Chapter 6
“There are more people here than there were at Phillipa’s wedding,” Augusta said, turning toward Charity. “I did not think that was possible.”
They had arrived at the church, and the nerves were bubbling inside of Augusta.
“You think so?”
Charity adjusted the pale green silk at Augusta’s shoulder, though there was nothing wrong with it.
“Phillipa’s wedding was merely the marriage of an earl’s daughter to a reclusive duke. Yours is… well, there is more news surrounding it than normal. Naturally, half of London has decided that witnessing the occasion is a matter of great importance.”
“They are waiting for someone to object,” she considered, frowning to herself.
“They are waiting for you to object,” Charity corrected. “It would complete the story beautifully if the bride interrupted her own ceremony.”
Augusta looked toward the chapel again and caught sight of several ladies leaning toward one another in conversation. “They do not even attempt to appear discreet.”
“No one behaves discreetly when convinced that a scandal may occur at any moment,” Charity said, taking Augusta’s hands and drawing her away from the doorway. “You must stop looking at them.”
“You’re asking me a hard thing.”
“You may still tell me that you do not wish to proceed,” she said quietly. “Duncan will take you home, and we will take care of you. Surely, it will cause some scandal, but none of that matters if you have changed your mind.”
Augusta wondered if she should take the offer, but then knew that it wasn’t an option.
“I have not changed my mind. Trust me.”
Charity smiled, though her eyes remained serious. “Are you frightened of him?”
Augusta considered the question before answering. “I am frightened of not knowing him. He is to become my husband within the hour, and I still cannot read him.”
“Duncan was not much easier at first,” Charity replied. “There was a time when he believed a stern expression and a command were sufficient to convey all the sentiments a woman might reasonably require.”
“How did you cure him of that?”
“I refused to obey.”
Augusta gave her a doubtful look. “That seems to be your solution to many difficulties.”
Charity moved behind Augusta and adjusted the fall of her veil. The pale green gown they had chosen was simple by society’s standards. Augusta had rejected a heavier veil and every suggestion of excessive ornament.
She had already supplied society with spectacle enough.
“What if his daughter dislikes me?” Augusta asked. It was something that she had considered, and it made her nervous.
Charity’s hands stilled.
“She may dislike you at first,” she answered honestly. “Children are not always grateful, and they have their own personalities. You must allow her time.”
A knock sounded at the door before Augusta could reply. Duncan entered, dressed in formal black, his expression composed until he looked at her. Then something softened in his face.
“Are you ready?”
“No,” Augusta replied.
Charity came forward and kissed Augusta’s cheek. “You need not be certain of everything today. You need only be certain that this is the choice you wish to make.”
Augusta looked from her sister to Duncan, then placed her hand upon his arm.
The church fell silent when the doors opened. Augusta had expected whispers, and there were a few, hurriedly smothered by the beginning of the music, but most of the guests merely turned and stared. Their attention pressed upon her from every direction as she began walking beside Duncan.
She kept her eyes ahead as Ronan stood before the officiant.
He wore black, as he had at Phillipa’s wedding, though today the severe color was relieved by a silver waistcoat. His cane rested beneath one hand, the raven-shaped handle catching the light from the windows.
For one brief instant, Augusta remembered rain and darkness. But as Ronan looked at her, the memory vanished.
His gaze remained fixed upon her as she approached, and there was something in the intensity of it that made every step feel unsteady. He did not glance toward Duncan or the gathered guests. In fact, he scarcely appeared to breathe.
Augusta resisted the urge to inspect her gown. Charity had assured her that nothing was misplaced, but the longer Ronan stared, the more convinced she became that some detail had gone wrong.
When she reached him, Duncan placed her hand into Ronan’s. Her future husband continued looking at her face.
Augusta lowered her voice. “Is something wrong?”
Ronan blinked, as though the question had disturbed a private thought. “No.”
“Then why are you staring at me?”
His hand tightened almost imperceptibly around hers, and his eyes moved briefly over her face before he answered, “There is nothing wrong with you.”
The officiant cleared his throat. Ronan looked toward him, though Augusta caught what might have been the beginning of irritation in his expression.
The officiant began speaking before she could answer, and the ceremony proceeded without objection.
When the question was put to the guests, the silence became almost comically tense. Augusta could feel hundreds of people waiting for movement, a cough, or the scrape of someone rising.
But no one did.
Ronan’s gaze flickered toward Augusta, but she looked away.
The vows were spoken, and the ring was placed upon her finger. When the officiant finally declared them husband and wife, a collective breath seemed to pass through the church.
Ronan leaned closer as Augusta looked up at him, suddenly aware that no one had explained precisely whether he would kiss her in front of everyone.
But there was no kiss. Instead, he bowed over her hand, his lips brushing her knuckles with a restraint that somehow felt more intimate than a public kiss might have done.
As they turned toward the aisle, Ronan offered Augusta his arm.
“I am surprised that we have reached the end without anyone calling for the constables.”
His expression remained serious, but she heard the faint dryness in his voice when he replied, “The day is not yet over.”
Their departure from the church was followed by a brief wedding breakfast and an exhausting procession of congratulations, during which nearly every guest attempted to examine Augusta and Ronan together.
Some were bold enough to mention the previous ceremony, though only in terms so indirect that Augusta was required to pretend she did not understand them.
By the time she entered the carriage beside her husband, her face ached from smiling. Ronan settled opposite her rather than beside her, placing his cane against the corner.
For several minutes, they travelled in silence.
Augusta looked through the window, watching London give way to quieter roads and open countryside.
She had visited estates beyond the city often enough, but this journey felt different.
Every mile carried her farther from Blackstone Manor and closer to a house in which she would no longer be a guest.
Ronan broke the silence first.
“Did you consider calling off the wedding?”
The question surprised her. “I don’t believe so. I gave my word of agreement, and that was enough for me to not go back on it. Though, I don’t understand why you are asking me this.”
“It’s just that you looked frightened when you entered the church.” he looked away then, as though the thought bothered him greatly.
“It’s done now, and there is not much to say on the matter.”
It was not the most romantic sentiment, but an honest one. They spoke little for the remainder of the journey.
Ravenhill House stood some distance beyond London, surrounded by wide lawns and dark woodland. It was not gloomy, as Augusta had feared from the name.
A line of servants waited upon the front steps, and Augusta’s stomach tightened. Ronan descended first and turned to assist her. His hand closed firmly around hers as she stepped from the carriage.
“The entire household need not have assembled,” she murmured.
“They wished to receive the new duchess,” Ronan said, shrugging his shoulders.
Augusta gave him a look, but he had already begun escorting her up the steps.
The introductions were lengthy. Mr. Fredrick, the butler. Mrs. Bell, the housekeeper. And then a line of servants. Did they really need this much staff to run a single estate?
Ronan introduced the senior servants and informed them that Augusta’s instructions were to be obeyed as his own. The declaration should have reassured her, yet the number of attentive faces made the responsibility feel immense. When the last curtsey had been made, Augusta released a slow breath.
“Was that truly necessary today?” she asked.
“You are their duchess, and introductions needed to be made. But the most important one remains pending,” he exhaled a sigh. “You need to meet my daughter Sarah.”
Augusta felt the nervousness bubble inside her and followed him. Ronan slowed before a white door at the end of the corridor, then turned to her.
“Before we go inside,” he said, “there are a few things you should know about Sarah, because she is not comfortable with strangers, and if she does not answer you at once, I do not want you to think that she is being rude.”
“I’ll try to keep that in mind.” Augusta looked at the closed door and then back at him. “But I wonder whether your daughter is shy or whether you simply expect me to frighten her.”
“I expect her to be uncertain. She has known for only a short time that I intended to marry, and although her governess has tried to prepare her, she does not understand what your arrival will mean.”
“And what does my arrival mean?” Augusta asked. “Because you have told me that she needs a mother, but I doubt Sarah has been informed that a woman she has never met is coming to provide whatever affection you believe is missing from her life.”
Ronan’s hand tightened around the silver head of his cane. “I did not explain it to her in those terms.”
“I should hope not,” she sighed. “It would make the entire thing a little too impersonal.”