*Ella*
I don’t know much about castles; I have only seen engravings in one of my father’s books. I had thought Pomeroy Castle would have airy flounces and furbelows, slender turrets, a pile of rose-colored brick in the setting sun.
Instead, it is four-square and masculine, with the aggressive look of a military fortress. The two turrets are round and squat. There is nothing lyrical about it. It bristles, its walls thick and bossy, like a stout watchman with someone to scold.
The carriage trolls down a gravel drive, through the stone archway and into a courtyard. The door to the carriage swings open, and I step down, taking the hand of one of Minna’s groomsmen, to find that the courtyard is so crowded with people that I am tempted to turn and peer under the carriage to see if we have acc
