Rebecca and Russel's wedding beneath the open sky of Appuldurcombe House.

Few rooms stand open to the weather the way Appuldurcombe House does. This baroque mansion lost its roof generations ago, so Rebecca and Russel made their vows under open sky, inside walls of weathered stone and warm red brick where mounted marble reliefs and a pale carved beast keep watch. Rebecca came up a worn patterned runner edged with greenery, two leafy potted trees standing in for an altar and Russel waiting in soft fawn tweed, her off-the-shoulder satin ballgown full and unfussy, her bouquet a loose, wild gathering of cornflower-blue delphiniums, a smoky lilac rose, chamomile daisies and bleached grasses.

Inside, the day became an Italian feast. Coral paper lanterns and strings of light hung between the columns, ivy looped down the old stone, and brass candlesticks held ochre and terracotta tapers along bare oak trestles. A gauzy cream runner traced each table, set with a happy muddle of green and blush glass, navy-bordered menus promising pappardelle al ragu, caprese and panzanella, and place cards lettered by hand.

Confetti met the couple on the steps below the house's sunburst window. They slipped away for portraits among the parkland trees and beneath the colonnade as the afternoon light grew long, then back inside candlelight warmed the grey stone to amber and a pizza stall fired up for the evening. What stays, though, is the smallest moment: Rebecca's hand on Russel's tweed sleeve, their two new rings bright against it.