London, England
June 2017
And the truth is plain to see
"Oh my God, that's Rilla Blythe!" cries the young woman standing a few feet to my left and points a finger at me.
I silently wish her to hell. (I mean, we're already in the tube. We're, like, halfway there!)
She doesn't do me the favour. "You're really Rilla Blythe!" she reiterates instead, her voice still uncomfortably loud. "Oh my God, that's so cool. I'm such a fan! My friend and I have a blog about your clothes. We also have one for Princess Amy, but yours existed before. We love your style!"
Um…
"Before I came here, my friends joked that I might meet you, but I never thought I actually would!" the woman continues, oblivious to how uncomfortable I feel. "This is so, so amazing! I can't believe it! Someone needs to pinch me!"
She looks at the other passengers in the car, but they keep their eyes averted, clearly embarrassed for both of us. There are certainly no volunteers to do the pinching.
"Hello?" she asks them, evidently looking for someone to agree with her. "That's Rilla Blythe, sitting right there! Am I the only one excited about that?"
There are no answers. Of course there aren't. She's clearly a tourist and doesn't know that on the London tube, no-one approaches a stranger – or even so much as makes eye contact. (It's how I've been able to ride the tube for years, despite being easy to recognise with my red hear.)
The woman rolls her eyes at the other passengers and focuses back on me. "Can we take a selfie?" she asks eagerly. "My friends won't believe this and I need proof!"
Bugger.
I can't well ignore a direct question, but equally, I absolute cannot take a selfie with her, not under any circumstances!
My eyes roam the carriage for help, but the other passengers don't look at me anymore than they look at her, except for sneaking us covert glances beneath lowered lashes. There's no help to be had from them, clearly, and –
Rescue arrives in form of the next platform coming into view outside the window. Abruptly, I get up from my seat.
"I'm sorry, but that's my stop," I tell the woman apologetically. "I hope you have a great stay on London and wish you all the best with your, um, blogging."
Before she can say anything, I practically sprint to the nearest door and impatiently wait for it to open. Once it does, I jump on the platform and hurry onwards without daring a look back. I'm half-expecting her to follow me, but thankfully, the throng of people heading for the exit closes around me, swallowing me up and hiding me from the view of over-eager tourists.
She was nice about seeing me, don't get me wrong, but I hate that kind of attention, especially when I'm just minding my own business and going about my life. Granted, I probably brought it upon myself when I insisted on taking the tube today of all days, but it was also impolite of her to accost me like that. Grandmother Marilla would totally agree that it was impolite!
Caught up in my thoughts as I am, I move with the flow and it's really only when I leave the underground station that I realise that in my haste to flee from the overeager tourist, I got out a stop too early. I meant to go to Victoria station, which is nearest Buckingham Palace, but now find myself standing in front of Sloane Square station instead. Briefly, I consider going back inside, but then decide against it. Who knows how many more tourists are down there?
Sloane Square is a great place to do a spot of shopping, but I resolutely ignore the delicious handbags winking at me from the store windows and turn right for Cliveden Place instead. It's one of these uber fancy London streets where even a studio apartment costs a fortune and it passes right into Eaton Place, which is possibly even fancier – as anyone who ever followed the lives of the Bellamys can attest to.
As I walk, my newsboy cap pulled low into my face, I get my phone from my bag and scroll through my contacts for a specific number.
Hanson picks up immediately. "Miss, how can I help you?"
"Hello Hanson," I greet him. "In about twenty minutes, I'll arrive at the south gate of Buck House Garden, next to the Mews. Can you organise for someone to let me in?"
I know he accompanied Ken earlier but that he isn't scheduled for duty during the parade, so I expect him to hang around the palace somewhere, making him excellently placed to organise a short-cut for me.
"I'll take care of it," he promises. Then, "Are you okay? Did anything happen?" There's definite concern in his voice.
"No, it's fine," I quickly assure him. "I was just chased from the tube early by a tourist wanting a selfie. It's nothing, really."
He chuckles. "In that case, I'll meet you at the gate in twenty."
I open my mouth to tell him that he doesn't have to come open it himself, but by then, he's already cut the call and the only thing I hear is an irritated beeping. Smiling, I slip the phone back into my bag and continue past the fancy terraced houses rising to both sides of me.
Hanson makes good on his promise and when, a little over twenty minutes later, I arrive at the tall, black south gate, he's waiting there – and he even brought a golf cart!
"You're a life saviour," I declare as I hop on the cart next to him and stretch out my legs. These aren't the most uncomfortable shoes I own (not by far!), but the walk was a little longer than I anticipated when I put them on earlier.
"I aim to please," Hanson replies as he starts up the golf cart. Seconds later, we zip along the winding paths leading through the garden (park) behind Buckingham Palace.
For a moment or two, we sit in silence, until Hanson speaks up again, "So you got ambushed by a tourist?"
I roll my eyes dramatically. "Yes, but it was annoying more than anything. She was just excited to meet me and wanted to take a selfie, so I fled."
"Hmm," hums Hanson thoughtfully. "One day, it might be more than just annoying."
Turning my head, I look at him. "Meaning?"
"Meaning you might want to be more careful about taking public transport," he explains. His voice is kind, but I know when I'm being chided. Luckily, he's one of very, very few people I will take it from. (Besides, paranoia is really just part of his job description.)
"Oh, I know it would have been easier to ride with Ken in the car, but he left too early for me. I still had stuff to do," I reason, trying not to sound defensive.
"He told you to take a car from the fleet though, didn't he?" Hanson asks, despite clearly knowing the answer already.
Ken did, in fact, tell me to take a car and driver to come here. It wouldn't have been the first time either. I stick to public transport and the occasional cab when going about my daily life, but when moving between palaces, I've used royal cars before, even on my own. Today though…
"I felt like taking the tube," I inform Hanson, feigning nonchalance.
He snorts. "With due respect, Miss, but no-one ever feels like taking the tube."
Drat. He has a point there.
Having run out of arguments, I just sit there, pouting slightly. When Hanson looks at me, he laughs quietly. "It's okay, I understand. May I just…" He pauses for a moment. "May I offer some advice?"
"Sure." I shrug. Hanson gives good advice, after all, and just like with the chiding, I can accept it, coming from him.
"I just want to suggest that you consider that there's a time and a place for asserting one's independence," he tells me and I know he's wording this very carefully.
"And the tube is not the place?" I ask, not even bothering to deny the bit about asserting one's independence.
He nods. "Nor is the day of Trooping the Colour the time."
I make a thoughtful sound as I consider his words. Finally, I shrug and smile at him. "Okay. I will make sure to remember it next year."
Instead of replying, he just looks at me searchingly, but I make a point to avert his gaze and keep my own eyes resolutely ahead. Thankfully, the next bend brings Buck House into view, large and imposing and much more orange from this side than it's from the front.
"I guess that's my stop," I declare brightly.
"I guess it is," Hanson agrees, before bringing the golf cart to a halt right next to palace.
I climb from the cart, but don't go inside immediately. Instead, I turn towards Hanson with a genuine smile. "Thanks for coming to my rescue."
He chuckles. "Anytime."
I know I should probably leave it at that, but somehow, it doesn't feel quite like enough and before I've consciously decided to do so, I find myself blurting out, "I'm glad you didn't take the job to head Amy's security team."
Several long seconds pass as Hanson clearly ponders my words, his expression somewhat pensive. In the end, he slowly states, "Let me put it this way: I had a feeling you'd be in more need of my rescue services than she would be."
Well…
"I want to resent that, but I probably can't deny it," I reply, laughing.
He grins, the pensive look gone from his face. Touching his right hand to his temple, he takes his leave from me. "Whatever the future may bring, I consider today's rescue to be successful. Enjoy tea, Miss."
"I will. And thanks again!" I call after him as he puts the golf cart in motion again and zooms off, disappearing around the corner of the building seconds later.
I tackle the short set of stairs and let myself into the palace, nodding at a footman in passing. On my way to the private apartments, I encounter several more staff members because on a day like today, the palace is teeming with life. There'll be tea for the wider royal family and some guests later on (which is mainly the reason I'm here in the first place) and I can imagine there's a lot to prepare for it.
No matter how busy it's in the halls, the private rooms of the royals are heavenly quiet though and when I open the door to their main drawing room, I'm not sad to find it empty. Empty except for Lottie, that is, who scrambles out from under a sofa and hurries over to me.
"Hello, girl," I greet her and crouch down to give her ears a scratch. "Did he leave you all alone?"
Lottie looks at me with big, dark eyes and presses her snout against my hand, seeking reassurance. I know I'm not the human she would have preferred, but in the absence of Ken, second-best has to do. Despite the many, many hours of work Ken put into growing her confidence, she doesn't like to be left alone and the busy atmosphere in the palace probably isn't helping matters. Ken took her here today to tackle the next step of meeting a larger group of people and while I know it's time to do that and that she will endure the situation for his sake (there's yet to be a task she refuses to do if he asks), I can still feel her nervousness.
Thus, I stay down on the floor with her until I feel her growing calmer. It's only then that I get back up and walk over to one of the sofas. Lottie trots after me, but when I invite her to jump up on the sofa, she just looks at me reproachfully and lies down on the floor by my feet, before dragging her plushy pink giraffe out from under the sofa. Sometimes, it's scary how well-behaved she is!
(George, who never behaved for a minute in his life, certainly agrees. They tolerate each other reasonably well, but sometimes, I catch him looking at her and I know her obedience just baffles him.)
Picking up the remote control, I switch on the TV and change the channels to BBC, where they're showing the parade that is still in full swing. I keep the volume turned low though and pull out my phone to join the video call that my sister have no doubt started a while ago.
It takes a moment for the connection to be established (I should really talk to Weatherfield about better wifi connection in here!), but when it does, the faces of my three sisters appear on the phone's small screen. I just catch Di saying, "…we finally picked a donor and all going well, we'll start the first round of AI next month."
"That's so exciting, Di!" Nan exclaims, bright-eyed.
Joy smiles. "My little sister is going to be a mum!"
"And what great mums she and Nia will be!" I add, getting caught up in the excitement.
Unfortunately, me speaking draws their combined attention to the fact that I finally joined this call and though it shouldn't be possible through a screen, I feel three pairs of eyes on me.
"Look who finally joined us," Di remarks and raises both eyebrows.
"What kept you?" Joy wants to know.
Nan nods earnestly. "We were supposed to meet twenty minutes ago!"
"I was held up," I answer simply, hoping that it'll be enough to satisfy their curiosity.
Tough luck, with sisters like mine.
"Does that mean Ken is hiding somewhere out of sight?" asks Di and wiggles her eyebrows.
I roll my eyes at her, but before I get a chance to set her straight, Nan pipes up, "No, he's still up on his horse riding in a fancy parade." She gestures at something I can't see, probably her own TV tuned to the same content I'm watching.
I roll my eyes harder. I swear, if anyone dares make an inappropriate joke about riding…
"So, if not Ken, what kept you?" Joy intervenes, repeating her earlier question and, thankfully, curtailing any uncalled-for equestrian humour.
"I took the tube, a tourist recognised me, I left the tube, I walked," I summarise my earlier experience. "It was nothing noteworthy whatsoever."
Di inclines her head. "Except for the fact that you had to fight off nosy tourists in the the tube while Princess Amy gets to ride in a fancy carriage and has the masses cheering at her."
"Her title is actually Duchess of Kendal," Nan chimes in helpfully. Di doesn't look like she cares.
Me, I look briefly at the TV playing and as if to mock me, it's indeed showing an image of Amy, sitting in a carriage with Leslie and Persis and waving at the assembled crowds. She looks nervous, but definitely not unhappy – and that honeymoon tan is very becoming on her!
"I thought you'd be the first one to decry Trooping the Colour as an antiquated and imperialistic dog and pony-show that has no place in an informed modern world," I grumble and frown at the little Di on my phone screen.
"Well summarised," she declares cheerfully. "And yet, there remains the question of why you're still not part of that dog and pony-show."
"Di," warns Joy quietly.
I have a defensive comment on the tip of my tongue, ready to throw it at Di in the hopes of shutting her up, but before I can utter it, my attention is once again drawn by the images on TV. Right now, it's showing Ken on his horse, looking both impressive and ridiculous in his uniform, complete with one of those tall fur hats. Gazing at the screen, I feel the fight go out of me in with a heavy sigh.
(Lottie, hearing that, briefly raises her head to look at me. I pat her reassuringly and she lies back down.)
To my sisters, I admit, "I honestly don't know."
If their attention hadn't already been focused on me, that certainly would have done the trick. I've spent a year laughing away any and all questions about a possible engagement, so this is the closest they ever got me to an honest admission. From their alert expressions, I can tell they won't let it go to waste.
"What is it you don't know?" asks Joy carefully.
I grimace. They're really going to make me spell it out, won't they?
"I don't know why Ken and I aren't married yet," I reply through gritted teeth. "I know everyone is wondering about it and the truth is, I have no idea either. Your guess really is as good as mine."
The admission is met by a second of astonished silence.
"But –" protests Nan weakly. "But you said –"
"Of course I said," I interrupt her, smiling wryly. "Wouldn't you have said it, too, considering?"
"You said you didn't mind," she insists. "You said it was part of the plan."
I shrug. "I didn't mind, at least not at first. And then, somehow… I did."
"And Ken isn't on the same page on this?" Di wants to know, her brows knitted into a frown. "It's hard to imagine, actually. Say what you want about him, but he is quite besotted with you."
"That's the odd thing, actually," I reply, fixing the wry smile on my face to keep other emotions at bay. "The way he keeps talking, you'd be forgiven for thinking that us getting married was a done deal. He keeps saying things like how he would like to be married to me and stuff like that. Hell, we even discussed honeymoon destinations!"
Joy makes a thoughtful sound. "And yet, there's no proposal?"
I shake my head. "I thought he was just waiting until after Teddy and Amy got married, but it's been over a month since then and… nothing."
"Not that I don't believe you, but it's almost hard to believe he never raised the question at all," Nan remarks, pursing her lips. "Like Di said, he obviously adores you and ever since last year, you two seem very devoted to each other. It's just… are you sure he really never even hinted at proposing?"
"He did, I guess," I admit slowly. "I suppose if you want to get technical, he sort of proposed three times, but none of that was recent!"
"Wait, wait, wait, wait!" Di raises both hands, palms open, to command attention. "He proposed three times and you're still sitting there and whining to us?"
Joy sighs heavily. "Di, please!"
"He sort of proposed," I correct Di sullenly. "The first time was us agreeing that we'd get married at some point in the future when the time is right, which hardly counts as anything definite. The second time was when he informed me that he expected us to get married after he came back from war –" (At this, I can see my sisters wince physically, all three at the same time.) "– and the final time… I guess the final time I didn't really let him finish."
"What did you do?" asks Nan, cocking her head to the side.
"It was when he came to see me at Ingleside, literal moments after we got back together," I explain, a little reluctantly. "It was premature and rushed and if I had accepted, you would have chewed my ear off saying exactly that!"
"We would have," Di agrees drily. Nan nods, an apologetic half-smile on her face.
Joy, on the other hand, studies me with apparent interest. "What did you say?"
"What did I say?" I repeat, confused.
"What did you say to stop him?" Joy elaborates. "What, exactly, did you say to him?"
Frowning, I think back to our conversation on that day in Ingleside, a little over a year ago. "I… I explained that though I loved him, I felt it was too early to get engaged and that we had to get our issues resolved and our relationship in order before we rushed into marriage."
"Surprisingly sensible," interjects Di approvingly.
I glare at her.
Joy, however, is not to be deterred by our antics. Looking at the intense concentration on her face, I realise that she has a theory and is trying to find out whether it's correct without making the cardinal mistake of asking me leading questions. (A big no-no for any self-respecting lawyer, despite what every single John Grisham book wants to make you believe.)
"What did he say?" she asks me. "What did Ken say when you asked him not to propose just yet?"
"He said –" I begin, then suddenly stop myself and abruptly raise my head. "He said… he said… he said that…"
I can almost hear a soft, metallic click as the penny drops.
My sisters stare at me, but their expressions only register vaguely in my mind. I'm far too preoccupied with my moment of revelation to be able to pay them much attention.
"Is she okay?" Di wants to know, confusion written over her features.
Trying to explain, I offer up another weak, "he said that…" but once more, I don't get any further than that, far too distracted by my thoughts turning cartwheels in my head.
"She appears to be stuck," Nan points out, concerned. "Rilla, darling, are you stuck?"
I shake my head mutely and wave a hand haphazardly in the air, though quite what I'm trying to communicate by that gesture, I don't know myself.
Only Joy has a knowing look on her face, as if she knows exactly what I seem to be unable to put into words. "What did he say, sweetheart?" she asks gently.
I swallow heavily as, finally, everything drops into place. "He said to tell him when it's a good time to propose."
My admission is met with several seconds of perfect silence. (So perfect a silence, in fact, that Lottie opens her eyes to check whether everything is alright. Absent-mindedly, I stroke her silky ears and she settles back down again.) We're utterly, utterly quiet – and then, suddenly, without me being able to say who started it, we're all of us laughing (very nearly hysterical, in my case) and the laughter persists even longer than the silence did.
"Just to – just to summarise," that's Di, who's the first to calm down enough to speak, "for the past year, you have been waiting for him to propose – and he has been waiting for you to give permission for him to propose?"
"I… I guess so?" I stutter helplessly.
"A plot twist worthy of an Austen novel!" declares Nan, which, coming from her, is very nearly a compliment.
Still, I hide my face in my hands and groan. "We weren't supposed to have any twists! We were supposed to be very grown-up and sensible about our relationship and we were supposed to be very, very good at talking!"
"You're both doing very well with communicating," Joy assures me. "Anyone can tell that you're much more in tune than you used to be."
"How can you say that?" I wail, dropping my hands. "We literally just wasted a year waiting because we didn't talk!"
"You've got to admit that she has a point," Di tells Joy drily.
Nan, bless her, shushes her twin with a sharp motion of her hand. (Though judging by the look of utter fascination on her face, it's mostly because she doesn't want to miss a single second of the real life soap opera unfolding before her very eyes.)
Joy clucks her tongue at both our sisters in annoyance, but then her expression becomes much gentler and I know she's looking at me. "You're both doing great with the talking. You're also both human though and no-one can expect you to always be perfect. Just because you got so much better at communicating doesn't mean there won't ever be a misunderstanding or a piece of miscommunication. That's clearly what happened here, with him trying to be so extremely respectful of your wishes that he waited for your direct permission and you thinking you'd already given it non-verbally. I promise you misunderstandings happen in every relationship sometimes. There's no shame in it. Now, the only thing you can do is to learn from it and do better."
"Wise words," murmurs Di. This time, no-one attempts to shut her up.
Feeling somewhat comforted by Joy's words, I take a deep breath and ask, "And how do I learn from it?"
As if on cue, they all get the same long-suffering expression and I know that if we were in the same room together, they'd be exchanging looks for sure.
It's Nan who finally takes pity on me. "Much as it pains me to say this, because as far as romantic moves go, this comes somewhere between 'public proposal via video cube in a sports stadium' and 'Las Vegas wedding conducted by a drunk Elvis impersonator', but… you're going to have to tell your prince you'd like to be proposed to, please."
Instinctively, I wrinkle my nose. "That's… that's really not very romantic."
"No," admits Joy. "But in this case, the best way forward is the most direct one."
"No more miscommunications," chimes in Di knowingly.
I hmpf in irritation, but even as I do, I know they're right. Ken and I lost a year to dancing around each other on this most important of subjects, so there's really no more time to waste on hints and little nudges. Don't they say that offense is the best defence anyway?
But even as I accept the conclusion, my mind refuses to settle down. My sisters, probably sensing that, move on from the subject to chat between themselves, only occasionally addressing me in any way. Thus, I don't remember much of the rest of the phone call and after it ends, I still find myself sitting on the sofa, deep in thought. On TV, they're showing the highlights of the parade, which means it's probably over, but not even that fully registers with me as I stare into space and reflect on what I figured out so suddenly and unexpectedly – and yet, so belatedly as well.
I'm only roused from my thoughts when Lottie, who'd hitherto slept peacefully next to me, suddenly raises her head, listens for a moment and scrambles to her feet. Her claws clicking on the floor, she makes her way to the door and puts a paw against it, whining softly.
There's really only one translation to that behaviour. Ken is coming.
And sure enough, there's a knock on the door mere seconds later. I frantically grab the TV and press a random set of buttons. Somehow, I don't want to be caught having watched the Trooping coverage – certainly not by him.
"Come in!" I call out just as the TV switches channels.
It's indeed Ken who enters, still dressed in his fancy red uniform. He even kept on the ridiculous black bearskin hat, which makes me smile.
"Hey there, you two," he greets both me and the dog, though first leaning down to give Lottie a cuddle. She yaps excitedly and runs circles around him as he he takes off the hat and tosses it on a nearby chair. It's only then that he walks over to stand behind me, putting his hands on my shoulders and bending down to drop a kiss on my head. "What are you doing?"
"Oh, I'm just –" I break off and sneak a look at the TV. (That's Bonnie Tyler, isn't it?) "You know, just… watching some… music… videos… on TV." Vaguely, I gesture in direction of the screen and hope Ken won't notice that I barely have any idea what's shown there.
Thankfully, his attention seems to have been drawn by no-one but Bonnie Tyler herself. Frowning, he looks at her twirling over the screen for a moment, before remarking, "That entire video is such an acid trip."
"Huh?" I ask, quickly looking back at the TV myself. Only now do I fully take in what's shown there and realise it's the video for Total Eclipse of the Heart, which is nothing short of a full-blown boarding school fantasy that definitely wouldn't fly if it was filmed today. (Glee Club of the Damned, indeed!)
"The video," Ken repeats, "is an acid trip if there ever was one."
"Hmm… coke, I think," I correct thoughtfully. "Remember, this was the 80s and acid was so 70s."
He snorts with laughter. Lottie barks softly. "Mind-alerting substances, anyway," he amends
"Agreed," I reply and bend my head backwards so I can look at him.
He, however, is still frowning at the screen where the video is drawing to a close. "I know it was the 80s, but…" He pauses and shakes his head. "Did no-one find it even remotely problematic that she's their literal teacher?"
The mixture of disbelief and exasperation on his face makes me laugh. (He's the one with the boarding school experiences, after all!) "What, do you have a problem with a woman who knows what she wants?" I ask innocently.
His gaze snaps downward to look at me, Bonnie all but forgotten. "Is that a trick question?" he wants to know, his voice very, very cautious. (Lottie, sensing his shift in mood, whines quietly.)
Smiling at him, I shake my head. "No, not at all."
Not at all…
The title of this chapter is taken from the song 'A Whiter Shade of Pale' (written by Gary Brooker, Keith Reid and Matthew Fisher, released by Procol Harum in 1967).
To DogMonday:
I didn't intentionally write the conversation to be similar to P&P, but I do see that they're alike in parts. Of course, the difference is that Lady Catherine tries to prevent a wedding while Aunt Mary tries to make one happen, but they're similarly arrogant and rude!
"Arrogant and lonely soul" describes Aunt Mary well! She is rude and snobbish, she's loyal and dedicated, she's lonely and sad. Her confession doesn't suddenly turn her into a nice and friendly person, and while Rilla understands her better now, they don't miraculously like each other. There's a grudging sort of respect on both sides though and yes, also some similarities. On the surface, they're different because Rilla is loves life and people (and yes, she's definitely starting to change the system!), but they both possess an inherent core strength, an understanding of their position and a sense of duty. Aunt Mary recognises that in Rilla and can respect it. Rilla isn't who she would have chosen (Aunt Mary is snob enough to have wanted an aristocrat for Ken), but she isn't ill-suited to the role and Aunt Mary seeing that is sort of a compliment in itself.
As for why Aunt Mary works with abused women, that's not so much because of Leslie, but because she herself knows the hopelessness and helplessness that come from having another person dictate your life. She knows how it feels to live a life not of your choosing and that's why she tries to help other women find the freedom that looks unattainable for her. Also, for me as a writer, it was an early way to show that there's substance to Aunt Mary, because someone who's only arrogant and self-centred probably wouldn't pick such a difficult (if important!) cause to support.
I suppose if Rilla wanted a married bridesmaid, she could have one, but since royal brides tend to have many children in their wedding parties, two adult bridesmaids in Persis and Lucy should be enough. I have Rilla's wedding dress designer already picked out (in fact, I've known this for a long, long time), but haven't completely settled on a style of dress yet. No flounces and ruffles, but I think she wouldn't mind some lace accent. I like the idea of an intricate cut, too. Of the current crop of real life royals, I liked Eugenie's wedding dress the best and that was somewhat architectural in style as well.
To Rach H:
Tatty and Mark's wedding was in October 2016, so they're taken care of ;). Rilla wore the hat she got from Great-Aunt Tanya in chaper 106 to their wedding.
I like what you said about Aunt Mary. There's the promise to her mother, but she also genuinely cares for the future of the country and the family. Yes, she smells a bit of freedom now that there's a potential wife for Ken on the scene, but she also senses that things will be in good hands with Rilla. Ken is improving mentally and Teddy did is best during Owen's illness, but they both need some support. Persis would try to step up, but she isn't cut out to live her life in sacrifice of others - as no-one should have be to, really. Aunt Mary made her promise out of both duty and devotion, but she would never want Persis bound similarly. Rilla will have to carry some of the same burdens eventually, but she has a choice, which Mary never feels she has. That's a key difference, I think.
I agree that nothing is to be gained from telling Owen and Leslie. They'd just be horrified and feel awful about something they never had any control over. They needed Mary and benefited from her promise, even if they would never have asked her to make it. Telling them wouldn't change a thing except to make them feel responsible and complicate their relationship with Mary ten-fold.
As for why Rilla was waiting for Ken to propose... I hope this chapter answers that ;). The truth is, she mostly forgot that part of their conversation, or maybe she just never took it as literal. Ken meant that she should tell him outright, while she thought they'd get to that point naturally. Would it have been better if they had talked about it months ago? Certainly. But as Joy said, misunderstandings happen in the best relationships. At some point, we're all just human and humans are never perfect. In good news, however, even if Ken doesn't have official permission to marry yet, Owen will grant said permission in a heartbeat, so that's definitely sorted!