The Prince and the Wedding Planner

* * *

On Thursday evening, Holly w

as in the middle of packing her bag for the weekend when her phone shrilled.

‘Hey, Nat,’ she said, answering the call.

‘Holls, I’m so sorry.’ Natalie sounded thoroughly miserable. ‘There’s been a bug going round at work and I’ve picked it up—I’ve been throwing up all day and I feel like death warmed up.’

‘You poor thing,’ Holly said. ‘Look, I’ll ring the hotel and cancel, and then I’ll come round and make you something with apples and rice that you might be able to keep down.’

‘No, don’t come here—you might go down with this bug, too,’ Natalie said. ‘And don’t cancel. You picked up the dresses for us yesterday, so you can still go to Bath.’

‘Without you? No way!’

‘It’s all paid for,’ Natalie said, ‘and at this late notice we wouldn’t get a refund. It’s daft to waste the money.’

‘I can try asking,’ Holly said, ‘or see if they can reschedule.’

‘No. You go without me,’ Natalie urged. ‘Have a good time and take lots of pictures for me.’

It wouldn’t be the same on her own, but Holly didn’t want to throw her best friend’s kindness back in her face. ‘Only,’ she said, ‘on condition that we reschedule a weekend away for both of us later in the summer, and it’ll be my treat.’

‘Deal,’ Natalie said. ‘And this time I’ll try not to pick up any horrible sicky bugs.’

‘I’ll bring you back a Sally Lunn on Sunday evening,’ Holly promised, knowing how much Natalie enjoyed the historic Bath speciality: a teacake that was a bit like a brioche, made from a recipe dating back to Restoration times.

‘Jane Austen’s favourite—and mine,’ Natalie said. ‘And I really hope I feel better by Sunday so I can do it justice!’

* * *

On Friday, Holly caught the train to Bath after work. Breakfast the next morning was as good as Natalie had promised; and then she headed to re-acquaint herself with the Roman Baths and drool over the lead curse tablets. She took a selfie while she drank a paper cup of the slightly warm and slightly disgusting water at the baths and sent it to Natalie, and followed it up with photographs of the gorgeous Georgian houses, tour guides walking around the city dressed up as Mr Darcy, and detailed pictures of the afternoon tea at the Pump Room. She called in at the ancient shop to buy a Sally Lunn, and picked up chocolates from the artisanal maker Natalie had been raving about since their last visit, then headed back to get ready for the ball.

She really didn’t want to go.

But Natalie had paid for the tickets and Holly felt it would be churlish to deny her friend a few photographs to cheer her up.

The red dress Natalie had chosen for her fitted perfectly. It had a flattering Empire line bodice, short puff sleeves, a net overskirt and a silk underskirt, and Natalie had also hired a pair of long white gloves and a small reticule to go with it. Thankfully Holly had a pair of flat black suede pumps that would work as dance shoes.

She knew from the costume events her best friend had attended in the past that she needed to put her hair up; she was used to wearing her hair tied back at the nape of her neck or in a braid for work, so it didn’t take her long to put her hair up in a bun, braid a section that she could twist round the bun, and then curl the strands at the front. She added the bare minimum of make-up, then took a selfie in the full-length mirror.

She really didn’t look like the scruffy archaeologist Simon had rejected; she barely recognised the woman in the photograph. So maybe tonight she could be whoever she wanted.

She sent the selfie to her best friend. ‘OK?’

‘More than OK. Utterly perfect,’ was Natalie’s verdict. ‘Have fun!’

A ball wasn’t Holly’s idea of fun, but she duly took a taxi to the venue.

Natalie had been right to choose this dress. It made Holly feel amazing. How long had it been since she’d felt this confident in herself? She hadn’t even felt confident when she’d tried on the wedding dress—which in itself should’ve been a sign that she had been doing the wrong thing. Maybe, she thought, Simon’s defection actually meant she’d had a lucky escape from a marriage that would eventually have made her miserable.

And she wasn’t going to think of her ex any more. She was going to enjoy the evening. She’d listen to good music, eat good food, and soak up the history.

The manor house was utterly gorgeous—built from mellow golden stone in the traditional Elizabethan ‘E’ shape, with pointed gables, ornate chimney stacks and stone mullioned windows. She smiled as she paid the driver and crunched along the gravel path to the front door; Nat was definitely right about her loving the house.

Inside was even better. There was a grand entrance hall and a library with an elaborate plaster ceiling, tall bookcases and oak panelling around huge windows. Better still was the first-floor gallery, which actually stretched the whole length of the house, and just off it was the ballroom where Regency dancing was already taking place. Holly took a few shots for Natalie, knowing her friend would love seeing all the costumes, then went through to the gallery and looked out into the gardens. Below was a perfect knot garden that echoed the design of the ceiling in the library; the framework of box hedge was filled in with lavender, rosemary and marjoram, with strategically placed alliums and roses. On a warm late spring evening like this, it would smell heavenly.

Behind the knot garden were lawns that sloped down to the lake, and she could see a bandstand in the middle with a small boat tied up just behind it. The string quartet was already in place; and hadn’t Natalie suggested that she could just sit outside and listen to the music with a glass of Pimm’s? Better that than being a wallflower in the ballroom, Holly thought, and headed out to listen to the music.