One Week to Wed

by Laurie Benson

  The last time he’d seen Matthew alive was when they’d parted ways in a tavern before Matthew joined Peter for the journey up north to investigate an uprising about Catholic emancipation. Now Peter was standing over Gabriel with a gun pointed at his chest. A minute later Peter cocked his pistol and Andrew shot him. The reality of it, all these years later, still made his blood run cold. Gabriel managed to cover up the nature of the shootings and they had been blamed on an attempted robbery. The kind of trust answering her question required was something he couldn’t afford to offer her.

  He scrubbed his hand across the light stubble on his cheeks. She was still waiting for his answer. He would have to lie and blame his reaction on his pugilist training. She couldn’t know that his instincts to defend himself began when his father had one of his finest operatives train Andrew and Gabriel in various forms of self-defence when the boys were only ten and eleven years of age. At the time, they were unaware their father was grooming both of them for a future protecting the Crown. That was only revealed to them seven years later. But for over twenty years his instincts had been honed for self-preservation. It wasn’t something he could shut off at will, even if he wanted to—which for his own safety would not be wise.

  ‘You know I like to box. When you’re standing in the ring you become so focused. It’s as though you are looking at things through a pipe and all you can see is what is directly in front on you. Everything else is blacked out. Your sole focus is on survival—on not being carted out looking like a bloody mess. I’ve boxed for years. I’ve trained and worked at it with a determination to be the best I can be.’

  Her gaze shifted from his face to his shoulders, then landed on his biceps. The fear was gone from her eyes and replaced with her undivided attention.

  ‘The more you box, the more your brain and your muscles react by instinct. If someone is trying to plant me a facer with their right hand, I don’t have to think that I should block them and give them an upper cut into their stomach. I just do it. My body takes over before my mind tells it to. That’s why I’m so good at it. That’s why I win as many matches as I do. I have quick reflexes.’

  ‘You’re saying that is why you held me down?’

  ‘I’m saying my body saw you as a threat. I’ve never woken up beside someone before. My instinct screamed I was in danger and that was how I reacted. Please believe me when I say that if I knew it was you, I never would have reacted the way I did when you put your hand on me.’

  ‘You did that because of how you were trained to fight in the ring?’ She was eyeing him with obvious curiosity.

  He was able to nod and swallow the lump in his throat.

  ‘Then I agree, Andrew. We shouldn’t sleep in the same bed. Soon we will be living apart. You won’t have enough time to get accustomed to sleeping beside me. It would be safer this way.’

  He held his hand out to her. Without hesitation, she placed her left one in his. The gold ring reflected the morning light.

  ‘I am sorry, Charlotte. Truly I am.’

  ‘You really have never slept in the same bed with anyone before?’

  ‘You’re the first,’ he replied with a shrug.

  ‘Humph.’ There was a small smile on her lips when she looked away. ‘I hope all that boxing is worth it. You are depriving yourself of a wonderful experience.’

  ‘Apparently, I am, since I slept for ten hours.’ The very idea of it was ludicrous. ‘However, boxing is not only a sport I enjoy, it is one of the ways I’ve become financially solvent so I do not have to appeal to my family for funds.’

  ‘I don’t understand. Do you make money on your boxing matches? Do people pay you to box? Are there wagers?’

  That made him laugh. ‘No, I am a silent partner in a boxing saloon on Bond Street. I’ve helped the gentleman who runs the establishment by providing him with additional financial help. In return, he pays me a percentage of his revenue. I also have shares in two taverns in Richmond and a coffee house in Islington.’

  Three of the gentlemen had worked for Gabriel. When they decided to end their careers in espionage, Andrew had helped them establish the coffee house and taverns so they could provide for themselves.

  She moved closer. ‘So, you are part-owner of a boxing saloon. Is that the one your brother thought you would want to get married in?’

  ‘It is. I spend a great deal of my time there.’

  ‘Then not only could you tell me what a boxing saloon looks like, you could show me.’ There was a spark of excitement in her eyes.

  ‘I could. I could show it to you any night you like after closing, or any morning before it opens for the day. I have the keys.’

  ‘What time does it open for the day?’

  ‘Eleven.’

  She was practically bouncing on the bed as she poked his side. ‘It is half past seven now.’

  ‘Yes, and I have the oddest desire to go back to sleep after this morning’s excitement.’

  ‘Well, not in here you won’t. Take me now.’

  For the first time since he had woken up, he realised he was naked and she was not wearing anything under that white sheet wrapped around her curves. Crawling over her like a lion, he made her drop back on to her pillows.

  ‘I would like nothing better.’ He dipped his head down to her neck and placed soft kisses along her skin before trailing his lips to the swell of her breast. Kneading her soft flesh with his hand, he gave it a gentle squeeze before sucking the tip into his mouth.

  Her back arched off the mattress and she let out a moan before pushing on his shoulders. He lifted his head and met her half-opened eyes.

  ‘I meant take me to see the boxing saloon, not take me in my bed.’

  ‘Can’t we do both?’

  ‘I suppose we can, but we should hurry before the saloon opens for the day.’

  ‘You want to do this quick?’

  As if she might be regretting her words, she chewed her lip. ‘This time.’

  ‘Ah, so you’re already thinking about next time.’ He cupped her breast again. ‘I think I can accommodate your request this time. Next time we will take it slow. Or perhaps we can do it again rather quickly in the dressing room of an empty boxing saloon.’

  Chapter Twenty

  They had been married for only two weeks and Charlotte was already accustomed to her husband’s behaviour. For a man who had lived alone, Andrew was remarkably easy to live with. They discovered they both woke up early and, while he hadn’t slept in her bed again since their wedding night, he did manage to crawl into hers around the time she woke up each day, delaying her morning walk in the park and his morning ride.

  They both read the same papers and both were not fond of sugar in their coffee or tea. He was gone most of the day, handling his business affairs, which suited Charlotte just fine since she wasn’t accustomed to having a husband underfoot. However, each night he’d return home and they’d spend hours enjoying dinner together, walking through the garden and engaging in stimulating conversations.

  She was also enjoying the time she was spending with Olivia, who had also remained in Town despite the Season ending. Apparently, Gabriel also had things to attend to in Town that kept them out of their country home in July. It was wonderful to be able to ask her questions about the changes she could expect in her body in the coming months. And since Olivia had delivered her second only five months ago, the memory of that birth was still fresh in her mind.

  Thankfully, Andrew wasn’t treating her like a rare piece of porcelain because of her condition. Around him, she never felt helpless. He even agreed to teach her how to box. And she was certain they were scandalising her aunt’s staff when he agreed to do so, out in the garden.

  Andrew had led her to a small grassy area lined with thick privet hedges and a garden bench that Charlotte had discovered was an ideal spot for reading. The sun was out and the bre
eze that was rustling through the leaves was warm enough for Andrew to go outside in just his linen shirt and his blue trousers that were tucked into a well-worn pair of topped boots. He had rolled his sleeves up and Charlotte was finding it difficult not to stare at the muscles of his forearms. It was an odd part of his body to set her pulse racing, however, she was finding it difficult not to keep looking down at them.

  ‘Charlotte, if you want to learn to throw a punch, you need to pay attention to what I’m saying.’

  ‘I am.’

  ‘No, you’re not. I want your eyes on me...on my eyes.’

  ‘Oh, very well.’

  When she looked up at him, she was met with his amused expression.

  He shook his head. ‘Now show me again how to make a fist.’

  She curled her hand into a first, remembering to keep her thumb on the outside, just as he instructed her.

  ‘Good, now hit my hand.’ He held up his right palm with his fingers extended straight into the air.

  ‘I can’t hit you.’

  ‘Of course you can. Just punch my palm as hard as you can.’

  She threw her hand into his and had the satisfaction of hearing a loud smack. His hand barely moved.

  ‘Harder, Charlotte.’

  ‘That was hard,’ she insisted.

  He arched his brow. ‘Think of something that makes you really angry. Think of how you feel when I take the last bits of the crispy bacon at breakfast.’

  She threw her hand into his, harder this time. His hand jerked back an inch.

  ‘You can do better than that. Think of something that makes you furious...something that you wished you were able to address, but you can’t...something that is out of your control.’

  She thought of all the letters that she had written to Lizzy that were sent back unopened. She thought of how if only she was given the chance, she’d be able to make her sister understand and maybe forgive her.

  The force of her punch was so strong that it threw Andrew’s hand back and he shook it out.

  She grabbed his wrist and looked at his hand. ‘Did I hurt you?’

  ‘Yes,’ he said with a laugh. ‘But you were supposed to. How did that feel?’

  ‘Brilliant!’ All this time thinking about Lizzy and worrying that she would never speak to her sister again had been eating her up inside. That punch made her feel a little better.

  ‘Would you like to do it again?’

  She threw another punch at his hand, this time with all her might. The sound of someone clearing their throat startled both of them and they turned to find one of Aunt Clara’s footmen standing nearby holding out a calling card to Charlotte.

  ‘Elizabeth, the Duchess of Skeffington, is here to see you, madam.’

  Convinced she had misheard him, Charlotte took the card with her sore hand.

  ‘Shall I tell her you’re receiving?’ He glanced at Andrew before looking back at her for some indication.

  For weeks, she had tried to speak with Lizzy. Now that she was here, Charlotte’s heart began to pound as she wondered what had finally brought her to her door.

  Andrew stepped closer and brushed a wayward curl away from her forehead. He had been with her when some of those letters were returned. Not once had he asked her about them, but she knew he was attuned to how sad she would get each time she received one.

  The footman cleared his throat. ‘Madam?’

  ‘I will see her in the drawing room. See that tea is brought there and let her know that I will be in to see her shortly. I just have to tidy myself up.’

  With a nod and a nervous glance at Andrew, he went back down the gravel path to the house.

  Andrew lifted her hand—the one that she had used to punch him—and kissed her knuckles. ‘I assume by your expression you were unaware she would be calling on you today.’

  ‘She has returned all my letters. She has never even read them. Perhaps she has come to tell me to stop writing to her.’ Charlotte rubbed her stomach, trying to sooth the nerves that were jumping around in there.

  ‘If that were the case, I would think she would send you a note and not have travelled here to do it.’

  Unless she felt the need to rail at Charlotte some more... She still felt horrible at destroying her sister’s hopes of marrying Andrew, but there were still times she wondered if he would have pursued Lizzy if they had not met.

  ‘Would you like me to remain by your side while you meet her? Perhaps if I lay the blame for the child at my door, you will be able to mend your relationship.’

  He was being lovely. She placed her hand on his chest, just above his heart, and tried to absorb some of the calmness coming out of the steady beats.

  ‘While I appreciate the kind gesture, I think it would be better if I speak with her alone.’ She knew seeing them together would be difficult for Lizzy and they would never be able to discuss what had really caused a rift between them if Andrew was present.

  ‘Very well. I’ll be down in the kitchen having them chip away some ice for my hand.’ A teasing smile lifted his lips before he kissed her temple. ‘I know you have great affection for her. However, I am not pleased with her for causing you any pain, but for your sake I hope you and your sister are able to mend this.’

  Deep down Charlotte knew this might be her only chance. If she couldn’t get Lizzy to understand now, time would make it harder and harder to fix this and easier to remain estranged.

  * * *

  Charlotte’s heart was pounding with apprehension as she walked into the drawing room and found her sister standing in front of one of the long windows with her arms crossed, staring pensively out at the garden.

  ‘Hello, Lizzy.’

  As she turned her head, Lizzy’s eyebrows rose when her gaze dropped to Charlotte’s dress. ‘You’re wearing green.’ The surprise that was apparent in her voice was enough to make her turn her entire body to face Charlotte. ‘When did you stop wearing your mourning gowns?’

  ‘On my wedding day.’

  Lizzy looked back at the window, but it was evident she wasn’t seeing past the glass panes.

  ‘I had begun to give up hope we would talk again,’ Charlotte said, stepping further into the room, not sure if she was stepping into a lion’s den. ‘You returned all my letters.’

  ‘I wasn’t ready to read them.’ Her attention was back on Charlotte and it was difficult to determine how she was feeling from her stoic expression.

  ‘And now?’

  Her sister scanned the open doorway behind Charlotte, while she rubbed her chest above the neckline of her grey and white muslin gown. Lizzy had not removed her lavender pelisse, although it was unbuttoned. Hopefully this meant she had intended to spend more than a few minutes in the same room with her sister.

  ‘Now I find I want to see how you are faring.’ She gestured towards Charlotte’s flat abdomen as if she couldn’t bring herself to mention the baby that was the result of Charlotte and Andrew’s one night together.

  ‘I’ve arranged tea for us. Will you stay?’

  Lizzy hesitated before walking towards the unlit hearth and taking a seat on one of the sofas. Charlotte wished she knew if the visit was one of true concern for her well-being or just morbid curiosity. Thankfully the tea arrived, breaking the awkward moment and giving Charlotte something to do. She handed Lizzy a cup of tea with milk and two lumps, just the way she liked it, and began to pour her own.

  ‘Lady Margaret Dawson passed yesterday, delivering her sixth child.’

  That was not news that was particularly comforting to hear at this moment of Charlotte’s life. The statement hung in the air while Charlotte wondered if her sister realised how frightening news like that could be for a woman who would be giving birth.

  ‘You have my condolences. I know she was a friend.’

  ‘She was. Thank you.’ T
here was sorrow in Lizzy’s eyes as she took a sip of tea. ‘I understand you were married here.’

  Charlotte glanced up from pouring tea into her cup. ‘I was. Our aunt was kind enough to offer it to us.’

  ‘Which room were you married in?’

  Afraid her hands would shake because she was leery of how the conversation might turn, Charlotte rested her cup and saucer on her knee. ‘This one.’

  Her sister surveyed the room. ‘It’s an interesting choice for a wedding location. I understand from our sister that his family was in attendance along with Aunt Clara and Juliet, but no one else save the vicar.’

  ‘We... I wanted something small.’

  ‘I would have chosen St George’s or St James’s.’ She eyed the room again and then her gaze landed once again on Charlotte’s muslin gown and her forehead wrinkled. ‘You’ve taken off Jonathan’s ring.’ It was stated as an observation, not an accusation.

  Charlotte hadn’t thought about that ring since she locked it away. As if she could still touch it, her hand went to her chest, where there was a sudden pang of guilt. ‘It was time to put it away.’

  ‘I’d been telling you that for years,’ Lizzy said over the brim of her teacup. ‘You never listened to me.’

  ‘I would still be wearing it if it weren’t for...’ She put her lips together because she didn’t know what else to say. She knew Lizzy had been picturing what her own wedding to Andrew would have been like.

  ‘You don’t look as though you’re carrying his child.’

  Was she accusing Charlotte of fabricating a baby so Andrew would be forced to marry her? ‘I understand in another two months or so I will begin to show.’ It was hard not to sound defensive.

  ‘What does it feel like?’

  Oh, God, did Lizzy want to hear what it was like to be married to Andrew? It was wonderful. He was wonderful. But that wouldn’t help mend fences with Lizzy. Or had she meant carrying the child? ‘I suffered with some minor illness early on. It seems to have subsided now.’