“Yes, it is.”
“Oh, my God!”
“What is it?” Lady Meade asks curiously.
“He’s got me a puppy!” she cries, waving the card around in the air. “A Labrador puppy! This is the best presentever!”
I burst out laughing at how happy she is, already excited for the day when Clio’s pictures come through and Jonathan is able to see her reaction. When he and I were sitting in the pub that day, it seemed obvious what she was missing. Jonathan’s story about her relationship with his family dog, Gus, revealed that in a moment of nerves—going to his parents’ house for the first time—she found comfort in getting on the floor and cuddlingthe Labrador. Just like her mum, she was at her best around animals. They don’t have a clue about titles or fame or status—they just love you back.
“I can’t believe it, I’m so excited,” she says, rereading the card. “I’ve wanted a dog for so long. Jonathan writes that we can pick him up when we get back from our honeymoon!”
“He’ll be waiting for you,” I say. She beams at me, gripping the card. But eventually I manage to prize it from her fingers, reminding her that we’re on a fairly tight schedule.
Lord Meade is ushered in and his eyes widen when he sees his daughter. His lip quivers as he tries not to get emotional, and he gives her a kiss on the cheek, saying, “Very good, very good,” repeatedly.
Lord Meade and I had the big conversation featuring apologies and explanations this morning. I told him to forget about it, that I was happy it was all resolved. I apologized for having to lie to him, but he brushed it aside, telling me it was nothing. He tried to make a few jokes about Emily being very nice but he’d have to wait and see about Sophie, before Lady Meade told him affectionately that it was only funny the first time, and even then, at a push.
As Lord Meade admires his daughter in as few words as possible, Lady Meade and I are informed that our car is waiting. We tell Cordelia that we’ll see her at the church, then make our way carefully down the sweeping staircase of Dashwell Hall in our heels.
I get into the car first, ready to help Lady Meade, who has to hold her head at an awkward angle to get through the door, thanks to herginormousblue hat. She really has gone down the route of go big or go home, and I amlovingit.
We fill the short few minutes to the church with small talk about how wonderful everything looks and how lucky we are with the weather. It’s cold, of course, but sunny, meaning guestswill not only be able to enjoy the splendor of the interiors of Dashwell Hall, but also the views from the windows of the fields stretching into the distance. I tell her I don’t think I’ve ever seen a more magical wedding venue. There are twinkling lights everywhere you look, and the house is filled with the most magnificent flower arrangements, full of vibrant colors—dark reds, burnt oranges, and, every now and then, a pop of dark blue or pink. Beth has truly outdone herself.
Lady Meade agrees that it does look good, joking about whether they should consider decorating the house like this all year-round. I say maybe they should.
The car pulls up at the church and I feel a flutter of nerves.
I’m not that worried about walking down the aisle in front of all those fancy people, although obviously that’s a bit daunting. I’m largely worried about seeing Tom. Listening to his conversation with Cordelia in the kitchen last night, I found it hard to tell how he was feeling. He didn’t say much. Which probably means he’s over it, but didn’t want to say so out of respect for his sister’s friend. If that’s the case, then it’s OK. I’m fine. I was hoping to catch him this morning, to smooth things over and work out where I stood. But he was nowhere to be seen and I realized that, of course, he was an usher and staying at the same hotel as Jonathan.
Lady Meade goes into the church, while I wait nervously outside on my own with the vicar. Clio and her army of photography assistants get some candid shots of me smoothing my dress and trying to stop the styled hair tendrils moving out of place.
The bridal car arrives just as Clio’s getting a very arty shot of my bouquet, and the photographers move into position. Some of the Paxton locals have crowded onto the banks outside the church, desperate to catch a glimpse of the bride. They all cheer and wave as Lord Meade helps Cordelia out of the car, and it feels a bit like a royal wedding as she waves back.
The vicar welcomes her and asks if she’s ready for him to signal her arrival to the organist.
“Yes, I’m ready,” she says, as I make a few tweaks to her veil so that it’s hanging evenly on each side, while Lord Meade picks a bit of fluff off his morning suit. “Thanks, Sophie.”
“You’re welcome.”
“I’m nervous.”
“Just focus on Jonathan.”
“What happens if I mess up the speaking bit? If I say the wrong bit of the vow?”
“Take your time, the vicar will guide you. And it doesn’t matter if you do mess it up. It’s endearing when that happens. I’ll laugh very loudly at you.”
“As long as you don’t snort.” She smiles mischievously. “You’re the type that might if you were really going for it.”
“How exactly did you get your foot stuck in a toilet?”
“All right,” the vicar says cheerily, coming back over. “Shall we get into position?”
After a last-minute check of Cordelia’s train, I line up behind the vicar, trying not to laugh as I hear him give himself a little pep talk about the sermon under his breath, while Lord Meade and Cordelia move to stand behind me.
The organ starts, the congregation rise to their feet, and, just like that, it’s time to go.
CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR
