Page 9 of The Wedding-Crashing Duchess

“Do you really think so?” Phillipa glanced at her through the glass. “Thank you, in that case. I have to tell you that my mother rejected three others before deciding that this one made me appear sufficiently dignified. You know how her standards are; it is hard to keep her happy about anything.”

Augusta smiled, thinking that Philippa was still behaving as herself. She began adjusting one of her gloves, pulling at the fingers despite the fact that it fitted perfectly.

“I tried to speak with you at the engagement party,” Augusta said after a while, feeling nervous to broach the topic. “Your mother kept you surrounded from the moment we arrived.”

“She was afraid I might be cornered by someone who wished to offer advice,” Phillipa replied. “Unfortunately, her solution was to surround me with people who wished to offer advice. Quite the opposite, I should say.”

Augusta pondered her statement for a moment. “I wondered whether she feared someone might steal you before the wedding.”

Phillipa gave a faint laugh. “Perhaps she feared I might make the attempt myself.”

“Would you have?”

“I cannot say, really. But I feel as though I cannot trust my emotions at all lately,” she sighed. “I ought to feel more… excited, perhaps. Everyone speaks as though a woman must either be overwhelmed with joy on her wedding day or secretly miserable. I find myself somewhere between the two.”

“Are you uncertain about marrying him?” Augusta stepped closer.

Phillipa’s mouth tightened slightly. “I am standing in a church wearing a veil; it’s a bit too late for that question.”

“It is not too late until you have made the vows,” Augusta said, shaking her head.

“Do you truly expect me to walk out now?” Phillipa turned fully toward her. “Mother would never forgive me, so I must accept the choice I have made now.”

Augusta thought over her answer for a moment, and then bit down on her lip.

“I will admit that I was surprised when I heard of your engagement,” Augusta said. “I didn’t know you to be someone who would make a decision like this in a rush.”

Phillipa gave her what almost looked like a sad smile, “Well, it would have been foolish to turn down the proposal. At least that is what everyone told me. He is a duke, after all, and it will be good for my family.”

“Yes, that is part of it, I’m sure that weighed on your decision. But do you know anything about him?” Augusta pressed. “Have you had a candid conversation between the two of you?”

“He is a simple man,” she shrugged her shoulders. “That much, I suppose.”

“But is that enough?” Augusta felt as though she was pushing now, but she wouldn’t be able to forgive herself if she didn’t at least try to ensure that her friend was walking into a decision like this knowing and considering all there was to be considered.

“I suppose,” the reply was soft.

Before Augusta could answer or rack her brain for another set of questions, a knock sounded at the door. Lady Hewes entered immediately. She looked between the two ladies, her eyes lingering on Augusta for a moment longer than they ought with something that bordered on suspicion.

“It is time,” she announced finally.

Phillipa inhaled slowly and straightened her shoulders. “Well, I shall see you then at the ceremony.”

There was a resigned note in her voice, and Augusta knew that there was little changing her mind now. Perhaps she was the only one left who needed to accept it. In a haste, Augusta left before Lady Hewes could remind her again that the ceremony was waiting.

She returned to the chapel and took her place beside Charity. Duncan sat on Charity’s other side, finishing a quiet conversation with a gentleman beside them. As Augusta settled into her seat, Charity leaned toward her.

“Are you alright?” she said, clearly worried. “I’ve been thinking of you constantly, and I just don’t know what is going through your mind at this moment.”

Augusta didn’t know how to answer. Too much was going on in her mind for her to be able to resolve it properly.

“I suppose I will be,” she said, sighing. “Just want to get this over with.”

Charity studied her face but had no chance to ask more. The room quieted as the musicians began the opening notes of the processional. Augusta looked toward the front of the church. Until that moment, she had not seen the Duke of Ravenhill.

He stood beside the officiant, and the first thing Augusta noticed was his height. He was taller than the men near him by several inches, with broad shoulders beneath a perfectly cut black coat. Maybe it was his title that led her to make this assumption, but he had somewhat of an intimidating aura to him.

Still, it was not enough to catch her attention entirely, and she was about to look away as he turned. What it revealed was a cane in his hands.