‘Where’s the ladder?’ Ruby asked the group, even though it was evident no one had thought about the return journey because they didn’t expect there to be one. The plan had been that Guthrie Mortimer’s chauffeur would drive them in his vintage Rolls to Pencleven Court, where they would celebrate with dancing and champagne.

Her dad scanned the floor to see if there was something that might suffice as a step. Merrin felt her legs sway a little.

I just want to go home . . . someone, please take me home . . . I don’t want people to see me dressed up like this . . . like a bride, but not a bride . . . The dress that had earlier filled her with confidence now painted her as a fool. The clingy bodice was constricting and the diamanté waistband sparkled more brightly than ever, catching the sunlight and calling to be admired. She wished it would be quiet. Wanting nothing more than to blend into the surroundings or, better still, disappear altogether.

Her mum leant into her, propping her up. ‘It’s all right, love. Hang on, my darling. We’ll have you home before you know it.’

Merrin felt an arm beneath her shoulder blades and another around the back of her thighs, and suddenly she was being lifted from the ground, grateful to be in Jarvis’s arms. He walked to the cart and she buried her face in his neck. He stood tall and laid her on the pillows, before shrugging his arms from his jacket and laying it over her. Bella and Ruby clambered up, giving each other a leg-up and scrambling on the wood. They were, she noted, still holding their redundant flowers, but were clearly no longer concerned about keeping their floaty lilac frocks pristine.

‘I’ll walk down the hill with your mother, Ben.’ Heather spoke softly. ‘You travel back next to Jarvis and get the big kettle on. We’ll be with you soon enough and I think the fresh air’ll do us both good.’

‘Okay, love. Sure you don’t you want me to come back with the truck?’

‘No, it’s only five minutes. I’ll see you there as soon as. It’ll be nice to have a little walk, won’t it, Ellen?’

‘Wait till I get my hands on that boy! How dare he?’ Mrs Kellow senior raised her cane as if it were a sword. ‘That family is poison! Pure poison! This is what they do!’

Merrin was aware of the conversations taking place around her, and of her girls, who gathered close. Both of them were crying, and she envied them that, as not one tear had left her eyes; she could barely blink.