I stood at the bottom of the stairs, Dad at my side, waiting to walk into the ballroom where our family and friends waited—and about a dozen people we only met today, but who might as well make the numbers up to replace the people who didn’t make it. The lobby was lit by many candles, as the gloom gathered outside. Now and again I caught a glimpse of myself in the mirror, taking in my turquoise clad form, in a dress that was only nominally a dress, held together with hasty stitching and safety pins, which were covered by taffeta and other gauzy bits to hide some of the small deficiencies. I’d have to be cut out of it later. It wouldn’t survive the wedding night. But damn it would look good in the photographs. Silver accessories and a headdress involving those peacock feathers Geordie had g
