“It was Robert…,” Harry began, and hesitated as he caught sight of the bridegroom heading toward the church. “I’ll tell you quickly. Adrian’s on his way here. Robert saw the Cézanne at my home in Kent, and he thought it was wrong, the word used in the art world. When it’s wrong, it’s not right, which means, in their language, it’s a fake. Robert kept his thoughts to himself for a long time, but one day he told me what he felt about the painting. I took it from there. I knew he was sincere and serious. It was on his conscience.”

“So all’s well that ends well,” Jack said, with a faint smile.

When Adrian came to a standstill in front of his groomsmen, Harry took hold of his arm and said, “‘Come live with me and be my love, / And we will all the pleasures prove.’”

Adrian laughed. “Quoting romantic Elizabethan words to me! Those words are meant for a girl.”

“Not necessarily,” Harry responded swiftly. “And I was just predicting your future. Pleasures with your love for a lifetime.”

The village church was packed to overflowing. All of the locals had come, and some of the servants from Bolton Manor. A number had stayed behind with Cook to make the wedding supper, and were happy to do so.

All of the front pews were filled with the bridegroom’s friends and family, and the Strattons, now that Vanessa was married to Robert Lassiter, and a few of Moira’s friends were there as well. Everyone was dressed in their best finery, especially the women.

Blackie and Siobhan were seated in the middle of the church, also wearing their Sunday clothes. After the wedding ceremony, they were going to the party in the church hall that had been arranged for, and paid by, Lord Lassiter for the villagers. It was a tradition of the Lassiter family.

Suddenly there was the sound of music as the organist began to play. Silence reigned as everyone stopped chatting and turned in their pews, their eyes on the front door of the church.

Blackie glanced at the altar and saw Lord Adrian, the bridegroom, standing with his best man, Harry Peterson; both of them looked somewhat anxious as they waited for the bride.

Swinging around, Blackie focused fully on the entrance now, as Mendelssohn’s “Wedding March” filled the church to the rafters with soaring music.

And then there they were: Moira on the arm of Lord Robert Lassiter, her second cousin, who was giving her away. Blackie let out a small gasp as he stared at them. Lord Lassiter so handsome in his morning suit with a white rosebud pinned on his lapel, and Moira, looking like a fairy-tale princess. She was very beautiful in a white satin wedding gown, well cut and somewhat tailored, with a low neckline, long sleeves and a straight skirt that was draped into a train at the back.