by Sk Quinn
‘Patrick says something like that,’ I say. ‘But I’m still nervous. There are still going to be expectations …’
‘And you’ll exceed all of them. Look at you – young, beautiful, brave … the public are going to love you. Now. On the subject of dresses. Do you have any ideas?’
‘None at all,’ I say. ‘Except I want it to be me. I don’t want to dress up like anyone else.’
‘Hugo will find you something perfect,’ says Daphne. ‘Believe me, he will. I’ve known him a long time. He’s always helped me with my fashions. He brings out what’s inside. Now. Let’s go find my grandson.’
42
We find Patrick and Bertie returning from the woods. Daphne tells Bertie she’s taking him into the village.
Patrick’s arm slides around my shoulder as they drive away. ‘You’re scared for him. Aren’t you?’
I smile. ‘You should take that party trick of yours on the road. There aren’t many people who can read minds.’
‘You’re pretty easy to read.’
‘Am I now?’
‘An open book.’ Patrick drops his lips to my neck.
‘Only if you know how to open it,’ I breathe.
‘I like to think I do.’
Patrick pulls back, frowning at the driveway.
A tiny green car comes bouncing towards us.
‘Who is it?’ I ask.
‘It’s okay. It’s only Hugo. The only man in the world to use an electric car with crap suspension in the Scottish countryside.’
‘It’s good he uses an electric car,’ I say. ‘Better for the environment.’
‘You need a proper vehicle out here,’ says Patrick. ‘A little toy car like that is more trouble than it’s worth.’
‘And here was I, thinking that you loved the countryside.’
‘I do love the countryside. But you have to be practical.’
We smile at each other.
Patrick leans down to kiss me, but then we jump apart at the beep of Hugo’s horn.
Hugo climbs out of his car. ‘Okay lovebirds, save it for the wedding night.’
He’s wearing a fitted black suit, purple shirt, bright silver cufflinks and a Stetson hat. His glasses are bottle green today, matching his car.
‘Hugo,’ I smile. ‘Good to see you again.’
Hugo kisses me on both cheeks. ‘And I you, my dearest. And Lord Mansfield.’ He kisses Patrick’s cheeks. ‘Wonderful to see you as always. I’m still getting your suit together. I’m not sure I’ve ever known you request so many different styles. Your tailor will be worn out by the time we’re finished.’
‘Really?’ I ask Patrick, raising an eyebrow. ‘So many?’
‘I want to get it right,’ says Patrick softly.
‘Oh and he’s been so nervous,’ says Hugo, putting a hand on Patrick’s arm. ‘I’ve never seen him this way! Usually it’s bish bosh – that one. No taking his time. Always telling me, ‘I don’t want to waste time on this. It’s just something to wear’. But this time—’
‘Yes okay Hugo,’ says Patrick. ‘I think she gets the point.’
I laugh into my hand.
‘Stop that,’ says Patrick.
‘Sorry.’ I try to straighten my face. ‘It’s just … funny to think of you caring about clothes.’
‘Of course I care,’ Patrick snaps. ‘It’s the most important day of your life. I want everything to be right.’
‘The most important day of my life?’ I say. ‘What about when our children are born?’
Patrick smiles. ‘Okay. Second most important. But important, none-the-less.’
‘It makes me nervous when you say that.’
‘Why?’
‘Because … I don’t want to mess things up. If it’s so important.’
‘Mess it up? How could you possibly mess anything up?’
‘I don’t know. Saying the wrong words. Not knowing where to stand or something. Getting the time wrong. All this formal ceremony stuff – I don’t know much about it. Couldn’t we just run away to Vegas or something?’
‘It has to be done right. You’re going to become Lady Mansfield. What would people think if you didn’t have a proper wedding? They’d think I had no respect for you. That you weren’t the real thing. And you are.’
I take in a deep breath and let it out. Yup. Still feel nervous.
Patrick grabs my hands and squeezes them. ‘Trust me. You’ll be fine.’
We’re interrupted by the crunch of gravel, as a limousine rolls towards us from the castle stables.
‘Ah! Our chariot.’ Hugo claps his hands together. ‘Let the dress shopping commence.’
The wedding-dress boutique Hugo takes me to is brightly lit and full of fresh white roses.
We sit on white leather poufs drinking strawberry martinis, waiting for someone to give me a ‘colour profile’. Whatever that is.
‘Still nervous darling?’ Hugo asks.
‘No so much now,’ I say, holding up the martini glass. ‘For some reason …’
Hugo laughs like a parrot. ‘Alcohol! It cures everything. Yes, yes, you have no reason to be nervous. Enjoy yourself today. This is a beautiful day! The day you find the dress you’ll be married in.’
‘But what if I don’t find it today?’ I ask.
Hugo puts a reassuring hand over mine. ‘You will darling. You will.’
A lady in a bright pink suit comes bustling up to us, all big blonde hair, shiny lipstick and smiles.
She’s in her forties, cuddly looking and the sort of woman I’d guess would have about five children – she has that motherly air.
‘Hello young lady,’ she beams, squashing up right next to me on the pouf. ‘I’m Amanda. I’ll be doing your colours today.’
She shakes my hand, and her diamond rings sparkle under the lights.
‘Now then. Let me have a look at you. It’s Seraphina, isn’t it?’
Yes,’ I say, as she takes my chin and turns my face, examining me under the light.
‘Lovely skin Seraphina. Beautiful. You must eat well. Drink plenty of water?’
‘Not really,’ I admit. ‘I should, but … I don’t.’
‘Just lucky genetics then,’ Amanda smiles. ‘And that hair! Like a sunset. Such a lovely colour. I’d kill to be a red head.’
‘You might think that, but I had a lot of teasing at school about it,’ I say. ‘And look – my eyelashes are so pale.’
‘Oh stop it.’ Amanda waves her hand at me. ‘You’re stunning. Just stunning. Look at you! I can’t wait to get you in a dress. Now. Let’s move that hair back and I’ll get some colours on you.’
She sweeps hair around my shoulder. Then she lifts a book of coloured fabric swatches and flips through.
‘Mmm, red, red, red.’ She stops on an orangey swatch and lays it over my chest. ‘Thought as much. Stunning. Let’s try a few more.’
‘Am I going to have an orange wedding dress?’ I ask.
Amanda laughs. ‘No sweetheart. We’re just matching your colours – finding out which season you are.’
‘Season?’
‘Yes. We all have colour seasons. Sets of colours that suit us best.’ She pats her blonde hair. ‘I’m a summer. Hugo here is a winter. And by the looks of things, you’re an autumn.’
She tries out a few more colour swatches – a soft forest green and a chocolate brown.
‘Yes. I knew it. Autumn. I hardly needed the swatches to tell me that, but better safe than sorry.’
She flips to the back of the fabric swatch book, where the colours fade to whites and creams.
‘No, no, no,’ she mutters to herself. ‘Too bright. It’ll drown you. Ah! Perfect. A little more cream. But not too much.’
She throws a buttery white swatch around my shoulders and examines my face.
‘Hugo?’ she asks, smiling.
‘Perfect!’ Hugo claps his hands together.
‘It lights her up, doesn’t it?’
‘It certainly does. And th
e silkiness of it … just the right amount of shine.’
‘It brings out those lovely ivory tones in her skin. And the brown and red in her eyes. Beautiful. Just beautiful. This is the one, Hugo. You two – have another cocktail. I’ll collect some gowns to start with.’
43
Ten minutes later, Amanda wheels in a rail of silky cream-coloured wedding dresses.
Some are slim and fitted. Others are more elaborate – lace, taffeta and long trains.
Amanda runs pink fingernails over the dresses. ‘A beautiful selection here, Seraphina. Really beautiful. Just you wait and see. Now. Which would you like to try first?’
Gingerly, I go to the dresses, plucking at some, stroking others.
‘They’re really lovely,’ I say. ‘Too good for me, really. I feel like I’d get them dirty or something.’
‘Oh nonsense,’ says Amanda. ‘Come on. Which one would you like to try first?’
My hand stops on a long, silky dress – slinky I suppose you’d call it. Simple, too. Like a long nightie. It’s beautiful and elegant. And it doesn’t seem too showy. But … is it really me?
‘This one?’ Amanda asks, unhooking the dress from the rail. ‘A lovely choice. Designed by Chamie Delta. A lot of high-society girls have been married in this dress. It’s the aristocrat’s choice. Tasteful.’ She raises her eyebrow. ‘A little safe, though. Don’t you think?’
‘Maybe,’ I admit. ‘I don’t want to get it wrong. I want Patrick to be proud of me.’
‘Of course he’ll be proud of you,’ Hugo barks. ‘That man would be proud of you if you married him in a bin bag.’ He frowns at the dress. ‘Amanda’s right. It’s too safe. Lovely. But safe. We can do better. Next!’
I flick through more dresses.
There really are some lovely gowns. I’ve never seen dresses like this before. So unique. But tasteful too.
Still … none of them jump out at me. I mean, they’re all lovely. But …
Hugo watches me as I flip through. ‘Nothing grabbing you, honey?’
I grin sheepishly. ‘Um … not exactly. They’re beautiful though.’
Amanda flips through a few more dresses. ‘How about this one? Ivory silk. Lace neckline. Very Princess Kate, don’t you think? You’d really suit this one, Seraphina.’
I chew my lip and take a piece of the fabric in my fingers. ‘It’s lovely, but …’
‘It’s just not you,’ Hugo finishes.
‘Yes. Look, I’m really sorry. I feel like I’m being difficult.’
‘Not at all,’ says Hugo. ‘You’re a girl who knows your own mind. You don’t want to look like anybody else. You want to look like yourself. Am I right?’
‘Yes, but … with this big wedding and everything. I’m not really sure who myself is right now,’ I say, trying for a smile. ‘I mean, I can’t marry Patrick in a handmade net skirt with sequins all over it.’
‘Why on earth not?’
‘It just wouldn’t be right,’ I explain. ‘The people want a big wedding. I can’t let them down. We’re getting married in St Mary’s Cathedral. I want to look the part. I just don’t know quite how I fit the part yet.’
Amanda takes my hand and squeezes it reassuringly. ‘Do you know, I’ve worked at this boutique since I was a teenager. I’ve seen many young women come and go. Princesses. Duchesses. Women from very well-to-do families. And I can spot the ones who’ll make the most beautiful brides. Do you know how?’
‘How?’ I ask.
‘The girls who are beautiful inside will always look beautiful outside.’
Amanda plucks out a ruched silk dress with a long, flowing train.
She holds it across my body. Then she turns me so I can see myself in the mirror.
‘I love wedding gowns. And the wedding gowns in this boutique – well, in my opinion we have some of the most beautiful dresses in the world. But they’re still just dresses. The girl in the gown is the most important thing.’
She moves my hair around my shoulders. ‘Hold a gown over a selfish girl and she starts to preen and look even more full of herself. A girl who is unkind will look more cat-like. I’ve seen it a thousand times. But a girl who has a big heart, who is beautiful inside, will look even more beautiful. Like she was born the wear the dress. So really you don’t need to worry, Seraphina. Because I can tell you have a big heart.’
I feel myself smiling. ‘Thank you,’ I whisper. ‘That’s a lovely thing to say.’
‘Yes, yes,’ says Hugo, standing up. ‘You’re quite right, of course Amanda. But still – I think we should go a little more daring for our beautiful Seraphina. Don’t you think? She’s not just any old boring beauty. She has personality. A mind of her own.’
Amanda smiles. ‘Yes. I think you’re quite right. She can carry off something very bold.’ She strokes the dresses on the rail. Then she clicks her fingers. ‘I think I might have just the thing. Wait there.’
A moment later, she returns with a pure white dress bag that bulges with fabric.
She hangs it on the front of the rail. ‘This is by Art Burlay. It was shown in his winter fashion show. But right now, it’s one of a kind. The fabric is so unusual – the dressmakers weren’t able to get enough in stock to make more dresses this season.
‘We weren’t sure whether to offer it for sale or not. After all, there’s only one – we didn’t want anyone getting in a catfight over it. But you’re a very special customer. So …’
She slides down the zip, and Hugo and I watch – transfixed by the amazing gown that appears.
The bodice is crushed silk, with one shoulder up, one finishing off the shoulder.
The skirt sort of opens up into a cascade of soft net that spills out like champagne fizzing from the bottle.
I see one long, white lace fingerless glove pinned to the hanger.
Wow. Just wow.
I reach out to stroke the fabric, and realise the netting is soft to the touch. I’ve never seen or felt anything like it.
‘Did this fabric come from space?’ I joke. ‘How can it be so soft when it sticks out like this?’
Amanda smiles. ‘It’s a very special fabric.’
‘You can say that again.’
‘I think she likes it,’ says Hugo.
‘I think it was made for her,’ says Amanda.
I put a hand to my mouth to stop myself giggling. ‘It’s … it’s perfect.’
‘Don’t say that until you try it on,’ Amanda warns. ‘I’ve had many a girl fall in love with a dress, but when she wears it … she’s not so sure.’
‘No, I’m sure,’ I say. ‘Sometimes you just know something. Patrick’s always saying that. And … I just know.’
‘Well then.’ Amanda claps her hands together. ‘Let’s get you in the thing and see how you look.’
44
A few moments later, Amanda stands behind me, hooking me into the corset.
I’m staring at myself in the mirror, completely giddy.
Amanda slides the glove on my hand, then moves my hair over the dress. ‘Beautiful,’ she breathes. ‘An absolute show stopper.’
‘It’s perfect,’ I say. ‘Truly. This is amazing. It’s me. This dress really is me. Thank you. Thank you so much.’
I grab her and kiss her, then I grab Hugo and kiss him too.
‘Don’t crush your dress missy,’ Hugo warns.
‘Oh let her crush it a little bit,’ says Amanda, waving a hand at him. ‘She has to make it her own. After all. What’s a dress if you can’t hug people in it?’
Back at the castle, I spend the rest of the afternoon with Patrick, Bertie, Wila and Daphne. Danny is resting in his room.
It’s raining, so we huddle up in the West Wing lounge and play board games.
The new housekeeper, Louise, brings us hot buttered crumpets and cocoa, then joins us for a game of Guess Who.
We all sit on the floor by the fire, at Bertie level, and I hope he feels our love for him.
He does seem softer this a
fternoon. And he eats crumpets and manages to speak a little bit.
I sit against Patrick, his arms around me.
When we play Guess Who, Patrick frowns in concentration the whole time. Then he punches the air when our team win.
I laugh. ‘I didn’t know you were so competitive.’
‘Patrick has always been competitive,’ says Daphne. ‘Since he was a little boy. He always had to win. Even when we played the silliest games. He and Jamie fought each other once over a game of Snakes and Ladders.’
‘I can believe that,’ I say.
‘Well you shouldn’t,’ says Patrick, with a sideways smile. ‘It’s nonsense. I didn’t always have to win. I let Jamie win more times than I can count.’
‘Ah yes,’ says Daphne. ‘But when he won without you letting him … that led to arguments.’
‘Who doesn’t like to win?’ says Patrick.
‘I don’t care about winning,’ I say. ‘I’m happy to see someone else do well.’
Patrick frowns. ‘You’re a woman. Women are different. Men like to win.’
‘Your father certainly does,’ says Daphne. ‘Maybe even more than you do.’
They share a meaningful look.
‘And maybe he’s won once again,’ says Daphne. ‘He’s outwitted us.’
‘Perhaps,’ says Patrick. ‘But we’ll see.’
It feels good, all of us together. But I realise we’re missing some people.
‘Would you like it if Mummy was here?’ I ask Bertie.
Bertie nods hard.
Patrick’s arm tightens around me.
‘Anise won’t come up here without Regan,’ Patrick growls.
‘Says who?’ I ask.
‘Says me. I know how he works her. I saw it when they were dating. He’s a control freak. He won’t want her out of his sight.’
‘Then Regan will have to come up too,’ I say.
Patrick gives a harsh laugh. ‘No way.’
