The bridal suite inside the Bishop's Palace adjoining the Cathedral of Saint Michael was a quiet sanctuary of white silk, fragrant orange blossoms, and filtered morning sunlight. An hour before the bells began their processional peal, Camilla stood before a gilded Venetian mirror, steadying the racing flutter in her chest. Teresa and two elderly seamstresses knelt on the carpet, smoothing the twelve-foot cathedral train of Brussels lace that trailed behind…
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