When a junior assistant unbolted the door at half past the hour, Miss Yate almost burst into the premises. Never had the assistant, or indeed Mme Perigord, the proprietress, ever been faced with a client who breathlessly demanded a hat from the window display, placed it upon her head, took one look in the mirror and immediately drew forth the required sum from her reticule. When the young lady departed, Mme Perigord shook her head, and remarked that, whilst it was always good to know one’s creations were wanted, what had just passed was closer to being held up by a highwayman than selling a hat. By this time Miss Yate, new hat upon her head, was all but running back to St George’s, and with a breathless Matty struggling to keep up.

This unforeseen delay meant that Captain Hathersage arrived with the special licence a quarter hour after ten o’clock to find that Lord Henfield had successfully assuaged any ecclesiastical qualms and was himself already waiting at the door of the church with this good news, and the less good news that the bride had disappeared on a ‘minor shopping excursion’. Captain Hathersage did not take this news well, initially blaming Lord Henfield for not escorting his intended, but then accepting that his lordship could not do that and simultaneously negotiate for the wedding to take place at exceedingly short notice.

‘Er, one thing, Hathersage. Do you possess a ring?’

‘A ring?’ Hathersage looked blankly at him.

‘Yes, a ring for the “with this ring I thee wed” part. Generally considered a required item at a wedding.’

‘Good Lord! I completely forgot about a ring.’

‘Well, may I suggest a “minor excursion” of your own into Bond Street where there are several jewellers’.’

‘But what about the size of her finger?’

‘Guess. It can always be altered a little, but err on larger rather than smaller, since a fight to get it on her finger would not be … conducive to a pleasant ceremony.’

Lord Henfield was then left to pace up and down beneath the colonnade at the front of the church. Captain Hathersage was blessedly swift, but this meant Lord Henfield dealing with a worried groom. At ten to eleven he sent the poor man inside to sit in a pew, and pray that his love would arrive shortly. The captain was obviously a righteous man, for just before the clock struck the hour, Miss Yate, with her maid trailing in her wake, hurried up to the church, quite breathless, and pink of cheek.

‘I am so terribly sorry, my lord. The shop was not yet open and …’

He held out his hand and took one of hers.

‘Compose yourself, Miss Yate. Captain Hathersage has not yet become so desperate as to throw hymnals about the aisles. Take a deep breath and …’

‘Do you like it?’

‘I beg your pardon?’

‘The hat. My mama said it would be wasted upon me but …’