Page 26 of The Wedding-Crashing Duchess

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.