had them both smiling at the absurdity of it.

  ‘I never imagined when we were children,’ Ann said, ‘that Lizzy would live in such grandeur.’

  ‘I think Lizzy would have given up all that grandeur if she could have married the man that she loves.’

  ‘Lizzy is in love?’ Ann’s eyes grew wide.

  She wasn’t about to reveal her sister’s feelings for the Duke of Winterbourne’s brother. She had said too much already. But Ann’s eager expression did make her laugh. ‘I was speaking in hypotheticals.’

  ‘Oh, yes, I suppose you’re right. I’m lucky I fell in love with Toby not long after we were wed. But I do not think anyone would have fallen in love with Skeffington.’

  They headed back to the stalls, each considering how they would have reacted to being told they were to marry a seventy-year-old man when they were barely old enough to feel like an adult.

  ‘Lizzy was so much fun to be around when we were younger,’ Charlotte mused. ‘Do you remember how eager she would be to get into some form of mischief or another?’

  ‘I remember when you were that way as well. I adore being with you, but I think you’ve forgotten how pleasurable a bit of excitement can be.’

  Those sounded like the words Lord Aldrich had said to her when he was trying to coax her into the library during that summer ball. Excitement led to scandal. She was too smart to think one did not go without the other.

  * * *

  Andrew leaned against a tree with Toby, watching the rowing-boat races on the lake not far from Oakwood House. He had often participated in similar races when he was younger during house parties. It was difficult to resist the pull of competition. Even now he was tempted to join in the next race.

  Fairs such as this had always been a favourite of his when he was young. He had fond memories of running through them with his brothers and challenging each other to all the games they could. Now, it was an ideal place to overhear rumblings of discontent.

  ‘Shall we see what other forms of entertainment there are?’ he asked Toby.

  ‘There’s archery for friendly competition. Although friendly competition might be too tame for you.’

  Andrew nodded and shoved his hands in the pockets of his coat. That sense of excitement at the chance to best someone in competition ran through his veins. ‘How friendly does the competition get?’

  ‘I’m sure the wagers placed here are far less than you are accustomed to, however I always sensed the amount of the wager was never the incentive with you.’

  ‘Anyone can join in?’

  ‘Yes. Men. Women. Young. Old. It doesn’t matter. It’s all done in good fun.’

  ‘That should make for an interesting experience at least. Will you be joining in?’

  ‘I don’t believe so. However, I think I will be betting on you.’

  ‘That’s if I decide to compete.’

  ‘You were rather a crack shot with a bow when we were at college, if I recall correctly.’

  They made their way up the hill to the front lawn of the house where ten large hay bales with painted targets were facing a large grove of trees. People of various ages stood in the shade, taking turns with the bows and arrows provided. There didn’t appear to be an organised competition from what Andrew could see. It was disappointing.

  He was about to suggest they get some food since the smell of roasting meat was travelling over the light breeze, but then he spied Mrs Knightly and Lady Charlotte talking with a young man waiting to try his luck.

  It was distinctly possible she would give him the cut when she saw him, but instead she met his gaze when the ladies walked towards them. He didn’t like the way they’d left thi
ngs. He didn’t like the impression she had of him. But he wasn’t sure how to fix it or why it should even matter.

  ‘It is no surprise we are finding you here,’ Mrs Knightly said, smiling up at Toby. ‘Each year you say you will not compete and each year you do.’

  Andrew tipped his hat cautiously at Lady Charlotte and found he was relieved when she offered him a polite curtsy in return.

  Andrew turned to his friend. ‘You said you would not compete.’

  ‘He says that every time,’ Mrs Knightly said, glancing at Lady Charlotte. ‘He will probably blame us for his actions.’

  ‘They both coax me relentlessly until there is nothing left to do but compete.’

  ‘Because you are such a fine shot,’ Lady Charlotte chimed in.

  He had forgotten what a pleasant-sounding voice and accent she had. Especially when she wasn’t accusing him of being a thoughtless prig.

  ‘Your skills have improved then?’ Andrew asked with good humour.

  ‘They might have.’ It might be the ale they had drunk, but Toby appeared quite pleased with himself.

  Mrs Knightly brushed a small green leaf off her husband’s shoulder. ‘Have you the skill, Lord Andrew?’

  ‘I have been told I do.’

  ‘Why so modest now?’ Toby sputtered. ‘Moments ago, you were boasting how you could beat any of those here.’

  ‘Maybe the two of you should see who is a better shot?’ Mrs Knightly offered.

  ‘Do you see how they coax me into this?’

  ‘I spy two bales next to one another at the end of the row that are not being used. We could go there.’ Mrs Knightly was quite eager for her husband to compete. It was rather amusing.

  As they walked down the row of trees, Lady Charlotte approached Andrew’s side. The way she was chewing her lip, he could see she was struggling with something to say.

  ‘Lord Andrew, I feel I must apologise for the way I attacked you at breakfast the other morning. I barely let you speak to defend yourself before I voiced an opinion on you based not on fact but on conjecture. It was unkind of me.’

  Her statement took him aback both in its candour and in the act itself. He had thought about her a number of times since she’d left Toby’s house and still had trouble recalling how their conversation had turned so quickly. While he was visiting Toby, he saw no reason there should be ill will between them.

  ‘I accept your apology. I believe we both could have comported ourselves better and been more open to listening to the other’s views. Was your driver able to navigate the road safely when you were travelling home?’

  ‘He was. Thank you.’

  She was walking on the side closer to the trees and a particularly low branch was about to impede her way, so he lifted it for her to walk under.

  They approached the shaded area where Toby and his wife were waiting and his friend handed him a bow and a quiver of arrows he had taken from the stash leaning against a tree. Once Andrew had looked over the bow and tested the string, they agreed to shoot three arrows each. It didn’t take long for Andrew to win.

  The entire time he was competing against Toby, he felt Lady Charlotte’s gaze on him. Unlike the times he’d caught the Duchess of Skeffington watching him, with Lady Charlotte he didn’t mind. It actually made him stand up taller and take his time to prolong the experience of holding her attention.

  * * *

  Charlotte stood about ten feet from Lord Andrew and watched him shoot arrows into a bale of hay and was mesmerised. His broad shoulders were defined by the brown coat he wore and the outline of the muscles in his legs were visible through his buckskin breeches. When she had walked beside him earlier, he had the faint scent of leather about him, probably from his brown gloves or the topped boots he wore.

  With his attention firmly fixed on his target, she felt at ease studying him. The wavy locks of his light brown hair near his collar would occasionally lift in the warm breeze, but nothing appeared to break his concentration. His skill was evident with every arrow he shot, each one landing in the centre ring of the bull’s-eye. And the precision of his movements left her transfixed.

  As they were about to walk away from the archery area, Lord Andrew called them back. ‘Wouldn’t the ladies like to try?’ He held his bow out to her.

  In all the years coming to the fair, she had always enjoyed watching the participants at the archery range, but she hadn’t shot an arrow since she was sixteen. She didn’t even remember how.

  Lord Andrew walked a few paces towards her. ‘I assure you it will not slither up your arm like a snake. The bow is harmless. I can show you how to use it, if you are so inclined.’

  She tried to school the uncertainty that must have been written on her face before meeting his gaze. Amber flecks in his eyes were visible in the sunlight filtering down on them through the leaves above. As if he sensed her indecision needed a soft push, he pressed the grip of the bow into her palm. He should have released the bow. Instead, his hand slid over hers. The warmth of his skin seeped into hers through the leather of their gloves. They both stood there for a few moments, staring at their hands. She tried to recall the last time a man had touched her hand in such an intimate way and couldn’t. All she could seem to focus on was the pressure of his palm.

  And his faint scent of leather.

  And how she wanted to lean her body into his.

  When he released his grip, her hand felt cold in her kidskin glove.

  ‘I haven’t shot an arrow in years,’ she blurted out. ‘My sisters and I were taught and we practised when we stayed in our parents’ country home.’ Juliet had been the most competitive of the Sommersby sisters. ‘I’m not sure I remember how it’s done,’ she stated, wrinkling up her face as she reconsidered her desire to try.

  He extended his elbow to her and motioned to the area set aside for the archers. ‘It would be my honour to remind you.’

  She told herself the excitement she was feeling was at the prospect of shooting arrows again and not sliding her hand along the crook of his arm as he escorted her to the shooting line. When they stopped at the line and he guided her body sideways, her legs felt weak. The chance of her hitting the target would be hindered by the brim of her bonnet, so she took it off and placed it near her feet.

  Lord Andrew handed her an arrow. When she was about to notch it into the string, he stopped her hand and stepped behind her. Tingles ran along her spine.

  ‘Let me show you,’ he whispered as his soft breath fanned her hair.

  She was so attuned to the feel of his breath and his very masculine presence behind her, it became impossible for her to move. He shifted her hips slightly so she was standing completely sideways to her target and then he guided her arm straight out.

  ‘We can do this one together. Here, do not bend your elbow.’

  As she notched the arrow in the string, his hand remained on her arm.

  ‘Now when you pull the string back, remember to keep this arm stiff like a board of wood. After you are satisfied with your aim, just release the arrow with the tips of your fingers. Do not move your hand. That will keep the bow steady.’

  He could have been instructing her how to pluck a chicken. With his deep voice in her ear and warm breath on her neck, Charlotte was having a difficult time not closing her eyes. It felt intimate and clandestine—even though they were in full view of everyone around them. He was asking her something about her aim. Charlotte assumed he wanted to know if she was ready to release the arrow. She adjusted the bow a fraction of an inch as she tried to measure it up against her target.

  ‘You will hit that target.’

  It would never be possible to hit anything if he continued to whisper in her ear!

  When she let go of the arrow, she expected him to step back—but he did not. Instead, he leaned into her back as the arrow flew and they waited together to see if she
would hit the bale of hay. The arrow penetrated the hay bale just at the edge...which was a miracle in itself. She had the strongest urge to hug him. It was an outlandish notion.

  Even if she hadn’t felt his lips curl into a smile by her ear, she could easily hear the delight in his voice.

  ‘Well done, my lady. I think you’re ready to try this without me.’ He took a step back.

  But she rather preferred doing it with him against her so much more. Did he have to move? Why had she put so much effort into hitting the target on her first try?

  ‘Do you remember how it’s done?’

  All she could remember was the feel of his strength and warmth behind her. A sigh escaped her lips before she was able to stop it, shortly followed by a warm flush heating her cheeks.

  He stepped around to face her while letting out a low laugh. It was the first time she had heard him laugh and it was a wonderful feeling knowing she had amused him.

  ‘Do not sound so defeated. You stated you have not shot an arrow in ages and yet you managed to hit the target on your first try.’

  ‘Because you were guiding me.’

  ‘Because you follow directions well and have good aim. You were the one to line up your target, not me. You were the one to hit it.’

  ‘With some help.’

  ‘Pointers,’ he corrected her with a grin. He slipped another arrow out of the quiver slung over his shoulder and held it out to her. ‘Are you willing to accept the challenge?’

  ‘I want to hit the centre.’

  Approval mixed with admiration shone in his eyes. ‘Then tell yourself you will.’

  ‘Is that what you do?’ she asked, taking the arrow.

  ‘Whenever I face a challenge, I tell myself I can conquer it.’