The ceremony took place on the lawn at Carleton Rafield’s family home for a storybook backdrop.
He spotted her across the room at a New York fundraiser. Her wingman (and future maid of honor) noticed and encouraged him to come meet her. She was my niece, Mary Carleton Rafield, and he was Gael Gremaud. He introduced himself by saying, “Hello, I’m Gael from Paris,” but as it was a loud venue, she heard, “Hello, I’m Bill from Paris.” That evening, and also in jest at the rehearsal dinner three years later, he was “Bill from Paris.”
Gael digging up the bourbon bottle.
The bride wore a Lela Rose gown.
The front garden was set for dinner with bistro lights, soft-greige table linens, and arrangements of muted-pastel garden roses.
The wedding day dawned sunny, cool, and breezy and remained so, ensured by the burying of the bottle of bourbon (an old Southern tradition) and the chorus of prayers. Bridesmaids gathered with Carleton at the house for lunch, hair and makeup, and girl talk, while the groom and his men (or as they’re called in France, témoins, or witnesses) sampled legendary Birmingham barbecue and explored downtown on green Zyp bikes.
On the front door, a rustic wreath of local elaeagnus and garden roses marked the occasion.
Greenery and hellebores were gathered from the garden for the bridesmaids’ bouquets.
More from the Wedding Party
(Click the arrows (or swipe if on a mobile device) to see more)
The couple had asked my husband, an Episcopal priest known to them as Uncle Gates, to perform the ceremony, and members of the wedding party to take turns reading verses and prayers. Hearing 1 Corinthians 13, the love chapter, read with a French accent was one of my favorite moments of the day. After the two were pronounced husband and wife, we followed them to the parterre garden for champagne and hors d’oeuvres and then into the front garden to dine. Strains of jazz and standards, played on an heirloom baby grand piano, floated through the open French doors, and as we finished up, a trio of horns led us indoors for the cake cutting.
Throughout the evening, guests could relax amid the revelry in chic and comfortable seating areas.
But the pièce de résistance came when we were ushered back to the pool area, which had been transformed into a tented dance floor, for a musical surprise. When the first dances were complete, the groom, the fathers of the bride and groom, and one of Carleton’s brothers took to the stage and broke into a rousing version of “Sweet Home Alabama.” You haven’t lived until you’ve heard 50 or so French folks singing the chorus of the Lynyrd Skynyrd classic and shouting “Roll Tide Roll.”
Joyous dancing
The couple in their getaway golf cart
By Margot Shaw | Photography by A Bryan Photo
