“But that’s not possible.” Gemma looked at Duncan in confusion. “It’s not a legal venue.”

“No. But it is possible to have a blessing. There’s a humanist celebrant, a nice woman, waiting in the garden. Usually it’s done the other way round, the civil wedding, then the blessing. But I explained that we were a little, um, unusual, and she agreed to come.

“We can have a ceremony, then next week we can go to Chelsea Town Hall and start the paperwork. Because that’s all a civil marriage is—paperwork. This”—he gestured at their friends and family gathered round—“this is what matters.”

Gemma suddenly realized that the house was filled with flowers—vases of roses and lilies and lovely things she couldn’t name.

Following her gaze, Duncan said, “Wesley organized the flowers from the market this morning. Betty’s cooking Caribbean food for after, and Wesley’s going to take pictures. I organized the champagne—there’s cases of it in the kitchen.”

“And the cake?”

“I’m afraid we couldn’t get a proper cake made in time. Wesley’s bought loads of cupcakes from the bakery on Portobello.”

Gemma started to laugh. “Oh, that’s perfect, just perfect.”

Duncan smiled back. He leaned over and whispered in her ear. “Is that a yes, then?”

She slipped an arm round his neck and whispered back, “What would you have done if I’d said no?”

“Had a hell of a party.” He brushed his lips against her cheek, and suddenly she wanted him so fiercely her knees went weak.

“Hey, no snogging before the ceremony,” Kit called out. “Let’s get this show on the road. Everyone, outside.”

“I take it Kit has appointed himself master of ceremonies?” Gemma said, reluctantly letting go of Duncan.

As the crowd began to shift towards the garden, Charlotte, who had been hiding behind Betty’s skirts, ran over and wrapped her arms around Gemma’s knees. “Ooh, look at you.” Gemma lifted her into a hug. “You’ve got a new dress, too. Aren’t you pretty.”

“I’m da flower girl,” Charlotte told her, giving her a somewhat sticky kiss.

“Oh, flowers.” Gemma began to feel a flutter of nerves. “I don’t have a bouquet.”

“Yes, you do,” said Wesley. He sounded uncharacteristically shy. “I had them make it at Tyler’s. I hope it’s okay.” He handed her a spray of white roses and greenery, tied with a pale green silk ribbon.

“It’s lovely, Wes.” She saw that the dogs, who had joined the melee, had matching ribbons. She turned to Hazel. “And what would you have done if I’d refused to buy the dress?”

“I had confidence in my powers of persuasion. I spent all my off hours for a week finding that bloody dress. You were going to buy it or else.” She pulled a lipstick and a hairbrush from her bag. “Here, touch-up time.”

Gemma tidied up in the hall mirror, then turned to Hazel for inspection. “Do I look all right?”

Sniffing, Hazel gave her a quick hug. “Angelic. Now go.”

“Cue the music,” shouted Kit, and from the sitting room came the sound, not of Mendelssohn, which Gemma despised, but of a joyously ringing Bach prelude.

Then as she turned back to the room, she realized that the only people not smiling, and not moving towards the garden, were her parents. She went to them quickly. “Mum. Are you feeling all right? What is it?”

Vi looked up, her lips trembling, but it was her dad who spoke first. “It’s not a proper wedding, is it? Not legal, like.”

“We’ll have a civil wedding in the register’s office,” Gemma explained. “As soon as we can arrange it.”

“That’s all very well,” said her mum. “But there’s no reception hall, is there? And what about the Rolls-Royce with ribbons and things? And, Gemma, your dress—you can’t get married in green.”

Gemma smiled, trying hard to hang on to her temper. “I’ll tell you a secret, Mum. I’m not exactly entitled to wear white.”

“Don’t you be cheeky to your mother, miss.” Her dad was scowling now, his color rising. “You’ve let down your mum and her friends, who were expecting a proper do. What are we going to tell people?”

She looked at them, then at the last of the other guests, trailing out into the garden. Duncan waited by the French doors. The Bach played on, a counterpoint to the happy murmur of voices. The scent of lilies came to her on the warm air. Her anger evaporated.

“I don’t give a fig what anyone expected,” she said firmly. “This is my day, and I’m not going to let anyone spoil it. I would like for you to stay and to wish me well, but that’s up to you.

“Now, if you don’t mind, I’ve someone waiting for me.” She bent and kissed her mum’s cheek, and after a hesitant moment, her dad’s. Then she walked towards Duncan without looking back.

At the door, Wesley handed her the bouquet, and Duncan took her arm. “Rings.” She pulled away in a last moment of panic. “We don’t have rings.”

“We do,” Duncan assured her. “Toby has them. At least I hope Toby has them.”

“You’re very brave,” she said, beginning to smile. A tide of joy was rising in her like a spring.

“Very brave or very mad.” He looked at her, his face suddenly serious. “Or both. Are you sure, Gemma? Are you sure this is what you want?”

She glanced round at the expectant faces of their gathered friends, and at the children, who looked ready to burst with pride and excitement. “You did this for me. All of this. It couldn’t be more perfect. And you”—she touched his cheek, then brushed back the wayward lock of hair that had fallen across his forehead—“you are exactly what I want.”

Duncan took her hand and led her out into the garden.