Coral blooms, a brooding autumn sky, and a wooden boat for two on the lake.

Barton Manor wears its history lightly: a gabled stone house with brick chimneys and vine-threaded walls, its formal gardens falling past clipped topiary and lichened urns to a reed-fringed lake and a weeping willow. On the gravel terrace, under a vast, brooding autumn sky, Georgina and Liam married before their celebrant, a low, loose bank of coral, peach and blush — dahlias, gerberas and feathery grasses — laid the length of the aisle. Georgina wore a crepe gown with puff sleeves and a bow at the open back; Liam, olive tweed, a rust tie and a coral lapel bud. Seven bridesmaids in burnt-coral satin lifted calla lilies high as confetti came down.

Inside, the brick barn glowed. The top table stood against draped linen and hanging foliage, its cloth run with garlands of greenery and pink blooms, silver ice buckets and lit tapers — and, with a grin, a few cans of Coke among the wine. The three-tier buttercream cake spilled phalaenopsis orchids, cerise dahlias and gerbera down one side, on a raw log slice beside a hand-drawn sign promising Black Forest, salted caramel, and white chocolate and passion fruit.

Festoon lights zigzagged the brickwork and the band played on, a silver bass catching the light. Yet it is the quiet frames that linger: Georgina's silver heels beside a cascade of orchids and trailing amaranthus, a kiss between two stone finials at the water's edge, and the newlyweds drifting out in a small wooden rowing boat, mirrored on the still lake beneath the willow.