The minister had rehearsed the service several times with Livia so that she should understand the significance of each word in a church that was not her family’s church, in a language that was not her own. He always had the sense that she was learning her lines like an actress, rather than repeating them as a prayer. Even now, as he intoned the introduction to the marriage service, he thought there was something rather theatrical about the beautiful widow. She lifted the posy of primroses to her face and breathed in their scent, and then she lifted her dark eyes to his, looking at him soulfully over the butter-cream petals.

“…Which is an honorable estate, instituted of God in Paradise in the time of man’s innocency, signifying unto us the mystical union that is betwixt Christ and his Church.”

He could not be mistaken: her smile gleamed at him as if she had enlisted him to help her in some trick, as a cardsharper in the street might use a bystander to lure a fool and take advantage of him. The minister continued with the words, but he could not bear Livia’s smiling gaze.

“…Which holy estate Christ adorned and beautified with his presence, and first miracle that he wrought, in Cana of Galilee; and is commended of Saint Paul to be honorable among all men: and therefore is not by any to be enterprised, nor taken in hand, unadvisedly, lightly, or wantonly, to satisfy men’s carnal lusts and appetites, like brute beasts that have no understanding; but reverently, discreetly, advisedly, soberly, and in the fear of God…”

The minister glanced at his other parishioner, Lady Eliot, rigid with disapproval in the family pew, visibly unhappy at this second marriage and bitterly resenting this foreigner. At the bridegroom’s side, George Pakenham stared blankly at the stained-glass window behind the minister’s head as if he wished he was elsewhere. The minister hesitated, any man on God’s earth would have hesitated, looking from the white-faced Englishman to the smiling Italian widow. And as he paused, Livia lifted her pretty face and snapped: “Go on.”

Sir James flinched at her order. Then he confirmed it: “Yes, Mr. Rogers, please continue.”

The minister recited the sacred reasons that the two should be joined in matrimony, unconvincing even to himself. He demanded if there was any reason that they should not be married? And that anyone should speak now, or forever hold his peace. He made the traditional pause for any reply, and Livia’s upward glance at Sir James was sweetly trusting.

Lady Eliot held her breath, looked at Sir George, opened her mouth as if to speak, and then subsided. There was nothing she could say to prevent the wedding going ahead. There was nothing anyone could say.

The minister held the Prayer Book towards Sir James, the wedding ring resting on the open page, and James put his dead wife’s ring on Livia’s finger, reciting the wedding oath: “With this ring, I thee wed, with my body I thee worship, and with all my worldly goods I thee endow. In the name of the Father and of the Son and of the Holy Ghost, Amen.”

It was a little too large; Livia clenched her hand in a fist to hold it tight.

“Let us pray,” the minister said, and he led them through the prayers for the marriage and then went to the altar to prepare Holy Communion. Livia, now baptized and confirmed into the church, went with her new husband to the chancel steps and received the bread and the wine. She was followed by her new aunt Lady Eliot, Sir George, and her household. When the service was completed, they prayed again and the minister said to James: “You may kiss the bride.”

Livia, still holding the primroses to her cheek, turned up her face for his kiss so that he kissed warm lips and felt the flowers against his cheek, and smelled the delicate sweetness of their scent.

“So that’s done,” Lady Eliot remarked sourly to Sir George. She picked up her Prayer Book from the shelf in the front of the pew, and turned to leave, as the big door at the far end of the church banged open and a swirl of cold air blew in. A crowd of strangers strode down the aisle, one, two, three men in traveling capes, and among them Sarah and Alys Stoney—the last people Livia would have expected to see here on the Strand, the last people she would have wanted at her wedding.

“Stop the service,” Rob Reekie said very calmly. “Minister, I bid you, stop the service. This woman cannot be married to this man.”

James Avery, scowling at the rudeness of this interruption, fearing scandal before he even knew what was happening, saw Rob, his former pupil, but did not recognize him in this fully grown confident brown-haired man who looked at him so grimly, with two strangers behind him, and bringing up the rear: Alys Stoney and her daughter, Sarah.

“Stop the service,” Rob repeated. “This woman cannot be married to this man. She is my wife.”

In the stunned silence, it was Lady Eliot who took control of the situation. She stepped forward and put up her hand to Rob. “Not another word more,” she said, and when he would have protested, she said: “I mean it. Not another word more.”

For a moment Livia thought she had found an unlikely defender. But Lady Eliot was only thinking that the servants must see and hear as little as possible. “You can go.” She turned to the Avery House steward, to the Avery House cook, and to their underlings. “Apparently, there is a difficulty, a mistake here, which we will resolve privately. Go back to Avery House now, and we will come later, and you can serve the wedding dinner then. And mind that it’s perfect. However delayed.”

The servants dawdled out, as slowly as they dared, but the nobility and the strangers were silent, as if frozen in their places like statues, until the door had closed behind the servants, and they were alone.

“Shall we…?” helplessly Mr. Rogers gestured towards the vestry. “You will want to be alone?”

“No,” Livia said flatly, daring anyone to contradict her. “I’m not going anywhere. Anything anyone wants to say can be said here. There is no obstacle to me marrying this man. And in any case we are married now, and anyone who says different is a liar.” She did not even look at Rob, as if he were not there, as if he were still imprisoned on a plague island, as if he had never been.

A slight gesture from Felipe caught her eye and for the first time she saw him, realized that he had come with Rob, and that there was a new and dangerous alliance against her. Even now she showed no fear, she did not hesitate for a moment. “This is a true marriage,” she repeated defiantly, directly to Felipe. “It is in everyone’s best interest that it is not challenged. I speak to you complete strangers, as I do to my loved ones, as I do to my new husband and family. All of you, all of you will do better if you leave this marriage unchallenged. I did not undertake it lightly. It is in the best interests of us all.”

Felipe hid his smile. He took off his hat to her and bowed.

James Avery swallowed on a dry mouth. “Who are you?” he asked Rob, and then he said, more uncertainly, “You’re Rob, aren’t you? Rob Reekie? Good God, Rob! I thought you were dead. They all thought you were…” He took half a step towards the younger man as if he would embrace him; but Rob did not respond at all, did not open his arms, made no move beyond a stiff little bow, and James’s joy died away in uncertainty. “I wouldn’t have believed it!” he said more quietly. “What a miracle! And your mother!” He turned to Alys. “Have you told her, Mrs. Stoney? Has she seen him? Does she know?”