‘And the rest of them?’ Shirley looked affronted.

‘Maybe in my own time,’ Jenny said. ‘Not from this salon.’

‘Well…’ Shirley was about to start a war, Jenny thought, and Shirley’s wars were legion.

‘Leave it, Ma.’ For the first time Kylie spoke up. She was a pale, timid young bride, and only the fact that her prospective husband was even more timid than his fiancée-and totally besotted-made Jenny feel okay about the wedding. But now Kylie had a flush to her cheeks, and she turned to Guy as if she was trying to dredge up the courage to ask him something important. ‘Mr Carver…?’

‘Yes?’ Guy was staring down at Jenny-who was meeting his look and holding it with a hint of defiance. Things were about to change in her life because of this man, and she wasn’t sure that she liked it.

‘When did you buy Bridal Fluff?’ Kylie asked, and Guy turned and gazed at the bride.

It wasn’t a great look, Jenny thought ruefully. The first of her brides that Guy was seeing was a waif of a bride in a vast sea of tulle. Her dress had been made when she’d had a size eight waist. It had been close fitting then. Now two strips of satin had been sewn into the waist to accommodate her advanced pregnancy. Jenny had attached a loose-fitting lace camisole to disguise the bulge a little, but it was no small bulge. The fact that the bulge kept changing meant that the hemline kept changing as well.

As well as that, Kylie’s mother had definite ideas on what a bride should look like-which was a vision in every decorative piece of lacework she could think of. The veil even had tiny cupid motifs hand-sewn onto the netting. Seeing the veil turned into a train, Jenny estimated Guy was looking at approximately eight hundred cupids.

This was not one of her most elegant brides.

‘Do you officially own this place yet?’ Kylie asked, and Guy nodded, with what appeared to be reluctance.