The weather was so nice the wedding reception was able to be held outdoors as planned, on one of the most beautiful lawns I’d ever seen, but a marquee was set up on the off chance it rained. Tables almost groaning from all the food they held were under the marquee. A dance floor had been put together by the Dorincourt males prior to the happy day so no one would trip and the ladies’ high heeled shoes wouldn’t sink into the grass.
James found a table that was out of the way, and he made sure I was settled at it before he leaned his walking stick against a chair and went off to fill a couple of plates for us.
James’s parents approached our table, and I hauled myself to my feet—the Old Bat had pounded manners into me. That had taken, while her attempt to make sure I had religion turned out
