Felicita wore the same white and silver gown that she had worn the first evening she had come to The Palace, the evening when the Marques had fallen in love with her and she with him.
Over her head, but not over her face, she wore an ancient lace veil that had been in the family for several centuries.
Her wreath was of real orange blossom, made for her by The Place gardeners and she carried just a few perfect Madonna lilies in her arms.
When she came into the Chapel, there was the soft sound of organ music filling the air and the Marques was waiting for her.
He thought that she might have stepped out of one of the stained-glass windows and was a Saint or an angel.
Yet, as she slipped her hand into his, he could feel that she was human.
He loved her with all his heart and, although it
