Rosalind did not bother with hello. “Where are you getting married?” she demanded. I told her the truth. Desmond’s family conservation trust had approved a small ceremony at a protected coastal sanctuary normally closed to private events. We were not buying access or turning protected land into a party venue; the trust’s board had authorized a tightly limited gathering under the same environmental rules applied to educational and donor events. Guests would arrive by boat, catering would be local, nothing permanent would be installed, and every vendor had agreed to strict conservation requirements. Bennett Prescott was attending because he had worked with the trust for years, not because I had stolen him from Marlowe’s guest list.
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