The preparations on the evening of New Year’s Eve were charged with an air of breathtaking, historic majesty. In the bridal dressing suite on the second floor of Blackwood Hall, Clara knelt before Vivienne, smoothing the fifty-yard train of ivory silk faille across the polished floorboards. Clara’s cheeks were flushed with healthy pink, her eyes sparkling with joyful pride. "You look like a fairy-tale queen, Vivi," Clara whispered, her fingers…
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