It took place at St James’s church one bright June morning. The bride wore a gown of sea-green silk with a jade over-dress of sarsenet lace. The bodice was low, the puffed sleeves slashed. Her only adornment was a long string of freshwater pearls which glowed pink on her creamy bosom. Though some—such as Lady Cullen—looked down from their willowy heights and claimed they thought her too lacking in stature for beauty, her bosom rather too full for the fashion, most agreed that Imogen looked radiant. Certainly her groom, standing at the altar, had eyes only for her. As she had eyes only for him. As the Dowager Duchess of Strathfyne—now, thankfully, about to become the only Dowager Duchess of Strathfyne—remarked in a whisper that echoed round the arched chapel, “It was as if there was no one else present save the two of them. I declare, if Alfred had been alive still, he would have been most touched.” To this non sequitur not even Lady Innellan had an answer. But the dowager, wiping a tear from her eye with a black-edged handkerchief, spoke the truth.
