Chapter 3
The first words of the ceremony passed Augusta without meaning, and her attention remained fixed upon the silver raven beneath the Duke of Ravenhill’s hand.
There could not be two canes so perfectly alike. Surely, this was too big a coincidence.
Phillipa stood before that same man, prepared to bind herself to him for the rest of her life.
To her credit, she appeared composed beneath her veil. Only Augusta knew what she had admitted in the room behind the chapel. Even though he hadn’t been her first choice, it still had been premised on the assumption that he was an honorable man. It made her heart sink.
Charity touched Augusta’s arm again, her concern deepening.
“You are trembling,” she whispered. “Are you unwell?”
Augusta shook her head, though she could not drag her eyes from the duke.
“We must speak outside,” Charity murmured. “Whatever is troubling you can wait until the ceremony is finished.”
Every word the officiant spoke brought Phillipa closer to becoming Ravenhill’s wife.
Once the vows were exchanged, there would be no simple way to free her.
Augusta knew enough of marriage to understand that a husband could isolate his wife, dismiss her fears, and keep her beneath his authority without anyone questioning his right to do so.
What would happen if Phillipa discovered the truth after the wedding?
The duke’s gaze remained upon Phillipa, but Augusta could not forget the moment he had looked toward her.
She had seen no recognition in his face.
Perhaps the darkness had concealed her as thoroughly as his hood had concealed him.
If he had recognized her, he possessed enough control not to show it.
The thought made Augusta’s skin turn cold.
The officiant continued in an even voice, asking the duke whether he would take Phillipa as his lawful wife. Ravenhill answered without hesitation.
“I will.” his voice was deep and controlled, exactly as Augusta might have expected from his appearance.
Phillipa gave the same answer when the question was put to her, though her voice was quieter.
Augusta’s fingers tightened, and Charity turned sharply toward her. “Augusta, you’ve gone pale, and I’m getting really worried for you.”
But it was easy to tune her out. At the front of the church, the officiant reached the final portion of the ceremony.
“If any person present knows of any lawful impediment why these two should not be joined in matrimony, let him speak now or forever hold his peace.”
Augusta knew that it was now or never.
She stood.
The movement drew every eye in the church toward her. For one terrible instant, she could not find her voice. She saw Phillipa turn beneath her veil, and Duke Ravenhill looked directly at Augusta, his expression unreadable.
“This wedding cannot continue,” Augusta said, her eyes fixed on the cane.
“Augusta?” Phillipa stared at her.
“The Duke of Ravenhill is a murderer.”
The church erupted as voices rose from every side. Guests twisted in their seats, demanding explanations from one another as though anyone but Augusta could provide them. A woman near the rear gave a loud gasp, while several gentlemen stood to obtain a better view.
Charity pulled Augusta down by the wrist.
“What have you done?” she whispered fiercely.
At the front of the church, Lord Hewes had risen and moved toward his daughter. Phillipa remained beside the duke, her face almost entirely without color.
In all this, Duke Ravenhill had not moved. His stillness was more alarming than an outburst might have been. One hand remained upon his cane while the other closed slowly at his side. His gaze settled upon Augusta with such cold intensity that the noise around them seemed to fade.
The officiant attempted to restore order, but no one listened. Duncan stood and placed himself partly between Augusta and the aisle..
The tapping of his cane against the stone floor cut through the surrounding voices as he approached. Guests moved out of his way without being asked. When he stopped before Augusta, his expression was controlled, but there was no mistaking his fury.
“You will explain that accusation,” he said.
“I intend to.” Augusta rose again, though Charity still held her arm.
He looked toward Duncan, then Charity. “You and your family will follow me.”
“My wife and sister will go nowhere with you unless I accompany them.” Duncan’s expression darkened.
Ravenhill’s gaze shifted to him. “I included you when I said, family.”
Without waiting for an answer, he turned toward Lord Hewes. “Bring Phillipa,” he said. “We will settle this away from the guests.”
Lord Hewes looked as though he wished to object to being ordered about in his own daughter’s wedding, but the disorder in the church left little room for argument. He took Phillipa’s arm and led her toward the side passage as Ravenhill followed.
Duncan offered Augusta his arm, though his face made clear that the gesture was not optional.
“Come,” he said. “And do not say another word until we are behind a closed door.”
Augusta allowed him to guide her. As they passed the watching guests, fragments of conversation reached her.
Murder.
The words spread through the chapel faster than any explanation could have contained them. Charity walked beside Augusta until they entered the small withdrawing room behind the chapel. The moment the door closed, she turned upon her.
“Have you any notion of what you have just done?” she demanded.
Augusta had never heard her sister speak to her in that tone.
“I stopped Phillipa from marrying a man I believe to be dangerous.”
“You accused a duke of murder before half the most influential families in England,” Charity replied.
“I had no other opportunity.”
“You had every opportunity,” Charity said. “This should not be something that you should have involved yourself in, and if anything, you could have told us quietly.”
“The ceremony was already underway. I could not have…she would have become his wife by then.”
Lord Hewes, who had been speaking quietly to his daughter near the window, turned toward them.
“My daughter has not become anyone’s wife,” he said. “For which I suppose you ought to be congratulated, Lady Augusta. You have ensured that much.”
Phillipa stood beside him with her veil pushed back from her face. She looked shocked rather than angry, which Augusta found more difficult to bear.
“I am sorry,” Augusta said to her. “I know what this has done to you, but I could not remain silent.”
Before anyone could respond, the door opened. Ravenhill entered and closed it behind him. The voices from the chapel had grown quieter, although movement could still be heard outside.
“The guests are being sent home,” he announced. “They have been told that the ceremony has been postponed because of a private family matter.”
“Do you truly believe they will accept that explanation after hearing my daughter’s friend call you a murderer?” Lord Hewes gave a humorless laugh.
“It is the only explanation they will receive from me.” His gaze moved to Augusta. “In earnest, the burden of explaining does not lie on me.”
She had thought him intimidating at the front of the chapel. In the smaller room, his presence seemed even greater.
For one, he was a towering presence. His height was tall in comparison not only to her, but to the other men as well. And his expression was always one of someone who appeared to be intimidating at all times.
She wondered for a moment if he ever smiled. Surely, he must. Though she couldn’t imagine him doing so. Still, there was a certain allure to him. A moth to a flame. A presence that appears to be rather dangerous at first glance, but still the pull they have is undeniable.
Augusta was surprised at the direction her thoughts had begun to take, and dismissed them promptly. It was no use categorizing him like this.
“I asked for an explanation,” he said. “I have now dismissed my wedding guests and prevented several gentlemen from demanding that I answer your accusation before the entire church. You will tell me precisely why you believe I murdered someone.”
Charity stepped closer to Augusta and Duncan addressed Duke Ravenhill first. “Before she speaks, I ask that you remember she acted from concern for Lady Phillipa, not from malice toward you.”
“That will depend upon what she says.” Ravenhill did not look away from Augusta.
Augusta forced herself not to retreat, though it took every ounce of courage inside of her to do so.
“Several nights ago, during the engagement party at Hewes Park, I went into the garden,” she began. “It started to rain, and I lost my way while attempting to return to the house.”
Ravenhill’s expression did not change.
“I saw a man standing beneath the trees near one of the smaller buildings,” she continued. “He wore a long dark coat with the hood raised. At first, I considered asking him to help me find the terrace. Then I saw someone lying upon the ground at his feet.”
Phillipa’s hand moved to her mouth.
Ravenhill asked, “Did you approach them?”
“No, I couldn’t. The man heard me and began to turn in my direction. I became frightened and ran back to the house.”
“So, you did not see his face.”
“No,” Augusta admitted. “But I saw his height and his build. I also saw the cane he carried. It had a silver bird upon the handle.”
Ravenhill glanced down at his own cane.
“A raven,” Augusta said. “Exactly the same as yours.”
For the first time, something other than anger appeared in his face. It was not guilt, as Augusta expected, but disbelief. If he was guilty, which Augusta was sure that he was, surely he wouldn’t be so surprised by it all.
Augusta thought to herself that the duke must be a great actor.
“You accused me of murder because another man carried a cane?” he said, his tone a mixture of both annoyance and sarcasm.
“The carving is identical,” she pointed toward it. “The man was as tall as you, with the same breadth of shoulders. The woman’s body was later found upon the neighboring estate. Surely, even a foolish person can connect all the clues that have been laid out.”