A Stairs - Eva Ibbotson

But now the bridal car drew up and, on the arms of Petya, almost as tall now as she was herself, Anna walked towards the porch. Her dress was simple and unadorned, she carried only a bouquet of the roses that Mr Cameron had so cunningly named for her, but Countess Grazinsky, waiting to adjust her daughter’s veil, had to turn her head away, so overcome was she by what she saw in Anna’s face.

‘Here are your gloves, dear,’ said Pinny, trying-and failing - to achieve some kind of briskness. And then, ‘It’s time…’

But as Anna stepped inside the church, saw the sea of faces, heard the pounding music, she faltered and stopped. It was too much…the gods would not permit such joy.

‘I’m afraid,’ she whispered, the colour draining from her face. ‘I’m terribly afraid.’

A small voice, brisk and marvellously motherly, came from behind her.

‘That’s silly, Anna,’ said the Honourable Olive. ‘Being afraid is silly, you know it is.’

Anna turned and met the shining blue eyes of her chief and only bridesmaid. The Honourable Olive’s dress, like Anna’s, had been made by Mrs Bunford. The child had been given free reign for she was all of nine years old now, her natural taste beginning to form, and the white wreath and muslin dress were as simple as Anna’s own. But if ever there was a bridesmaid suffused with th sheer joy of living on such a splendid and dazzling day, that bridesmaid was Ollie Byrne.

And Anna smiled and laid her hand lightly on the bright curls, and turned to walk steadily to where Rupert waited: a man who had passed beyond all doubt and uncertainty - a man who had come home.