First on the agenda was the dinner dance hosted by Grace’s parents at the next door Casino de Monte Carlo. The following night there was a white-tie gala at the International Sporting Club in Monte Carlo, with a special performance by the ballerina Tamara Toumanova. Monday was the wedding rehearsal at the Cathedral of St. Nicholas, with a dinner at the palace for the bridesmaids and husbands. And the day before the religious wedding at the cathedral, the civil ceremony was to take place at the palace, where Grace would become Rainier’s legal wife, followed by a garden party to which the entire population of Monaco had been invited.
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ON APRIL 19, 1956, Carolyn woke early in her room at the Hôtel de Paris in Monte Carlo. She walked over to the hotel windows, parting the thick swagged drapes and swinging open the long, tall windows so she could step out onto the hotel balcony. It was only dawn, and a pink light was creeping across the horizon and the Port Hercule, Monaco’s small harbor, with its neat rows of white yachts rocking in place. Beyond the harbor she could see Le Rocher—the rocky promontory on which the prince’s palace stood—jutting out into the vast dark Mediterranean. Even after a week in Monaco, the view still caused her to catch her breath, the morning light now revealing dusky-colored buildings clustered on the cliffsides surrounding the harbor and narrow roadways stretching up into peaked green hills. No wonder Grace had fallen in love, not only with her prince but with his country. Carolyn felt as if she could stay here forever.
She stepped back into the room where Malcolm lay sleeping. She had work to do, her hair to fix, makeup to apply. In her seven years of modeling, there had been no role more important than that of Grace’s bridesmaid. The dress that Grace had picked out for her attendants to wear was hanging in the closet. Rather than the usual frilly outfits worn by bridesmaids, Grace had selected something modern and distinctive, made from the softest silk organdy in a pale yellow shade that the dressmakers dubbed “Sunlight.” It had a high pointed collar and five covered buttons down the front, a pleated sash at the waist, and full sleeves that ballooned out to midforearm. The taffeta skirts were so full that they billowed, the fabric at the back creating its own train.
It had taken two fitting sessions at Grace’s apartment on Fifth Avenue before the dresses fit to perfection. The six bridesmaids and Grace’s maid of honor—her sister Peggy—had been warned not to put on a pound or gain an inch between then and the wedding. But in the short weeks that followed, Carolyn had been so nervous she had actually lost weight. Now, on the morning of the wedding, her main concern was that the bridesmaid’s dress was hanging too loosely around her frame. She hoped no one would notice.
Carolyn was dressed and ready by the time the limousines from the palace arrived to collect her. They drove directly to the palace, and the six bridesmaids—along with Grace’s maid of honor—gathered in the white-and-gold salon adjacent to Grace’s room holding their posies of tiny yellow rosebuds wrapped in lace and trailing yellow ribbons. When Grace finally emerged from her dressing room, she all but glowed in the palace’s half-light. She was already in her white gown, its lace bodice fitted with long sleeves covering her arms all the way down to the backs of her hands, the skirts forming a voluminous pouf of taffeta and lace, and behind her, almost a hundred yards of tulle for a train. Her hair was pulled back in a chignon, the style that Carolyn had always thought suited her best, a lace cap with its white veil attached on her head.
Grace embraced every one of her bridesmaids, and then they walked out together onto the Galerie d’Hercule, the long terrace overlooking the palace courtyard, for photographs. Grace’s four little flower girls and two ring bearers were also there, and the main photographer was Grace’s favorite, Howell Conant, whom Carolyn also knew from modeling assignments. With Howell directing, Grace and her attendants arranged themselves in groups under the arches of the long gallery. As they posed for their pictures, Carolyn found she couldn’t take her eyes off her friend, and not only because Grace looked so beautiful. Far from home, Carolyn was still the girl from Steubenville, always worried she might make another error or misstep. All she wanted today was to do the right thing, say the right thing, not to embarrass Grace in any way. She kept her eyes trained on Grace, looking for cues. Along with the formal photographs, Conant also captured more intimate, candid moments that day, such as the one where Grace, with a friend’s solicitous care, turned to Carolyn and adjusted her hat.
Below in the courtyard, a Rolls-Royce was waiting to drive Grace and her father to the cathedral for the religious ceremony. The bridesmaids waved good-bye, walking the short distance across the courtyard, out into the palace square, its tall shuttered buildings painted in shades of pink, under an arched passageway, and down the short slope that led to the cathedral. A breeze was rising up from the Mediterranean, and each bridesmaid kept a hand to her head to stop her hat from flying from
