Windsor, England
May 2017
You'll do
"You look gorgeous," I assure Amy as I take a step back to survey her in her wedding attire.
After much deliberation, the commission to make the dress went to a well-known American fashion house with a history of designing wedding dresses for women in the public eye. There was some grumbling in the press about Amy not choosing a British designer, but when it was pointed out that the dress was a way of including her home country, even the Sun shut up about it.
The dress resulting from this slight controversy ticks about every possible box on the 'Disney princess wedding gown' crib sheet. There's lace and sparkle, there are flounces and ruffles, and there's a train long enough require assistance to manage. Luckily, Amy comes with no less than three younger sisters, all of whom are now clad in pastel-coloured bridesmaid dresses to match the one Persis is wearing.
Sitting atop Amy's expertly teased curls is a tiara gifted by Leslie and Owen. It's a good, mid-size, all-purpose diamond piece that Amy got to pick out herself at an auction earlier this year. (I wondered aloud to Great-Aunt Tanya why Amy wasn't given a tiara from the vaults, but she just tutted at me and explained that the best way to have historical jewels fade into oblivion into was to allow them to leave the main line of the family.)
"I look alright, don't I?" asks Amy as she looks at herself in the mirror.
"Looking at you, no-one could possibly doubt that you're a princess," replies Persis and when I throw her a glance over my shoulder, she winks at me.
To Persis, looking like a princess is not exactly a good thing. I have no doubt that she finds all the ruffles horrendous (and I know for a fact that she detests the dress she herself is wearing because she's complained about it at length), but she likes Amy and that trumps her dislike of flouncy dresses. The light teasing goes over Amy's head anyway, nervous as she is.
Giving Amy's dress a final tug, I step back and look at my watch. (It's a diamond-encrusted evening watch and like most of my jewellery, it originally belonged to Great-Aunt Tanya. It came with many amusing stories about her party days in the 1930s attached.)
"If you don't want to be late to your own wedding, you should get ready to leave now," I tell Amy.
Immediately, her breath quickens and her hands flutter around nervously in the air. "I'm not ready! I need more time!"
"Nonsense," chimes in her next-oldest sister, laughing. "You're just being dramatic."
"What do you know?" Amy protests. "No-one will be looking at you! They will all look and me and, oh God, what if I stumble?" She moans at the thought and raises a hand to her forehead.
Taking that as his cue, her father steps through the open door from the adjoining room and promises, "I won't let you stumble, ladybug."
Seeing him appears to reassure Amy (it's apparent that she's been her daddy's princess her entire life) and when he offers her a hand, she takes it gratefully and steps down from the little pedestal she stood upon to get dressed – or to be dressed, more accurately, because with all those layers, there's no way she could have managed on her own. To that effect –
"Can you help her with the train and the veil?" I ask, directing the question at the four bridesmaids equally, but really meaning Persis. "We don't want them to get rumpled in the car."
"We're on it," confirms Persis and shares a meaningful look with me. I don't think she considers Amy's sisters to be very useful, but luckily, they listen to her quite readily. With Persis to wrangle and direct them, I expect they will play their roles well.
Leaning forward, I give Amy a half-hug, carefully not to rumple her dress or veil. "I need to go find my seat now. You have another ten minutes before the cars bring you down to the chapel. I'll see you when you're married."
Amy smiles vaguely, but she's much too full of anticipation for my words to really register. Sharing another look of understanding with Persis, I leave Amy and her family (sans the mother and sole brother who left for St. George's Chapel a while ago) in her capable hands.
In the next room, I find the royal family gathered, with the exception of Teddy and Ken, who're also down at the chapel already.
"I trust all is well?" asks Leslie and takes a few steps towards me.
"It is," I reply. "She's nervous, but that's to be expected. We're still on time, too, which is a near miracle."
Owen laughs. "And we know to take a hint. Come on, now, everyone! Rilla says it's time to leave."
With the help of his cane, he gets up from the sofa and waves at his family to get moving. They do so, standing up from where they've been sitting dotted around the room, and making their way to the door. I mean to slip outside before them, but am stopped when Christopher steps in front of me.
"Where are you going?" he wants to know, offering an arm for me to take.
I suppress a smile at the sight of his attire (more than ever, he looks like he's trying to impersonate Jay Gatsby) and shake my head.
"I'm late as it is," I explain. "I probably need to run to get inside the chapel before you."
"Nonsense," declares Owen, appearing at my side. "You're coming with us, of course."
Chris gives me a look that says 'I told you so' and nudges me with his elbow until I relent and slip my arm through his.
"Won't it draw away attention from Teddy and Amy if I am pictured walking down to the chapel with you?" I ask as we all follow Owen and Leslie down the hall.
"Like Teddy and Amy will care," quips Katie and smiles at me over Puddle's curly head of hair.
"They agreed that you should sit with the family," Leslie tells me over her shoulder.
I jerk my head around. Did she say I was to sit with them in the chapel?
Not getting a chance to ask before Owen and Leslie get into a car, I allow Chris to escort me down the short walk to the chapel with the rest of the royals. Once we've entered the chapel through the special side door reserved for royalty, my question is answered anyway, when Christopher points me to a seat in the choir – directly next to Leslie.
They conspired to plan this without my knowledge because they knew I would have protested, I realise, as I gingerly sit down. I tried my absolute outmost to be as inconspicuous as possible today, picking a pretty but bland navy dress and a simple hat, all so I wouldn't draw any attention away from the bridal couple. (It was a fight, too, because Great-Aunt Tanya offered me a very flashy fascinator. When I reminded her that she dislikes fascinators, she explained that this one was different because it had a real peacock feather and was made by Scottish nuns – or something.) In the interest of inconspicuousness, when helping plan the seating plan for the chapel, I placed myself in the nave with Mark, Tatty and their families, hoping to mostly escape the TV cameras this way.
Now though, I know that any hope to escape the cameras is forlorn. I'm in the middle row of the choir, with Leslie and Owen to my right and Uncle Al and Kim with Ashley to my left. Behind us are Great-Aunt Tanya and Aunt Mary with her family, while in front of us, next to the customary empty seat in front of Owen and the two empty seats waiting for Ken and Persis, are Chris, Katie and Adam with Puddles in his lap.
I'm sitting smack dab in the middle of them, in the seat that would have been allocated to the Princess of Wales, if there was a Princess of Wales.
So much for being inconspicuous today.
"You didn't really think we'd let you sit on your own, did you?" asks Owen, leaning around his wife and smiling conspiratorially.
"I…" I begin, then trail off. Even I were to point out that sitting with Tatty et al., I wouldn't have been alone, I don't think that argument would hold water with Owen.
"Amy and Teddy were entirely in agreement," Leslie assures. "Look."
Discreetly, she nods to the front of the chapel, where Teddy and Ken have just appeared from – from wherever. From somewhere backstage, anyway. When they see us looking, Teddy raises a hand for a cheerful but nervous wave. Ken's eyes immediately find mine and a smile lights up his face that I find myself responding to instinctively. For a little while, we just look at each other over the expanse of the chapel between us, both smiling like crazy.
Moments later, the bells start to ring, signalling the arrival of the bridal party and I guess that settles that.
As Ken and Teddy turn towards the altar, I sit back in my seat and accept my fate. If I were to kick up a fuss now, it would draw even more attention, so there's nothing for me to do but sit quietly, smile prettily and wait to see what the tabloids make of this. They've either painted Amy and me as mortal enemies or best friends forever, with no middle ground, and they will spin my placement accordingly. It's annoying, as it always is, but when I spot Amy coming up the aisle at the arm of her father, I decide it doesn't matter. Not in the grand scheme of things.
The wedding is beautiful, as weddings are wont to be. St George's Chapel provides a gorgeous background and is suitably majestic to bring Amy's confection of a dress into perspective. What looked incredibly floofy and flouncy when she put it on, looks just right in these ancient, magnificent surroundings. Her tiara sparkles like crazy and is only outshone by the brilliant, if nervous smile she gives Teddy when her father places her hand in his.
She looks, in short, like the princess she's about to become.
The service is traditional, mainly based on the normal Anglican service and incorporating some of Amy's Methodist faith. (Boy was there a lot of relief among courtiers when she turned out not to be Catholic!) Both Teddy and Amy are a little stiff with so much attention focused on them, but they're also clearly chuffed to be getting married, stealing shy and loving glances at each other the entire time.
All this talk about love and shared futures is enough to make me feel the tiniest of pangs when they're pronounced man and wife, but it is driven away when Ken, upon having completed his best man duties, sits down in front of Leslie and immediately reaches back to take my hand in his. We keep our hands clasped throughout the entire service, with him turning back intermittently to smile at me, and as always, just his smile and the feel of his skin are enough to anchor me.
I am where I belong. That's what matters. And today, what matters most, are Teddy and Amy.
"She looks so happy," sighs Persis when, hours and an entire wedding breakfast later, we watch the photographer take the official pictures of the newlyweds.
"So does he," I add and nod at Teddy, who's beaming at his bride. We all had reservations about the engagement when he suddenly produced a fiancée and I think some of those still linger, but at least it's plain for everyone to see that those two are firmly in love.
"Yes, so does he," agrees Persis, with another sigh.
Ken, coming up behind me and wrapping both arms around my waist, laughs. "Why so dramatic, Pers?"
"I'm not dramatic!" insists Persis – rather dramatically – and glares at her brother. "I just… I wonder when I will have something like this."
I squeeze her shoulder comfortingly. "It'll happen, probably when you least expect it."
"Maybe you should help your luck along and make sure to catch the bridal bouquet," Ken suggest mischievously.
I turn my head to give him a look that says not to tease her, but his intent doesn't register with Persis anyway. She's back to staring longingly at the bridal couple as she absent-mindedly informs us, "Oh, no, we all agreed to let Rilla catch it."
"Persis!" I hiss, swatting her arm to shut her up.
Behind me, however, Ken just laughs and kisses the back of my neck. "Make sure not to drop it."
Uh-huh.
And what's that supposed to mean?
Not that I would ever ask, of course, so I just hum non-committally and focus on Teddy and Amy posing for the photographer instead. Still, I can feel the shift in the atmosphere that Persis's off-hand remark created and am almost relieved when the photographer calls over the families to join the couple for a few pictures.
Ken takes my hand and tries to tug me along while Persis motions for me to follow, but this time, I won't be swayed. Official pictures are a different beast from the seating in the chapel and anyway, I don't see the girlfriend of Amy's brother joining them either. Smiling, I shake my head and wave them off, feeling glad when they let it go and trudge over to where the photographer positions everyone for the group shot.
For a few moments, I absently watch the shoot from the side of the room while allowing my thoughts to wander. It's only when I feel a presence by my side that I turn my head and find, to my surprise, Aunt Mary standing next to me.
"Your Royal Highness," I greet her carefully.
"Miss Blythe," she acknowledges, inclining her head but keeping her eyes on the two families being photographed.
Me, I watch her out of the corner of my eye, trying to puzzle out whether she merely came here to watch the photoshoot or whether her standing next to me is no accident, after all.
Aunt Mary answers my question when she abruptly states, "I will go catch some air. Do you want to join me?"
Surprised and a little warily, I study her. I'm on good terms with all members of Ken's wider family, but Aunt Mary has always kept her distance. She's polite, it's not that, but I don't think we've ever had a proper conversation that lasted longer than two minutes. She's certainly never asked me to join her in, well, anything.
"Sure," I agree anyway, curiosity getting the better of me, "I'd like that."
As we leave the room together, I can feel several pairs of eyes following us, Ken's most intense of all. I have a feeling he would have followed us, but the photographer isn't nearly done with the family shots and that ties him to where he is.
Me, I'm surprisingly okay with him staying back. Two years ago, I would have been too chicken to face Aunt Mary on my own, but she doesn't scare me as much now and I want to hear what she has to say. The nosy side of me is simply curious, but I also have a feeling that whatever she wants to say could be meaningful.
Once we're outside in the prettily manicured gardens of Windsor Castle and start walking along a gravel path, Aunt Mary doesn't lose any more time. "When do you intend to marry my nephew?"
The question is impertinent, but I've certainly heard it before, so instead of being incredulous or even offended, I merely reply calmly, "Whenever the time is right."
A shiver of annoyance passes over her face, but she masks it quickly. "I would like to know when that will be."
"Why don't you ask Ken?" I want to know, trying to find out more about her intentions before revealing too much of my hand.
"I would, but we both know that he is in no position to answer that question," she replies primly. "The world might think he's dragging his feet about proposing, but I'm perfectly aware that you're the one who's stalling. If it were up to him, you would have been married long ago."
Hmm… interesting.
I don't deny her theory, instead just stating, "We have our reasons for waiting."
Another shiver of annoyance and this time, she doesn't mask it well. "I can rely on you to marry him before long though?"
It's a question and as far as questions go, it's an interesting one, because it places agency firmly with me. It's like Ken gets no say in this at all!
Before saying anything in return, I run through several possible answers and finally settle on bluntness. "Frankly, I don't know why I should tell you. What is it to you, anyway?"
For the longest while, Aunt Mary doesn't react. She simply keeps walking along the path, not looking at me, not even to check whether I'm still following. It's only when I start considering to dig my heels in that she suddenly turns her head to look at me.
"Do you know why my mother allowed my brother to marry Leslie in the end?" she asks.
That makes me stop walking, but it's out of surprise and not mulishness. "I… I have no idea," I admit.
Aunt Mary shakes her head and sighs, which makes her look the most human I've ever seen her. "No, and how could you? It was a conversation between my mother and me. I know she never told anyone about it and before today, neither did I."
Now I'm curious.
"I will tell you," she declares and surveys me critically. "Naturally, you won't tell anyone else."
"Of course not!" I reply, feeling a little indignant at the suggestion that I could go prattling.
A long, critical look later, Aunt Mary nods her head. "You won't tell. You know how to keep your silence. You proved that."
Well, I'm sure glad she thinks so. (Sarcasm off.)
Before telling me whatever she means to tell me though, Aunt Mary starts walking again, leaving me with no chance but to hurry after her. (And I'm really not wearing the best shoes for hurrying over gravel paths!) When she speaks, she does so, once more, without looking at me.
"You're aware that my mother disapproved of Owen's choice of wife?" she asks briskly.
"I am," I confirm without offering up further information.
"Hmm…" makes Aunt Mary, pausing for a moment. "You mustn't think I dislike Leslie. She is a lovely woman and has several admirable characteristics. She also loves my brother and he, God bless him, loves her, sometimes beyond what is practical."
I guess that's one way of putting it…
"However," Aunt Mary continues, "Leslie was never cut out to be queen. It takes a certain personality and certain talents to fill the role well and she doesn't have them. My mother knew that, even then."
I make a non-committal sound. So far, she's told me nothing new.
"Owen had his heart set on marrying her anyway and when nothing anyone did succeeded in making him agree to give her up, my mother turned to me," adds Aunt Mary.
"What did she say?" I ask, hoping it sounds encouraging without being pushy.
Briefly, Aunt Mary looks at me, clearly not well-pleased with my interruption. "She put the decision to me. She sat me down and informed me that she would permit them to marry, but only if I made her a promise."
"What kind of promise?" I want to know, ignoring the fact that she doesn't really want me to have an active part in this conversation. I'll speak as much as I want to, thank you very much!
"She made me promise to step in and take over Leslie's duties whenever she wouldn't be able to fulfil them," Aunt Mary explains after a brief moment of hesitation, even forgetting to give me an annoyed look for speaking up.
As her words – and the impact of them – settle in, I can't help whistling softly. "That's…" I pause, gathering my thoughts. "That's one hell of a promise to ask of someone."
Aunt Mary presses her lips together. "It is," she agrees primly, even though I know she disapproves of my choice of words.
"She… she basically tied you to them, to the country," I continue slowly, still processing what I just learned. "Owen got his will, but you were made to pay for it. You gave up any sort of freedom to shape your own life, just so he could shape his. And as long as he is king, you have to be by his side and support him, if you don't want to break the promise to –"
"To my late mother, yes." Aunt Mary nods her head. "I kept my promise to her though. I kept it despite the press calling me frumpy and boring compared to beautiful, glamorous Queen Leslie and I kept it despite the public's constant disappointment when it was just me who came to an event instead of her. It is curious how they always loved her, no matter how often she let them down, but that isn't for me to judge. I simply made a promise and I kept it, even though I was never more than a poor substitute for England's adored fairy queen."
She keeps her eye averted, allowing me to study her. As I do, I suddenly realise that I'm seeing her in an entirely new light. I always knew she was devoted to her royal duties, but I never realised the extent of it. Nor, come to think of it, the extent of her devotion to her brother.
"That was an amazing gift you made to Owen and Leslie," I tell her, treading carefully because while I feel a new sense of respect for her, I also felt the bitterness in her words. "Don't you think they should know what you did for them?"
Immediately, Aunt Mary jerks her head around to look at me, her eyes narrowed. "I do not think so. My mother never told them, I didn't and you won't do it either. Are we understood?"
I just about resist the urge to raise my hands in defence. "We are," I assure, slightly annoyed. "I said I wouldn't tell anyone and I will stick to that.
"Good." Turning back to face the paths in front of us, Aunt Mary lengthens her stride somewhat, making it even harder for me and my heels to keep up with her.
For several long moments, I wait for her to say something else. It's really only when we leave the manicured garden paths and enter the woods behind the castle that I realise that nothing else will be forthcoming. Thus, I pipe up myself, "Why did you tell me?"
"To show you why you need to marry my nephew," she replies, very matter-of-factly, like I should have jolly well figured that out on my own.
Suffice to say, I'm not making the connection.
"I don't see…" I begin, before trailing off.
Impatience crosses over Aunt Mary's face. "Isn't it obvious? My brother has me to support him in the absence of his wife, but my nephew doesn't have anyone similar. He needs to choose his wife more carefully."
"And you think I should be that wife?" I wonder, still trying to understand her reasoning.
She clucks her tongue at me. "You weren't who I would have picked for him, but it looks like we're stuck with you now and I've come to the conclusion that it could be worse."
Gee, thanks.
"Is that supposed to be a compliment?" I want to know, raising both eyebrows.
"If you want to see it as such," she replies, evidently not really caring either way. "What matters is that you've shown yourself to be not ill-suited to the role. You're stronger than you look, you get along well with people, you know the meaning of duty and you can keep your mouth shut. All those are qualities that we must look for in a future queen."
Um…
"I always knew that in Persis, Kenneth would never have the kind of support I provided and still provide to Owen. She's a sweet girl, but she has some of her mother's mental weaknesses, coupled with a shyness she gets from neither parents. I had some hope that Teddy might pick wisely, but we know his choice now and there's no going back on it anymore." She purses her lips disapprovingly and just seeing that raises my hackles.
"Amy is great!" I insist. "She's sweet and caring and she adores Teddy!"
Aunt Mary waves the argument away. "You're loyal, which is a good thing, but we're not actually talking about Amanda right now. I don't mind her, if that makes you feel better. I even agree that she will make a good supporting act, but she doesn't have it in her to fill the main role."
Now I'm the one pursing my lips in disapproval, but I stay quiet, waiting for what she has to say next.
"You've shown that you have it in you to be queen," she informs me and though her tone is entirely business-like, it might be the nicest thing she's ever said to me. "Kenneth, being his mother's son, needs more support than Owen did and you've proven that you can handle that. I've watched you closely in these past years and you've shown your mettle."
"So you approve of me as Ken's wife?" I ask, not able to keep the sarcasm out of my voice.
If Aunt Mary notices, there's no sign of it. "I do, broadly speaking. You are made from decent material and a lot of time and care already went in preparing you for the role. It would be most cumbersome if you two broke up and we had to put all that effort into the preparation of another woman. Additionally, of course, there's concern whether he would pick someone even less suitable next time."
The audacity of this is breath-taking, much as Aunt Mary's totally obliviousness is almost amusing. She really has no idea how utterly offensive her words are, has she?
"Which is why you think I should marry him," I conclude, finally feeling like I'm adequately keeping up with her train of thoughts (even if I'm barely keeping up with her brisk walking pace).
"Precisely," she confirms primly.
Hmm…
"I understand that," I tell her slowly. "What I still don't understand is why this is any of your business. Or rather, why you made it your business at all. I mean, your promise only covers support for Owen, right? What happens after him isn't on your conscious anymore."
"These are my family and my country," Aunt Mary replies, her voice now clearly irate. "I will always care what happens to both."
I ignore her indignation. "Point taken," I admit slowly. "Yet…"
And that's when it strikes me.
"It will set you free!" I exclaim, understanding dawning upon me. "Not completely, because that promise will bind you as long as Owen and you are alive, but with a Princess of Wales installed, you won't have to do as much anymore. If I marry Ken, you will be freer to live your life than you have been in ages!"
I'm right. I know I am. This is a woman who subjected her entire life to fulfilling what was ultimately a cruel promise – a promise that put her brother's happiness above her own. She's done it stoically and silently, never once uttering a word of complaint, but there's a glimpse of an open door for her now. Her sense of duty would never allow her to push Ken into marriage just for her own benefit, but she evidently decided that I'll do and now that she has done so, she's smelling a sort of freedom for the first time in many, many years.
That's it. That must be it. I know it is.
Aunt Mary, however, shakes her head and glares at me. "That's utter nonsense. You silly girl! You have no idea what you're talking about!"
Then, without another word, she turns abruptly on her heel and stalks off in a huff, her pace much too fast for me to even consider following. Thus, I stay behind and look after her, but even with the way she's spoken to me and with the way she just left me standing here, I'm surprised to realise that I'm not angry. What I learned today about Aunt Mary makes me feel two things for her – admiration and pity.
She was sacrificed by her own mother for the good of crown and country, yet she also willingly gave up what little freedom she could have had to ensure her brother's happiness. And through her years of service and devotion, no-one ever realised the truth behind it and no-one ever gave her the recognition she deserved. That's what it boils down to and while it was beautiful to do this for her brother, it also makes her tale a terribly sad one.
And because of that, because I admire her and feel for her, I don't want to let this conversation end on that note. Thus, following my instinct, I call after her, "I don't know it it's the answer you were looking for, but if he asks, I'll say yes!"
The title of this chapter is taken from the song 'Hey Jude' (written by Paul McCartney, released by the Beatles in 1968).
To DogMonday:
The French president in the previous chapter was indeed based on then-President Hollande! I decided early on not to name names of real living people in the story (unless it's just, say, two characters talking about Brad Pitt's new movie without him ever making an appearance) because that's pretty creepy, but I'm not opposed to letting myself be inspired by real life politicians ;). At the very least, it saves me from having to invent new ones and I also like the connection to our world like, for example, sticking close to how the real Vimy commemorations happened. It's pleasingly meta.
And speaking of real life vs fiction, the geography of Paris is not messed up at all, at least not for this fictional world! See, there can't be a hotel named for King George V in my universe, because there never was a King George V. My royal family deviates from the real one when Prince Albert Victor, Duke of Clarence, doesn't die an untimely death in 1892. He goes on to become king himself, which means that his younger brother George never ascends to the throne. During WW1, the British King is therefore King Victor (no number, because so far he's the only one of that name) and he's the one who had that Parisian avenue named for himself after the war. Thus, when the hotel was built, it took its name from the name of the avenue as it exists in my universe and hey presto - The Four Seasons King Victor! ;)
No, Rilla doesn't have a professional stylist, but luckily, she has many people to advise her. I think Leslie gave her initial pointers what kind of dress would be appropriate to wear, Tatty and Katie took her shopping and advised which particular dress to get and Owen suggested that this would be an appropriate occasion to take her order out for a spin. The shoes, however, were picked out by Rilla all on her own ;).
I don't want to say too much about the engagement issue at this point because we'll tackle part of it next week, but I must say that I always find it super interesting how the same scenes can draw different reactions from readers. If I understood you correctly, you think that Ken is showing his determination to reach the goal of marriage while Rilla is too tentative in expressing her own wishes. In contrast to that, others thought him to be out of line when mentioning a honeymoon without there being an engagement. I'm not saying one reading is superior to the other, it's just so interesting how different something can be perceived depending on the individual view-point and, perhaps, personal experiences. I kind of love that, to be honest, because I love the different opinions and facets brought to the table by different interpretations.
I'm also very pleased that (the engagement issue aside) you enjoyed the Vimy chapter. And I won't lie - I'm kind of dying to hear what you think about this one!