Our invitations came from Crane & Co. I chose hand-engraved black script on ecru white paper, with separate reception and reply cards. Each invitation and envelope was pressed by hand at Crane’s paper mill in Massachusetts that’s been around since 1801. They sent us the copper engraving plates, too, which weighed a ton. A watercolor of the Wild Garden, glass tropical conservatory, and carriage house at the Fuller Gardens, my family’s turn-of-the-century rose gardens on the seacoast of New Hampshire. They were designed throughout the 1920s and ’30s by Arthur Shurtleff and the Olmsted brothers. Our rehearsal lobster clambake dinner and cocktail hour were held here. It’s probably my favorite place on earth. Blooming beds of roses, planted in a circular Colonial Revival pattern, around an antique wellhead in the Wild Garden. There are 1,700 rose bushes planted throughout the grounds, and more than 125 varieties of roses. The front Walled Garden is my favorite spot. It has formal English borders, with perennials and annuals like delphinium, coneflowers, astilbe, salvias, hollyhocks, and cleome—and is surrounded with espaliered apple trees and privet hedges. The heart-shaped gate leading out to the sea, just across from the Fuller Gardens. Off to the left is the summerhouse my great-grandmother built in 1914—she named it La Vigie, which means “the view” in Italian. You can see the Isles of Shoals from here, and there’s something so tranquil about staring off into the vast endlessness of the Atlantic Ocean. My engagement ring. Chris found the sapphire in my favorite hue of blue, and the two diamonds on each side belonged to my mother. So, technically, it was something old, something new, something borrowed, and something blue . . . My dress was by Carolina Herrera. I loved the simplicity of its mikado silk lines and box pleats falling into a floor-length ball gown skirt. It also had pockets! I almost look like I’m praying here, and I may well have been, given that the forecast called for torrential rain throughout the afternoon. Miraculously, it didn’t rain a single drop during the outdoor ceremony or cocktail hour in the gardens. My waterfall bouquet was inspired by the cascading arrangement that my grandmother carried during her wedding day in 1944. Hamish Bowles told me to go big, so I did. It’s a mix of hanging ivy, gardenias, stephanotis, ranunculus, spray roses, and lily of the valley. My wedding shoes, which were Dolce & Gabbana. Chris getting pinned with sprigs of stephanotis. His midnight blue suit was made by Hickey Freeman. We found the Ferragamo tie together less than a week before the wedding. Chris added in a pocket square belonging to his grandfather (a wedding day gift from his parents) just before the ceremony. Putting the finishing touches on one of my page boys. The boys wore Marie-Chantal navy blue blazers, white Jacadi shorts, periwinkle-and-white striped bow ties from Crewcuts, and old-school saddle shoes with knee-high socks. My brother, Teddy, attempting to carry my train as we leave the house for the ceremony. He got the hang of it, eventually. We were planning on borrowing my stepdad’s 1970 Jaguar E-Type roadster as our getaway car, but it’s been in the shop for the better part of the last 20 years (and it still doesn’t have seat belts)—so we ended up in a 1964 Rolls-Royce Silver Cloud instead. Here it is making its way to the end of the driveway, as my brother and I arrive for the ceremony. We snuck through the little pathway cut into the hedges on the right that leads into the Walled Garden, where our flower girls and page boys were waiting for us. Our ceremony took place under a bower of three giant oak trees on the lawn at La Vigie. We kept it all very simple, with just some long wooden benches and two carved stone urns planted with lavender. The sea in the distance was very pale that day. We had baskets of rose petals for guests to toss in the air after the end of our ceremony. The string quartet against the eastern-facing wing of La Vigie. Chris loves classical music, and picked each of the processionals and recessionals. (This was probably his favorite part of the wedding planning.) As I walked down the aisle, they played “Violin Concerto No. 4 in F minor, ‘Winter’: II. Largo”—from Antonio Vivaldi’s Le Quattro Stagioni. The groom with my father’s best friend, who I call “Uncle” Frank. He officiated our wedding, and had spent many happy summers on that lawn with my late parents over the years. Our four flower girls and page boys finish their walk down the aisle. Guests were given handfuls of jelly beans to help the 2-year-old boys make it through the aisle. My brilliant friend Ali came up with that idea. Teddy and I along a pathway surrounded by English borders in the Walled Garden as we begin our walk down the aisle. A page boy pauses outside the Walled Garden before heading down to the ceremony on the lawn. My brother was cracking jokes to calm my nerves. One of my favorite moments was seeing Chris standing at the end of the aisle for the first time, all while being surrounded by our friends and family. The second before my brother gave me away. We kept our vows pretty short and sweet. And I’ll never forget Frank’s epic speech. Chris, captured during the moment we were declared husband and wife. Our first kiss. And our second . . . As if on cue, the sun broke through the cover of clouds at the very end of our ceremony. Our flower girls lead the way, as Chris and I started our walk out together. One of our favorite photos from the entire weekend. I had that same smile on my face for about a month. After the ceremony, the wedding party walked back through the gardens, where we kicked off the cocktail hour. Love was in the air. Our page boy Flynn was caught kissing a flower girl twice his age. The boys take off after posing for a few formal photos. And the flower girls following suit. The children chased after each other and ran around the rose beds for most of the cocktail hour. My maid of honor, Caitlin, and I against a backdrop of orange dahlias, colorful coneflowers, and tea roses. I couldn’t have pulled off the wedding without her. She kept me in line with all the planning, and came to every single one of my dress fittings. A flower girl taking a twirl in the Wild Garden. They wore white Jacadi dresses, ivy flower crowns, and colorful snap bracelets. Chris and I are giddy with excitement as we get ready to join our guests for the cocktail hour. Passing through an arbor covered in Boston ivy, after spending a quiet moment together in the koi pond of the Japanese Garden, which is hidden behind the towering hedges in the backdrop. We had a few laughs in the back of the getaway car on the short drive from the Fuller Gardens to the reception tent down at the ocean’s edge. A Champagne toast in the Silver Cloud. Somehow, I didn’t spill any bubbly on my dress. Our driver, Mark, was the man. At the reception, banquet tables lined with long centerpieces of blue-and-white hydrangeas and Chinese porcelain vases decorated the sailcloth tent. My mother collected blue-and-white china (we had an entire room full of it at my childhood house in Boston). I mixed many of her antique porcelain vases with tons of chinoiserie—from lidded ginger jars and cobalt-patterned pots to floral jardinieres. Blue willow china settings and cobalt glass dishes covered the head table overlooking the ocean. Place cards were hand-painted with blue-and-white vases to echo the tablescapes, and then calligraphed with blue ink. Each tablescape had a different mix of patterned pots, china plates, and crystal stemware. Our wedding cake had four tiers of textured frosting and was decorated with ranunculus and wreath-like rings of olive branches. Our 10-piece band, Veronica Martell Entertainment, traveled in from New York to perform at the reception. We wanted a big band sound, with saxophones and trumpets. The band and four vocalists killed it—so many of their songs sounded better than the original recordings! Our first dance kicked off with some twists and turns. We chose “Sea of Love,” the 1959 hit by Phil Phillips, for our first dance. Chris and I heard it on the radio years ago when we’d just started dating, and decided it would be the perfect wedding song. It sounded even better against the ebb and flow of the actual sea crashing along the coastline. We kept meaning to practice our first dance but never found the time to actually rehearse. So we just winged it. Partygoers joined us on the dance floor immediately after our first dance. Somehow Chris got ahold of a tambourine. The cake was served on a mismatched array of different blue-and-white china plates. It was delicious; I could happily eat a slice of it every night for the rest of my life. Dusk sets in over our sailcloth tent on the sea. It was supposed to pour all day, but somehow the weather stayed dry until the end of the reception. At the end of the night, a thunder and lightning storm quickly passed through, which actually ended up being quite romantic. At that point, everyone was dancing so hard under the tent that we hardly noticed. The lightning was beautiful, and illuminated the night sky like fireworks. Dancing was in full force before dinner was even served. This photo was taken at 7:45 p.m. We danced for hours to everything from oldies to Outkast. During the final encore, a midnight buffet of sliders and French fries was served, and afterward, we kept the festivities going with an after-party at our cabana on the beach. Luckily, the photographer wasn’t around to capture any of the late-night revelry.