by Katie Ashmore Ashford Manor
LADY FLORENCE HARDBY stepped out of her Daimler and glanced up at the imposing façade of Ashford Manor. She handed her car keys to a waiting servant and mounted the steps to the open front door.
The butler, sombre in suit and black tie, relieved her of her coat, fur and cloche hat.
“Lady Florence. Welcome to Ashford!”
Her hosts, Hugh and Frances Childsworth, stepped forward to greet her.
“Thank you!” Her face lit up. “It’s so kind of you to have me to stay.”
“Delighted, delighted.” Hugh shook her hand heartily. He was a stocky man with grey hair, brown eyes and a walrus moustache.
“We’re terribly excited about the wedding,” his wife said. “We couldn’t be happier to host some of Sir Rowland and Lady Evelyn’s guests.”
“It will be a wonderful occasion,” Florence agreed.
Rowland and Evelyn Milton were Florence’s cousins and her closest family. Their son, Ivor, was getting married to Miss Caroline Waverley.
A large number of guests were gathering for the occasion and some of them were to stay at Ashford Manor. It was set to be a fabulous couple of weeks.
“Come through to the drawing-room for some refreshment.”
Florence followed them through the large hallway, along a corridor to a beautiful room at the back of the house.
It was spacious and well-proportioned with wide windows and a set of double doors opening on to the gardens.
“You already know Hugh’s mother, of course, and our Bertie and Lillian.”
Florence greeted Mrs Priscilla Childsworth, the matriarch of the house.
“I’m delighted to see you again,” she said, giving another of her engaging smiles.
“A lot of fuss about nothing,” the older woman declared. “Though you’re welcome at Ashford, of course, Lady Florence.”
It was well known that Priscilla did not have a high opinion of matrimony.
Florence shook hands with Bertie and Lillian, Priscilla’s grandchildren. Bertie was a young man of twenty-four with dark hair, brown eyes and a pleasant face.
His sister, only slightly younger, was a fashionable petite blonde with a Marcel wave and a pair of intelligent blue eyes.
“It’s all frightfully exciting, isn’t it, Lady Florence?” she cried.
“It will be delightful,” she agreed. “You are to be a bridesmaid? How thrilling!”
“It is, rather.”
“I’m the best man, y’know,” Bertie cut in. “It’s jolly marvellous that Ivor asked me, but I’m not sure I wouldn’t rather be rid
