“Shall we begin?”
Margaret immediately straightened, lifting a pen, while Caroline exchanged a quick look with James, the kind that said,here we go.
Cleo and I had been summoned as if to a royal audience, our laptops balanced discreetly on our knees. I caught her eye across the table, she mouthedhelp me, and I nearly laughed, which felt like it would have been a career-ending move.
“Now,” Lady Beaumont began, folding her hands with the authority of someone who had chaired far more serious meetings. “The ceremony should not exceed twenty-two minutes. Any longer and people will start to fidget. And faint.”
Margaret nodded like a metronome. “Twenty-two minutes. Yes, of course.”
“The hymns are to be replaced with a string quartet. Singing encourages sentimentality, and sentimentality is vulgar.”
“Strings only,” Margaret said promptly, writing it down.
“And speeches,” Victoria continued, “will occur before dessert. Alcohol and sincerity are a dreadful combination.”
“Before dessert,” Margaret echoed, obedient as ever.
Cleo typed furiously beside me, then whispered, “Is she serious?”
“Utterly,” I murmured. “And terrifyingly efficient.”
Across the table, Caroline offered a polite smile that didn’t reach her eyes. James’s hand twitched against his knee, the only sign of rebellion.
Lady Beaumont turned towards the window. “And do make sure no marquee poles appear in the photographs. Elegance needs restraint. Leave the abundance to the vines.”
The line was delivered with such effortless poise that Cleo blinked, impressed despite herself.
Elaine smiled faintly. “You seem to know how to run an event, Victoria.”
“Someone must,” Victoria replied. Then, softening just enough to sound human, “Elaine, you said your celebrant is a retired principal?”
“Yes,” Elaine said, sipping her tea. “Graham. A dear friend.”
Victoria gave a short nod. “Good. A sturdy pair of hands. We’ve had enough theatrics in this family to last a generation.”
Something unsaid fluttered through the air, sharp and quick. Cleo’s eyebrows shot up, and I kicked her gently under the table before she could comment.
Margaret broke the pause by refilling her mother’s cup. “Mother, Caroline and I were just finalising the bridal bouquet…”
“Roses bruise easily,” Victoria said without looking up. “Use orchids. They last longer under lights.”
Margaret scribbled the note. Caroline stared at the tablecloth like it might offer escape.
Tea was refreshed, and Lady Beaumont stirred hers once, precisely. Her diamond ring caught the light, throwing small shards of it across the table, a reminder, somehow, of all the polished surfaces she came from.
Margaret cleared her throat, that little signal she used before delivering an idea she expected everyone to applaud. “The florist also mentioned adding little jewellery details to the tables. Perhaps crystal napkin rings or vintage trinkets between the arrangements. Just something to add sparkle.”
Victoria’s expression didn’t flicker. Then, slowly, she smiled. “How very modern. In my day, jewellery stayed on the person, not the furniture.”
The silence that followed was polite, but absolute. Even the clock on the mantel seemed to hesitate.
Margaret let out a delicate chuckle that didn’t quite reach her eyes. “Well, of course, it was only a thought.”
“Mm,” Victoria murmured, turning her attention back to the tea tray. “A table should sparkle because the conversation does, not because someone glued rhinestones to it.”
Caroline stared down at her teacup, hiding what might have been a grin.
From my seat by the sideboard, I just sipped my tea and tried not to look too pleased. I’d spent the last two daysdiplomatically steering Margaret away from precisely that kind of overdecorated madness. It was strangely satisfying to watch someone else do it for me, especially with such surgical precision.
