Page 22 of The Wedding-Crashing Duchess

“If I agree, it will not be because Duncan owes you a debt,” she said to the duke. “It will be because I have chosen it.”

Ronan’s gaze remained fixed upon hers. “Understood.”

Augusta took a breath. “I accept.”

Ronan stared at her as though she had given an answer he had not expected. Charity was the first to recover. “Augusta, you cannot agree to marry a man after a single conversation.”

“I have a daughter,” he said again. “You understand that she is not an incidental part of the arrangement. Her welfare is the reason I sought another wife. Does knowing that alter your answer?” he asked.

A daughter?

Augusta considered the thought.

“You don’t need to be pressured into this,” Charity said again.

Augusta knew that she was making the most significant decision of her life, but pressure was not the right word to describe what she was feeling.

In earnest, even Augusta herself was unsure of how to describe how she felt in that moment. Excitement couldn’t be further from the truth. Surely, nothing about this arrangement was exciting.

Confused, or surprised. That might come closer, but at the same time, she felt rather calm about the whole thing.

Curious, yes, that was a word that was closer to what she felt. Intrigued, perhaps. How had she landed herself in a situation like this? Only God could tell. But was she curious to know how it would pan out, now that she was firmly agreed? The answer was yes.

“It doesn’t change my decision,” she said finally.

It occurred to her then that the feeling that she should have been experiencing the most intensely ought to have been fear. But that was not the case here. She was the furthest thing from scared.

As she spoke, everyone was stunned to hear the answer, but the duke was the quickest to recover.

“Good. Then, we shall be married in a fortnight.”

CHAPTER 5

By the following morning, the drawing room at Blackstone Manor had been transformed with lengths of silk laid across the backs of chairs, samples of lace arranged upon every available table, and hordes of flowers.

Charity had invited some of her closest friends to assist with the preparations, explaining that Augusta required advice, and who better to give it than other duchesses?

“I have already survived one wedding arranged in haste,” Temperance said as she examined a piece of ivory silk with evident disapproval, “and I feel it is my duty to prevent Augusta from looking like a rushed bride.”

Charity removed the fabric from her hands before she could crumple it. “You were invited because I believed you might keep Augusta from becoming overwhelmed.”

“You invited Prudence for sense,” Temperance replied, glancing toward the duchess seated near the window. “But surely, you invited me for my honesty.”

Augusta stood upon a small platform while the seamstress held one color after another against her gown, although the discussion had continued for so long that she had begun to feel tired.

“Does this process really take so long?” she asked. “All the colors are beginning to merge into one for me.”

Temperance leaned closer, considering the shade. “The green is lovely, though perhaps too gentle.”

Prudence set down the ribbons she had been examining and came to stand beside Augusta, adjusting the fall of the green silk before looking at it from several angles.

“This color suits you,” she said. “It is soft without making you appear timid, and it will look well with ivory embroidery along the sleeves and hem.”

Augusta glanced toward the mirror. The pale green brought out the color of her eyes, while the faint silver sheen in the fabric prevented it from appearing too plain.

“I like it,” she decided. “And as the duke has made no request regarding my gown, I am free to choose for myself.”

Charity met her gaze in the mirror. “Has he made any request regarding the wedding?”