ROYALTY, UNDER POLITE OBSERVATION: Style at The Wedding of Prince Guillaume of Luxembourg and the Countess Stephanie de Lannoy

Princess Stephanie of Luxembourg, (The former Countess Stephanie de Lannoy), in Elie Saab

Darling, I must confess—there are weaknesses in this world to which even the most disciplined among us must surrender, and mine arrives clad in satin, crowned in diamonds, and accompanied by a parade of hats so theatrical they border on the divine. A royal wedding, you see, is not merely an event; it is a spectacle, a confection, a carefully orchestrated dream in which excess becomes elegance and tradition flirts shamelessly with fantasy.

This past weekend—oh, how delicious it was—the Hereditary Grand Duke of Luxembourg, a country so petite one could almost miss it between more assertive neighbors, took a bride.

And what a bride she was. The Countess Stéphanie de Lannoy floated down the aisle in Elie Saab, as though the designer himself had whispered the gown into existence. And the tiara—my dear, the tiara—dating back to 1878, glimmered with the kind of history one cannot fake, no matter how many carats one accumulates.

It seemed quite unmistakably that Elie Saab had been quietly declared the patron saint of the weekend. Royal ladies, each more polished than the last, emerged swathed in his creations as though participating in some unspoken couture covenant. One almost expected a small, tasteful altar erected in his honor.

And then, of course, the hats. Oh, the hats!

The ceremony became less a religious affair and more an exhibition of millinery bravado. Sophie, Countess of Wessex, and Princess Máxima of the Netherlands—reliable as ever—did not so much wear hats as command them. These were not accessories; they were statements, declarations, perhaps even gentle acts of royal war.

But the true indulgence came the evening before, when the jewels were liberated from their vaults and allowed a night of mischief beneath the Luxembourg sky. Princess Marie-Chantal of Greece shimmered in gold Elie Saab, radiating the sort of confidence that suggests she knew precisely what she was doing—and enjoyed every second of it.

And Princess Mary of Denmark, elusive in red, offered just enough of a glimpse to remind us why mystery remains the most powerful accessory of all.

It was, in the end, a feast—no, a banquet—for the eyes. And like all the finest indulgences, it left one both satisfied and faintly longing for just a little more.