Page 2 of The Wedding-Crashing Duchess

“You always liked her,” Charity continued.

“I respect her.”

“I believe that is the nearest you have ever come to admitting affection for a rival. She has been compared with you in every drawing room for the past two Seasons.”

“That is hardly our fault.”

“No, but neither of you appeared greatly troubled by it.”

Augusta could not deny that.

From the moment of their debuts, she and Phillipa had been spoken of as though they were competing candidates for some invisible prize. They were close enough in age, similar enough in rank and equally determined to behave well. When Phillipa opened a ball with the son of a duke, Augusta’s next partner became a matter of public interest. When Augusta received flowers from an eligible marquess, Phillipa’s admirers sent twice as many the following morning.

The rivalry had never descended into cruelty. They smiled, competed, and understood one another with an ease that sometimes felt more intimate than friendship.

Each knew how much effort the other spent appearing effortless.

“She wanted to make an excellent marriage and used to speak of it as though it were a campaign. I know that she considered every possibility carefully, so I cannot understand why she has acted so quickly now.”

“Perhaps because the prospect is a duke.”

“Even so,” Augusta shrugged her shoulders. “I have not known her to be someone who is particularly dazzled by titles. I know that another duke was interested in her, although granted he was almost fifteen years older than her. But she didn’t show sort of interest back. If a title was the only thing, then surely, she would have been engaged long ago.”

“That part is unusual,” Charity said after a moment. “I grant you that. But not enough to draw the conclusion that you’re set on.”

“How do you know? You know almost nothing about him.”

Charity lowered her voice. “I know he is considered responsible with his estates. Duncan has heard no complaints regarding his tenants, and there have been no rumors of debt or cruelty.”

“That’s hardly anything,” Augusta pressed. “Charity, you usually know a lot more about people; at least admit that. Isn’t that strange? Do you not see why that would be worrying?”

Charity let out a small laugh.

“I’m not the one marrying him,” she said. “So it’s fine, really. I suppose we will find out more about him as time passes. The wedding is in a few days, after all.”

Before Augusta could answer, Duncan appeared beside them carrying two glasses of lemonade.

“I have been sent to persuade Augusta to dance,” he announced, handing one glass to Charity. “Your third rejected suitor has appealed to me as head of the family.”

“He is not my suitor, and I was not interested in speaking to him,” Augusta replied, annoyed that their conversation had been cut short.

“Perhaps he was nervous; he didn’t seem too bad of a prospect.”

“Charity, can you tell him that I am not open to receiving any suitors tonight?” She turned to her sister for rescue.

Charity leaned into him to whisper something and received a smile that altered Duncan’s entire face. It was a small thing, no more than a glance passing between husband and wife, but Augusta felt the familiar tightening in her chest.

Was it jealousy? Well, no. She could not resent Charity her happiness, particularly after all her sister had endured. Yet witnessing the ease between them reminded Augusta of what she wanted and of how uncertain she had begun to feel that she would ever find it.

She did not want merely to marry but rather to be chosen with conviction, as Duncan had chosen Charity. She wanted a man who would stand beside her, and a home of her own, children, duties and a place in the world that did not depend upon her sister’s generosity.

That last desire carried shame with it, though Charity had never once treated her as a burden.

“Very well, then,” Duncan said. “Will you at least take a sip of your drink? I don’t like seeing you this worried.”

Augusta suddenly felt a bit suffocated by their concern, even though she knew in her heart that both of them meant well.

“Can you excuse me for a moment?” she said abruptly.