‘In our private church,’ Will said. ‘Or in the house—I’m doing the paperwork to get licensed to hold weddings right now, and I’m sure I can rush it through if you need me to.’
‘Or I could build the mini-Pantheon in the grounds,’ Roland suggested. ‘That’d be a really spectacular wedding venue.’
Everyone groaned. ‘Roland. No!’
‘Spoilsports,’ Roland grumbled. But he was laughing.
‘And, whatever anyone suggests, Grace gets the casting vote,’ Henry added.
Coco and Napoleon barked, as if agreeing.
They were all on her side.
And Grace knew that this time everything was going to be just fine.
EPILOGUE
Three months later
ON A PERFECT Saturday afternoon in September, Grace got out of the car at the gates leading to Roland’s ancestral home, and let her stepfather help her up into the old-fashioned coach pulled by four perfect white horses.
‘You look beautiful, Gracie,’ Ed said. ‘Like a princess.’
‘Thank you,’ she said shyly.
‘I know I’m not your real dad, but I’m so proud of you.’
She squeezed his hand. ‘You’re not my biological dad,’ she corrected, ‘but as far as I’m concerned you’re my real dad and you have been ever since you came into my life. I’m a Faraday girl through and through. And you’re the only person I would ever consider asking to walk me down the aisle.’
Moisture glittered in his eyes. ‘Oh, Gracie.’
‘Don’t cry, Dad,’ she warned, ‘or I’ll cry too, and Bella took ages doing my make-up—she’ll kill us both if it smudges.’
‘I love you,’ he said, ‘and I’m so glad you’re marrying someone who loves you and will always back you.’
This was so very different from what she’d planned before. And even making the plans had been different this time, too: because both families had arranged things together.
The horses pulled the coach up the long driveway. Grace’s mother, the bridesmaids and the photographer were waiting outside the little private church where every member of Roland’s family had been married for the last three hundred years.
The photographer took shots of her in the coach with Ed; then Ed helped her out and her mother made last minute adjustments to her veil and dress.
‘You look wonderful,’ she said. ‘Now go and marry the love of your life, with all our love and blessings.’
Grace’s smile felt a mile wide as she entered the church.
The string quartet—Hugh’s latest signing—struck up the first movement of Karl Jenkins’s Palladio as Grace walked down the aisle on Ed’s arm. The chapel was filled with old-fashioned roses chosen by Philly from the formal gardens at the house, and the arrangements were echoed in the simple but elegant bouquets carried by Grace and her bridesmaids. Matilda walked in front of them, wearing her sparkly butterfly tiara and scattering rose petals. Grace could see Roland waiting for her at the aisle, and saw his brother Will nudge him and whisper something just before he looked round.
As he saw her walking down the aisle towards him, he smiled and mouthed, ‘I love you,’ and the whole world felt as if it had just lit up.
She couldn’t stop smiling through the whole service. Finally, the vicar said, ‘You may now kiss the bride.’ And Roland did so lingeringly.
There were more photographs outside the church and in the rose garden; then they finally walked down to the lake, where the boathouse was newly renovated and ready to host its first ever wedding breakfast. The wall overlooking the lake was completely glass, giving perfect views across the lake; and as they looked out they could see swans gliding across the water.
‘This is so perfect,’ Grace whispered.
Roland kissed her. ‘It certainly is.’
* * *
The tables were set with more beautiful arrangements of roses and the last of the sweet peas. ‘Like the first flowers you ever bought me,’ she said to Roland with a smile. ‘Philly’s really done us proud.’
Everything was perfect, from the meal to the speeches and the music from Hugh’s quartet. And Grace knew that it was going to get even better; they had a band for the evening reception, and Roland had planned a display of fireworks just behind the lake.
And there were fireworks indoors, too: because to Henry’s pleasure they’d gone with his suggestion of using a tradition from the French side of the family, and instead of a tiered wedding cake they had a croquembouche with a spiral of white chocolate roses curled round it. At the top of the cone, instead of a sugar crown there was an array of indoor sparklers; as soon as they were lit, everyone oohed and aahed.