She reached for my hand, and I took hers willingly – what on earth it could be?
‘Firstly, I want to ask you if you would do me the honour of giving me away today.’
I gasped, tears springing to my eyes.
‘Oh Mum, of course I will. I’d love to. Thank you.’
I saw her shoulders drop as the tension left them; she had been nervous about asking.
‘Wonderful. I should have asked you sooner, but the vicar said it didn’t matter, you just have to stand up when he gives you the nod and follow his instructions. And this is what I wanted to give you.’
She produced two small jewellers’ boxes and handed me one. I opened it to find a ring, with two pink stones entwined in the delicate curves of the metal.
‘It’s stunning,’ I said.
‘I have the same one,’ said Mum, opening her box to show me. ‘They’re made of white gold and the stones are pinksapphires. Two of them for you and for me. We love these Knight men and I know we’ll be with them for the rest of our lives, but I wanted to affirm at the same time my commitment to you, my darling daughter. I thought we could wear them on our right hands, as I’m sure your left ring finger won’t be far behind mine.’
I was speechless now, grasping for a tissue as my eyes were filling so rapidly with tears that if I wasn’t quick, my exquisitely applied make-up would soon be a mess. Mum grabbed one as well and we both dabbed frantically at our eyes as I stumbled out my thanks and love for her.
‘I love it, I do, and I will always treasure it. Thank you.’
We hugged tightly, finally interrupted by a discreet cough from the driver who then said, ‘We have arrived at the church.’
He stepped out of the car, but, to my surprise, the door at the pavement side did not open; instead, the opposite door opened and Jess, one of the make-up artists fromMayfair Mewswho had been at the house, slid into the car.
‘I thought we would probably both need a quick touch-up before we went in,’ said Mum, ‘so we’re a few minutes early for Jess to do her magic.’
I laughed.
‘Pure Jacqueline Honeywood, brilliant.’
As soon as we were declared both picture-perfect and suitably late, the chauffeur was given the nod and opened the door for us to get out. I went first, then stepped aside to let Mum pass as a bank of flashes popped to capture her at her most happy and her most beautiful. And she did look beautiful. She had shunned a traditional wedding dress – ‘anyonecan dress up as a bride, darling’ – in favour of a style and colour that suited her much better. She wore a knee length dusky rose shift dress with a stunning fitted cranberry velvet jacket which came to mid-thighand was hand embroidered with spikes of rosebay willowherb for London and white roses for Yorkshire.
When she decided they had enough photos, she turned to take my hand and we walked together through the wooden lychgate of the church, then along the uneven path to where the vicar was waiting to greet us.
‘How wonderful to see you!’ he said, his face lit up with an enormous beam. ‘I don’t think Lingfoss has ever seen so many people, and St Josephine’s’ – he gestured up at the Norman stone church – ‘hasn’t had such a large congregation in all its thousand years.’
‘Thank you for your warm welcome,’ said Mum, surprising him with a hug. ‘Douglas did so want the wedding to be here, and I know it hasn’t been easy doing all the preparations with us coming and going to London all the time.’
Looking slightly starstruck, if vicars are allowed such whimsies, he smiled again.
‘Well then, if you’re ready?’
The ceremony was perfect and afterwards, when even more photos had been taken, we travelled the short distance down the road to Blakeney Hall, where the reception was being held. I would barely see Mum for the rest of the day, but the fact that she would be busy with everybody else no longer mattered; I knew, I thought, looking for the millionth time that day at the new ring shining on my finger, that no question marks remained over our relationship, or her love for me. As the arrangements for the day had been wholly handed over to an incredible team of wedding planners, there was nothing left for me to do but enjoy myself, and having walked in between Alexander and Theo, how could I do anything else?
The house was, once again, decorated to celebrate both love and the festive season and it looked spectacular. There was a tunnel made of entwined willow branches smothered in thousands of warm golden lights leading to the front door, with a deep red carpet to walk along. The door itself had been dressed with gigantic swathes of oversized baubles in the wedding colours of rose pink, cranberry and gold and in the entrance hall – clear now of its muddle of coats and shoes – stood no fewer than seven Christmas trees. They were covered in sparkling decorations and lights and had piles of wrapped presents underneath them. In the Great Hall, the fireplace was the focus. On the mantelpiece stood dozens of pillar candles with evergreens wound among them and cascading down on either side of the blazing fire. The tables were dressed with rose pink cloths, more candles and fragrant arrangements of white roses, red berries and rosebay willowherb, which was past flowering and swathed with gorgeous fluffy seeds that some enterprising florist must have found a way to preserve for the occasion. A string quartet up on the minstrels’ gallery played Christmas music.
The first half hour passed in a whirlwind of hellos and congratulations as I hugged and shook hands with almost everyone at the wedding – or that was how it felt – but I took time to enjoy the rest of the evening. I was glad that I hadn’t had to organise it, but the team had done an amazing job. The food was delicious, as I had expected, and also in the wedding colours, with a first course of baked beetroot and goat’s cheese, a second of melt-in-the-mouth salmon with creamy potatoes and wild mushrooms, and a pudding of gold dust and rose petal sprinkled chocolate, cinnamon and pear mille feuille, followed by cheese. The string quartet played throughout the meal then, after a pause for the short but witty speeches – including one from Mum, I was surprised and delighted to see the young bandwho had played at the engagement party take their place on the minstrels’ gallery once more and bring all their youthful energy and talent to the room, getting almost all the guests up and dancing. All the cast fromMayfair Mewshad made the journey up north to be there, even Lucinda, the actor who had been none-too-subtly edged out of the show by Mum for daring to challenge her queendom.
‘Fallon, you lookravishing,’ she greeted me, bumping her cheekbone to mine to avoid any danger of lipstick transfer. ‘You must take after your father.Notthe handsome groom, one assumes?’
‘Definitely not,’ I said, stifling a laugh, then seizing my opportunity as I saw Coco and her mother nearby. ‘But Lucinda, youmustmeet Estelle Knight and her daughter. They’re huge fans of the show.’
‘Skilfully done,’ said a voice next to me, as I moved away.
‘Constance!’ I hugged her. ‘It’s been ages. I saw you in the church and I was so hoping we’d find each other here.’
‘Quite a do my brother and your mother have put on,’ she said, raising her glass to me and promptly having it topped up by a passing waiter in a sparkly rose-gold waistcoat. ‘I must say, I could get used to this.’
