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Mrs Crocombe was already weeping. She had been tasked with inventing a new ice cream especially for the wedding breakfast and she’d found a willing taste tester in Bovis, who had helped her perfect her clotted cream confetti sorbet. He snuffled a little now too at the sight of his mistress advancing towards them. Mrs C. handed him a handkerchief which he took with a brave smile.
Minty swept down through the rhododendron valley, now alive with honey bees and hoverflies, and onto the gentle lawns bordered with sparse young camellias, short and waxy, putting down strong roots in fresh soil and promising a heavenly first bloom next spring.
Minty’s vintage silk gown (her mother’s) and strings of antique pearls (her grandmother’s) looked utterly perfect against the backdrop of her beloved Big House.
Jowan’s heart sang along with the music at the sight of her. Jude and Izaak had convinced Minty it was time to bring in another kind of renovations expert and that morning she’d said goodbye to her brassy blonde bob and embraced a wavy thirties style in softest platinum.
Her bouquet was all Leonid’s work: simple greenery from the estate grounds, including fresh mistletoe right at its heart. Everyone admired his work as the bride arrived at the entrance to the open-air chapel.
The music ceased. Jowan reached out his hand and Minty swept towards him in a sudden rush. They met with a kiss, clasping each other tightly.
Aldous turned in circles at his master’s feet, yapping and dancing, and the whole party applauded and dabbed at their eyes while the vicar raised his hands up into the blue and gathered the wedding party to speak their vows.
