One Week to Wed

by Laurie Benson

  Charlotte appeared to be recalling the contents of her sister’s letter. ‘She did.’ Her brow wrinkled.

  ‘And what did you tell her?’

  ‘That he would be in attendance along with the rest of your family.’

  ‘And her reply to you?’

  She stopped stroking the fur of the cloak. ‘She said she wasn’t certain if they would be able to travel that far from Bath in December to join us.’

  ‘You see.’

  ‘That can’t be the reason. In any event, they will be spending the holidays with us, which fills me with happiness. Lizzy is still so muddled in her own affairs with the new Duke that she will not be there, but promises to visit as soon as she is able.’ Charlotte went back to petting the cloak. ‘I shall wear this Christmas Day to church.’

  ‘Wear it before then. I had them line it in wool to keep you warm all winter.’

  She sashayed up to him, making Andrew laugh, and showed him her appreciation with a long deep kiss.

  ‘I shall be the envy of all the women I meet.’

  Gabriel was much better with fashionable things than Andrew was. It had taken him over an hour to choose the cloak. ‘You think I made a fine choice?’

  ‘I was referring to you. All the women will envy me because I have such a thoughtful husband.’ Her eyes widened and she turned around towards the fire burning in the hearth. ‘I almost forgot, I have something for you.’

  ‘You do?’

  ‘Yes, come here.’ She pulled him by the hand to the hearth and gestured to the wall. ‘Look.’

  His four paintings by George Stubbs were hanging on the wall, two on each side of the fireplace that had her prized arrow on the mantel. ‘How did you know?’

  ‘Your mother showed them to me the night I met her.’ She took a step forward and cocked her head. ‘I’m still not certain I like the red jockey on the upper right. What do you think?’

  ‘I’m coming up behind you,’ he announced with a grin before he slid his arms around her and rested his hands over the bump where their child was.

  She leaned her head back next to his.

  ‘Do you even like horses?’ he asked. ‘I mean, like them enough to have them hanging in our drawing room?’

  ‘Don’t you? I think I rather do. They remind me of our home in Cheshire.’

  He kissed her temple. ‘Thank you. I love them.’

  ‘But you still haven’t told me if you like the red jockey on the right side.’

  ‘Perhaps we should ask our daughter.’ He dropped to his knees in front of her and rubbed her stomach.

  ‘I thought you thought it was a boy.’

  ‘Today, I think it’s a girl.’

  ‘For someone so certain it would be a boy, you have been changing your mind an awful lot lately.’

  ‘Perhaps I like the idea of a small version of you running around our house. So why don’t we ask her if we should keep the red jockey where it is.’

  Her stomach pushed against his hand, making it move, and Charlotte let out a gasp.

  Andrew’s heart stopped and he froze. ‘What did I do? Should we get the physician?’

  ‘No. You didn’t do anything. It’s the baby.’

  ‘Has that ever happened before?’

  She shook her head and let out a soft laugh. ‘Olivia and Ann both told me this would happen. I just never expected it to feel so...so...’

  ‘Painful?’

  ‘Odd.’

  Her stomach rolled under his hand, moving it again.

  ‘Yes, odd is the right word for it,’ she said.

  They looked at one another with silly grins. Their child was in there. He was going to be a father. In his head he knew he was, but it had never felt quite real. It somehow felt as if Charlotte had just gained weight. But now...now he could envision it. Soon they would have a child in this house. One that would run around these rooms. One that he could teach to ride a horse. And build houses out of cards. And throw on his shoulders for walks around their garden in the summer.

  He stood up and pushed Charlotte’s hood back, bringing the sunlight streaming in from the windows on to his wife’s face.

  ‘Thank you for this,’ he said. ‘Thank you for all of this. I thought I was condemned to a life without love and the comfort of a family of my own. I thought I was broken, for what I had done, but you put me back together, piece by piece with your kindness, your strength and your understanding. I’m thankful every day for the love you’ve given me.’

  She brushed the hair from his forehead and he kissed her palm.

  ‘I should be thanking you. I thought my life was over four years ago. I was merely existing, not living. You brought light into my world when for so long I had been moving through darkness. You’ve showed me what it means to truly live life and enjoy every small moment. When I look at you, my heart bursts with all the love I feel for you and I am thankful every day that I met you and that you liked fireworks.’

  He wrapped his arms around her. ‘Especially fireworks in Cheshire, seen from a secluded hillside.’

  Charlotte leaned closer. Her lips were a mere breath from his. ‘They are my favourite ones.’

  Instead of agreeing, Andrew closed the distance between them and his lips met hers for a soul-searing kiss.

  * * * * *

  If you enjoyed this story

  don’t miss the next book in

  THE SOMMERSBY BRIDES miniseries—

  coming soon!

  And in the meantime

  check out Laurie Benson’s

  SECRET LIVES OF THE TON miniseries

  AN UNSUITABLE DUCHESS

  AN UNCOMMON DUKE

  AN UNEXPECTED COUNTESS

  Author Note

  The idea for this story came to me while I was helping two of my dearest friends get through some difficult times in their lives. I wanted to write a story about hope—a story that would remind people that it’s never too late to find love.

  If you’ve read my other books you’ll know that I like to use nuggets of history in my stories. The meeting in Manchester that Andrew and Charlotte attended is known today as the Peterloo Massacre and was held on the sixteenth of August 1819. During that summer Henry Hunt, who was a proponent of working-class radicalism and known as the Orator for his rousing speeches, was invited to address the crowd at a rally of the Patriotic Union Society in Manchester. He believed in annual Parliaments and universal suffrage, and favoured a tactic known as ‘mass pressure’ which he felt could achieve reform without insurrection.

  The crowds that turned out to hear him that day were enormous. There are accounts that sixty thousand to one hundred thousand people were there. Since the press frequently mocked meetings of working men because of their ragged appearance and disorganised conduct, the organisers instructed people attending to practise cleanliness, sobriety, order and peace. All weapons were to be prohibited throughout the demonstration.

  Local magistrates, some fearing a riot would take place, sent the local yeomanry to arrest Mr Hunt and the other speakers and to disperse the crowd. When the cavalry arrived, they charged into the crowd with their sabres drawn. Fifteen people were killed and four hundred to seven hundred were injured either from attacks by the cavalry or by the stampede of the crowd as they ran to get away.

  Mr Hunt was arrested and sent to prison. The massacre was given the name Peterloo by the Manchester Observer—a combination of the name of St Peter’s Field, where the massacre took place, and the Battle of Waterloo, which had taken place four years earlier.

  During the following months it appeared the country was headed for an armed rebellion. There were aborted uprisings in the autumn and in the winter the Cato Street conspiracy plot to blow up the Cabinet was discovered and stopped. By the end of the year the government introduced legislature, later known as the Six Acts, to sup
press radical meetings and publications.

  If you’re interested in learning more about the Peterloo Massacre, Henry Hunt and other historical details found in this book, please visit my website at lauriebenson.net and click on the link to my blog. You can search One Week to Wed for relevant articles. And while you’re there please subscribe to my newsletter for information about forthcoming books.

  I hope you’ve enjoyed reading One Week to Wed, which is the first book in my The Sommersby Brides series. To find out when Juliet and Lizzy’s stories will be released, visit my website.

  Keep reading for an excerpt from THE WARRIOR’S RUNAWAY WIFE by Denise Lynn.

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  The Warrior’s Runaway Wife

  by Denise Lynn

  Prologue

  Carlisle Castle—April 1145

  The large double doors of the Great Hall groaned open, slowing the fever-pitched conversations to a hushed whispering. Lord Elrik of Roul strode through the open doors, bringing even the whispers to a complete halt.

  Rain from the spring storm fell in rivulets from the wolf pelts trimming his full-length mantle. The cape swirled, sending droplets of rainwater to the floor in his wake.

  Men and women alike made way, clearing the path ahead of his long strides. The clinking of his linked-mail hauberk and spurs along with the heavy fall of his footsteps were the only sounds echoing in the hall.

  The visitors to King David’s court stared in fascination at the sight of the fabled man before them. Some were young enough to have grown up hearing stories of the King’s Wolves. They’d trembled at the tales told in the dark of night, wondering how much truth lay behind the words, yet not wanting to discover the answer for themselves.

  From the unkempt overlong hair, black as night and shot through with silver, to his frowning countenance, the furrowed brow resembling a dark outcrop over his greenish-gold eyes, to the beard covering his lower face, hiding his features, leaving only the thin line of his tightly held mouth visible, made them wonder if he was indeed part-wolf. A barely civilised, not quite human warrior who would think nothing of unleashing the terrors of hell on an unsuspecting prey.

  Elrik dropped to a knee at the bottom of the raised dais and bowed his head. He knew what these people thought of him, these weak-kneed courtiers who had rarely, if ever, used the sword belted to their side for anything more than show, and he cared not. As the Lord of Roul, he did what he needed to do to keep his lands, and his family, safe.

  Being one of David’s Wolves wasn’t easy, but then he’d never been blessed with a life of ease so why would this be any different? The one saving grace was that his three brothers made up the rest of his wolf pack and he could trust them with his life.

  King David stood. ‘Roul, join me.’

  Elrik rose and followed the King into the smaller chamber beyond the dais. Once the door closed behind the two of them they were afforded a privacy not available in the Great Hall.

  ‘Thank you for coming so quickly.’ David poured two goblets of deep red wine and offered one to Elrik, before settling into a chair.

  He accepted the liquid, hoping it would thaw his blood. ‘My liege?’

  ‘I apologise for taking you from the comfort of your fires, but I’ve a need for your particular skill.’

  ‘Who do you need found?’ He’d been born with an uncanny ability to track down things lost, whether it be a missing shoe or a person not wishing to be found.

  ‘Avelyn of Brandr.’

  Elrik paused before swallowing his wine. In the space of one heartbeat it all came flooding back. His father had sought to commit treason against King David at the prompting of Galdon, Lord of Brandr Isle. Brandr, named so because of the long, sharp, pointed rocks that stuck out from the northern end of the isle like ready swords, drawn for attack, wasn’t enough land for Galdon. Whether the traitor had acted of his own accord, or at the behest of his uncle by marriage and liege, Lord Somerled, the Lord of Argyll, or his maternal grandfather Óláfr, the King of the Isles, was never discovered since Brandr had used his connections to escape punishment. Unlike Elrik’s father.

  To save his father’s life, he and his younger brother Gregor had thrown themselves at King David’s feet, begging for mercy. Their plea had been heard and mercy granted—at the cost of nothing more than their souls.

  While their father had been confined to Roul Isle, he and Gregor, along with their two younger brothers, when they’d become old enough, had become King David’s Wolves. Men tasked with deeds that required secrecy and, at times, the steadfast ruthlessness of a wolf.

  He swallowed, then said, ‘I wasn’t aware Brandr had a daughter.’

  ‘A natural-born daughter.’

  Elrik wasn’t surprised. Especially since Brandr’s mother was conceived out of wedlock. Still, why would King Óláfr’s grandson come to the King of Scotland for assistance? More curious, why would Brandr risk coming to King David when the man had once joined forces with those intent on taking the throne from David? Not wanting to dredge up the traitor’s history—especially since his own father had been part of that treasonous act—he instead asked, ‘And Brandr came to you rather than going to his uncle or grandfather?’

  ‘Yes, it appears that way.’

  ‘Any reason given for keeping them in the dark?’

  ‘A marriage has been arranged between the girl and Sir Bolk, one of Óláfr’s minor lords.’

  Bolk? ‘Surely you don’t mean Bolk the elder?’

  The King nodded. ‘Yes. If I’m counting correctly, this will be his third wife.’

  What had the girl’s father been thinking to agree to that arrangement? That old, gnarled warlord had outlived the previous two. Obviously, Brandr’s daughter had not liked the idea of being number three. ‘How long has she been gone?’

  ‘My understanding is that she vanished three weeks ago, just moments before officially meeting the man.’

  Elrik set his empty goblet on the table, waving off a refill, and asked, ‘Any description of the woman?’

  ‘All I was told was that she has night-black hair, ice-blue eyes, fair skin, a well-made form and a temper befitting a daughter of Brandr.’

  Excellent. Not only was he required to find the daughter of a warlord whom he considered an enemy of his family, but a king’s great-granddaughter who had a three-week head start on him and a headstrong one who most likely desired not to be found.

  ‘Where was she last seen?’

 
; ‘She ran away from Oban.’

  There was little there other than the ruins of an ancient tower fort. ‘Any word after that?’

  ‘There were rumours of a black-haired wench in Duffield who’d killed a man for trying to stop her from stealing bread. Brandr’s men stopped their search there.’

  Elrik doubted the rumours held any truth. If the girl was smart enough to run away without being caught thus far, she wasn’t going to risk capture by doing anything to foolishly call attention to herself.

  However, if she had been spotted in Duffield, this mission could prove a little more difficult, which was why her father’s men had stopped their search. Going into England to hunt for the girl was one thing, but heading deeper into the Earl of Derby’s lands was another thing altogether. The first Earl of Derby had done much to help King Stephen keep unfriendly forces at bay—it was doubtful the second earl would do any less.

  Elrik knew he could find himself at the wrong end of a sword. Which, of course, was why he was being given the task—the Wolves were expendable. If captured, King David wasn’t going to offer a ransom—in fact, the King would deny all knowledge of the mission.

  So, he needed to make certain he wasn’t caught.

  The woman was either very strong and brave, or completely lacking in wits. She’d already travelled a far distance for a woman alone. Thankfully, it required no special powers to know she was headed for the southern coast and then on to Normandy, or France.

  ‘You need to find her before she leaves England.’

  ‘Where will Brandr be expecting her return?’

  ‘Not our concern, since his expectations will go unmet. Bring her here to me. Marrying off the eighteen-year-old great-granddaughter of a king to a nearly eighty-year-old minor vassal with no title, or holdings to speak of, seems a little suspicious, made more so by Brandr’s request for my assistance.’

  Elrik couldn’t disagree with that reasoning. ‘It is a bit...odd.’

  ‘More than just odd. Considering the man has already proven he cannot be trusted, I can’t help but wonder what he is plotting.’ David waved a hand, dismissing further discussion. ‘Find her, bring her here and do it quickly. Brandr will arrive within the next four weeks. I do not wish his presence for any longer than necessary and I intend to put a halt to his plans before his arrival.’