It will look magical, the photographer replied.
We were all getting on so well, I wondered if we might keep in touch afterward, but the replies to my messages stopped coming after the event.
On the day, we paraded out of the manor grounds in horse-drawn coaches. We had issued fresh invitations to the evening do, and the free bar ensured a few people turned out into the street to see us on our way to the church. It was like being royalty; they waved, a few of them clapped, and I sat up straight and graciously waved to one side, then the next, which really was embarrassing and I wondered what my mum would say if she could see me. Probably: “Daisy, you don’t have the cleavage for a dress like that.”
The rest of it was a bit of a blur. I remember saying “I do,” I remember the photographs, I remember being in the ballroom for what felt like a lifetime. Everything sparkled: the chandeliers, the tableware, the diadem, my dress, the champagne. It was quite hard on the eyes after a while; we should have had headache tablets out on the tables.
There were speeches from James’s dad, from his longest-standing employee, who was getting triple time to double as his best man. A speech from Mrs. Dobson about my first year at school. She might have had a very good memory, or she could have made it all up. I didn’t know any better.
The disco started with our first dance. James chose it. It was his one contribution to the wedding, and he chose the twist. It was the most uncomfortable two minutes of my life, until a few more people came to join us and we were able to blend into the crowd and from there to make our way to the edges of the room. The DJ moved on, song after song, everyone whirled by, everyone stopped to talk to me, as if they liked me. I felt myself flagging, until finally, he announced the last song. The bar closed, the music stopped, the lights came on, the DJ thanked everyone for coming and bid us a good night. People began to make their way to the door and into prearranged minibuses waiting outside.
My wedding day was over, but I had a bright future with the husband of my dreams. The rest of my life was beginning.
I realized for the first time that in all the excitement, we hadn’t booked a honeymoon. We hadn’t even discussed one! In fact, our relationship had been such a whirlwind, we’d never even been on holiday together. Not so much as a weekend in the Lakes.
James finished saying good-bye to one of the contractors and turned to me, grinning.
“I’ve got a surprise for you,” he said, closing the front door on the guests. Maybe he’d arranged a honeymoon and he was going to whisk me off somewhere? But I hadn’t packed! I hoped he hadn’t done it for me and made a man’s job of it—I didn’t want to go on my dream holiday with just a week’s worth of underwear and a spare T-shirt. And I hoped he knew I didn’t have a passport.
He took me by the hand and pulled me toward the entrance hall. “I left instructions to set it up while we were at the wedding.”
That didn’t sound like plane tickets, not unless they were to be displayed very elaborately. I hurried after him, wondering what it could be. He’d had to ask them to “set it up” so presumably not jewelry—and anyway, he’d given me the ring of a lifetime that morning. Probably not flowers, that would be “arranging.” Something musical? My ears were still ringing from the disco. I was stumped. Something made from Lego, perhaps?
The wait was nearly over. We were in the hall, standing before what had been the family tree of the lords of the manor.
Gone was that beautiful, centuries-old piece of art. In its place was a blank canvas, a brand-new family tree. I stepped closer. The only names were right at the top, the founding couple, James and Daisy. Below us a long, horizontal line, with short vertical lines protruding from it at intervals for the names and dates of children. I counted the tabs.
“Ten?” I said, turning to look at him. James was grinning like a maniac.
“There’s room to add more if we need it.”
“Ten?” I repeated. Maybe we should have discussed this before.
My eye was caught by a little doodle above our names: a shield shape, split into four, with red and yellow backgrounds, red thenyellow in the top two, and yellow then red in the bottom. Each quarter had a little picture in it, but I couldn’t make them out at that size. “What’s that?”
“It’s our coat of arms,” he said.
“Since when did you have a coat of arms?”
“Ourcoat of arms,” he said. “The Dixon coat of arms. We have this as well…”
He nipped into the nearest room and returned with an A5-size folder. He presented it to me. On the front, the coat of arms was reproduced again and now I could see that in the first red square was a picture of a large building, maybe a house, maybe a museum, I wasn’t sure. Diagonally opposite, in the other red quarter was a dollar sign; that was pretty unambiguous. In the yellow squares were a flower and a rectangle with something sticking out of the top of it; it looked like an old-fashioned TV set.
James was standing by my shoulder, looking down at the folder. “The pictures represent us, our achievements and interests. I chose red for me because I like red, and yellow for you. You like yellow, don’t you?”
I nodded. I preferred blue.
“It shows this house that I’ve bought and the money I’ve made: they didn’t have a pound sign, but dollars are recognized all over the world. And to represent you, you have a daisy, for your name, and a TV. You like watching TV, don’t you?”
Was that the only thing he could think of when he thought of me? With dread, I opened the folder. Inside were certificates proclaiming us Lord and Lady Iffley, although you won’t find us inDebrett’sand it was never mentioned again. I turned the folder over and on the back was the name and contact details of a company—Titles To Go— based in Nevada.
I turned to James. He was grinning as if all our Christmases had come at once, and I realized this wasn’t a joke.
My heart sinking, I looked again at the family tree. Of course I wanted children; after all, I had a bloodline to continue. But ten? And I’d thought we might wait a while. I stepped closer and counted again. James misinterpreted it and began pulling me by my arm toward the door.
“Shall we make a start on tab number one?” he said.
At the time, I set aside my misgivings. I was confident things would settle down. I thought maybe James had meant it as a joke, and I hadn’t responded as he expected. Either way, I was sure our vision for the future would fall into line. In every other way he was perfect.
