Page 15 of A Duchess in Ten Days (Icy Dukes #2)

CHAPTER NINE

" H ow do you stand it?" Lavinia whispered, the words barely escaping her lips as she attempted to adjust the corset that seemed to have a life of its own.

Alice glanced up, unable to hide a grin. "I told you you didn't need to tighten it so much."

"I thought it would give me shape, not suffocate me," she responded. "I can hardly breathe in this. Or maybe that's just me. I mean, I am getting married today."

Alice stifled a laugh, her eyes twinkling with mischief. "Well, if you're going to faint, do try to do it gracefully. But I daresay, you'll manage just fine. After all, what's a wedding without a little bit of drama?"

Drama...

Lavinia stood in front of the mirror, her hand hovering over the delicate lace of her bridal gown.

She managed a weak smile at the mirror, but it didn't reach her eyes.

The gown was an intricate creation of satin and lace that Alice and Emma had carefully picked out.

The bodice was fitted tightly, emphasizing her curves, while the lace sleeves fell in dainty, scalloped edges just above her wrists.

The gown was a pale, ivory white color, a subtle contrast to her skin, and it shimmered ever so slightly in the sunlight.

To top it all off, there was a modest veil with tiny pearl-encrusted combs pinned to her hair.

It had taken her a long and difficult time to accept her fate, but she finally did. Alice and Emma had been able to convince her that marrying the Duke of Hargrave wasn't such a bad thing and as such she had no valid reason to brood.

Andrew wasn't an unkind man.

But as she observed herself, Lavinia felt disconnected from the image in the mirror. It was as though she were gazing at someone else, someone who had dreamed of this day for years, not someone who was standing on the cusp of a life she hadn't chosen.

"My goodness, you are getting married, Lavinia Webbs," Alice said, at the brink of tears. "I am so happy, I can hardly believe it. We used to talk about days like this."

Lavinia turned around quickly, her eyes wide with a mixture of panic and affection. "Alice, please," she pleaded softly, placing a hand on her friend's arm. "Don't start crying. I can't bear it if you cry. I'll start crying too, and I promised myself I wouldn't."

Alice sniffed and forced a smile, though her eyes shimmered with unshed tears. "I'm sorry, it's just...you're about to begin a new chapter in your life. That's something worth celebrating, even if it's a bit different from what we imagined."

"I know," she answered. "I can still have a family, at the very least...one day. Have children and raise them with love."

"You can." Alice nodded. "Our children can play together."

"I would love that." Lavinia giggled.

"It's your wedding day, Lavinia," Alice said and patted her on the cheek. "Don't let anything get you down."

Lavinia took a steadying breath, trying to focus on the present moment.

She couldn't afford to drown in uncertainty, not now.

Her eyes lingered on her reflection in the mirror, the gown now feeling heavier than it ever had before.

Alice was right. This was the beginning of something new.

A new chapter, as she had said, and Lavinia couldn't help but wonder what kind of story it would be.

The door creaked open, and her father's voice echoed in the hallway. "Lavinia, it's time."

She turned quickly, a sharp pang of panic striking her chest. She wasn't ready. But she couldn't keep everyone waiting.

"Are you ready?" Alice asked, her voice barely above a whisper.

Lavinia paused, her fingers tightening around the edge of her gown. "I have no choice, do I?" she murmured. "Let's go and get married."

The carriage ride to the church felt longer than usual.

Lavinia sat still, hands clenched tightly in her lap, her body rigid with a mixture of nerves and resignation.

She thought about how Robert had not paid her a visit.

Almost as if he had given up on chasing her after Andrew proposed.

The mere thought that he didn't think she was worth fighting for hurt Lavinia. She had thought they made progress.

The distant toll of the church bell sounded, and Lavinia's heart skipped in response, a silent dread creeping into her chest. Soon, she would be standing before the man she was betrothed to.

Stepping out of the carriage, she felt as though her feet had turned to lead and the weight was anchoring her to the ground. The cobblestone path stretched before her, leading up to the grand entrance of the church. Lavinia glanced up at the towering doors, her heart pounding.

As they walked towards the church, she could feel every eye on her. A part of her wanted to turn and flee, to run from this moment, but the other part—the part that had always been obedient, that had always followed the rules—knew that she couldn't.

When her father took her hand to escort her forward, she reluctantly took it, trying her best to mask her nervousness with a half-hearted smile.

When they reached the altar, Lavinia's breath faltered and she got cold all of a sudden.

Andrew stood before her, waiting to take her from her father's arms. His posture was rigid, his face a mask of composure so perfect it felt unnatural.

He did not resemble the Andrew she had come to know.

The one with the easy smile and clever quips.

The one who teased and flirted with a roguish charm that was both infuriating and oddly comforting.

This man, standing mere steps away, seemed carved from stone.

He didn't meet her eyes. Not once. He seemed utterly miserable.

Her father placed her hand in Andrew's, and she felt the chill of his touch so strongly that it made her jerk.

It wasn't cold in the room...no. Even though it was winter, this was a different type of cold.

Andrew's hand felt distant, as if the warmth she once associated with him had been drained away.

Her fingers trembled slightly against his and she could tell that he felt it, but he didn't react.

She lifted her gaze to his face, desperate to meet his eyes.

..to silently plead with him for an explanation, for some wordless exchange that would tell her why this was happening or what was going through his mind.

But his gaze remained fixed somewhere over her shoulder, distant and unseeing, as though she were invisible, a shadow standing before him.

It was like staring at a stranger, and her chest tightened with an ache so sharp it nearly stole her breath.

What had changed?

Lavinia's throat constricted as the priest began to speak, but she couldn't pay attention to him.

All she could concentrate on was Andrew.

On the way his jaw tensed, the slight furrow in his brow, the sharpness of his profile.

He looked every inch the nobleman that he was.

He was poised and commanding, but it also seemed like there was a storm brewing beneath that he could barely contain.

Had she done something wrong? Was it the engagement? The wedding? Or was it simply her?

When the priest prompted her for her vows, Lavinia forced herself to snap out of her thoughts and participate in her own wedding. Surprisingly, she was able to follow along, sealing her destiny with only a few words.

Andrew's turn came, and his voice—usually so full of life—was low and measured, devoid of any warmth. Like he was reading from a book.

When the priest finally declared them husband and wife, Lavinia felt a wave of something close to dread wash over her.

Andrew turned to her, and finally, their eyes met He leaned in to brush a kiss against her cheek causing Lavinia to freeze.

His gesture was brief and formal, and she knew then that whatever this marriage was to be, it would not be simple.

It was most definitely going to be awkward.

"You haven't even looked at me."

Lavinia had promised herself that she would not be the one to break the silence first after his display of coldness at the altar.

She had been patient, hoping that things would settle once the vows were said and the ceremony was behind them.

But as the hours passed in cold, oppressive silence, the intensity of everything that had gone unsaid between them had become unbearable.

At first, she had told herself that she would wait.

Give him space, since he’d seemed quite miserable at the altar.

Perhaps it was just nerves, or the gravity of the commitment pressing down on him.

She had hoped, foolishly, that after the ceremony, things would settle.

That he would warm up to her, that they could speak freely about the entire situation and why he had done what he did.

But when they rode back to his estate in separate carriages, she couldn't ignore the message he was sending.

He did not want her near him.

"Not once," she continued, her voice barely above a whisper.

They stood in the grand entryway of the estate, the towering columns on either side of them giving the room an almost suffocating feeling.

The house was eerily silent, save for the occasional rustle of the servants as they moved in and out of sight, scuffling to welcome the new Duchess of Hargrave.

The walls were lined with portraits of long-forgotten ancestors, who seemed to stare down at them, like silent witnesses to the tension between the new husband and wife.

Lavinia's fingers trembled at her sides as Andrew stopped walking on hearing her voice. Slowly, he turned around to look at her. The space between them felt enormous, and Lavinia couldn't help but compare it to the distance between their hearts.

"Not once have you even looked at me, or even attempted to explain what in the world is going on here. Not once have you acknowledged that this...this is a reality for both of us that you orchestrated. Why did you do it, Andrew?"