London, England
August 2017
White lace and feathers
"I still don't see why I wasn't allowed to bring some of my tiaras," sniffs Great-Aunt Tanya. "I have some lovely diamond and pearl pieces that would have looked splendid on her."
The 'her' in question is me. I'm sitting on a sofa in Leslie's sitting room at Buck House and we're about to choose my wedding tiara. Leslie called up several tiaras from the vaults for me to try on and Great-Aunt Tanya invited herself to offer her opinion. One of those opinions, apparently, is that her own tiaras were unfairly snubbed.
Leslie just smiles, calmly and slightly amused. "Your tiaras are very beautiful and I'm sure Rilla will have fun taking each of them out for a spin in the coming months," she placates. "However, for the wedding, don't you think it would be fitting for a future British queen to wear an heirloom tiara passed down from previous queens?"
"You wore your own family's tiara when you married Owen," Great-Aunt Tanya points out archly.
"I did," confirms Leslie. "I don't think Rilla's family owns a tiara though."
I snort involuntarily. "The only tiaras anyone in my family ever wore were made of plastic and rhinestones…"
Great-Aunt Tanya considers me for a moment before deciding, "That would be rather too avant-garde."
"Quite," I agree, laughing. Leslie shakes her head, but she's smiling, too. Great-Aunt Tanya looks pleased with her little joke.
Turning to Leslie, I remark, "I didn't know your family owned a real tiara."
"We had two," she tells me. "I wore one to marry Dick and the other to marry Owen. When my father died, I inherited them both."
"Doesn't Persis now have the one you wore for your marriage to Owen?" I wonder, wrinkling my nose in thought as I mentally picture the tiara I saw Persis wear for a formal dinner a while ago.
Leslie nods. "Yes, I gave it to her when she turned 18 and started attending white tie events. I thought it would be fun for her to wear the tiara I wore to marry her father."
"What happened to the other one?" I ask curiously.
"I had it broken up and sold the diamonds for cash," Leslie answers, her face carefully composed. "The proceeds of the sale, I donated anonymously to a charity supporting victims of domestic violence."
Ah, drat.
I should really learn to recognise when to keep my mouth shut.
"It was a frightful thing anyway," remarks Great-Aunt Tanya airily. "I still remember how Persis – your grandmother Persis – hated wearing it."
"Good riddance," Leslie replies firmly and turns toward the jewel cases resting on a side table, thus effectively putting a lid on the subject of broken-up tiaras with bad memories attached to them.
I turn to look as she opens the cases, one by one, and reveals a string of tiaras, one more beautiful than the next. Their combined sparkle is almost blinding and the sheer number of diamonds laid out before me is enough to do my head in.
"I had them sent up all 'white' tiaras, meaning all tiaras consisting solely of diamonds and pearls," Leslie explains. "Of course, if you'd rather have a colourful stone, we can also look at some other pieces still in the vault."
"No, diamonds are fine," I quickly assure. "It's traditional and I like that all-white look for a bride."
A bride!
Me!
"Come here and have a look at them," invites Leslie and waves me closer. Cautiously, I get up and go to stand by her side. Great-Aunt Tanya follows, leaning down to peer closely at the jewels.
Leslie taps on each of the tiaras as she introduces them to me. "The Delhi Durbar Tiara, worn by Queen Mary when she and King Victor were crowned Empress and Emperor of India in 1911. It's the largest of the diamond tiaras and while I like how intricately woven it is, I want to caution that it is also very heavy."
"Also, with that entire Indian connection…" I trail off.
"Yes, it's a touchy subject," agrees Leslie and shuts the case of the first tiara before moving on to the next in line. "Here, we have Queen Mary's Fringe Tiara, made for her in 1919, and the Lover's Knot Tiara, also made for Queen Mary, but in 1913."
"Careful with the pearls," remarks Great-Aunt Tanya and points at the large pearls hanging from the Lover's Knot Tiara. "They look nice, but they clank around and make an awful lot of noise. Alice always used to say that it gave her a nasty headache."
With a twinge of regret, I shut the case of the Lover's Knot Tiara. "I don't need a headache on my wedding day."
"No-one does," confirms Leslie. She taps a finger on the next three tiaras. "Here, we have some more of Queen Mary's tiaras. Two smaller diamond bandeaus, made in 1925 and 1932, respectively, and the Honeysuckle Tiara from about 1913. It has an interchangeable centrepiece, but you're seeing it here in its all-diamond version."
None of the three tiaras excite me much, so I just hum non-committally. Leslie laughs and shuts their cases, understanding what I'm not saying.
"I see these are not to your liking. Maybe we should look at some of Queen Mary's own wedding gifts instead?" she suggests. "She broke up a lot of them to create some of the tiaras you just saw, but at least two survived in their original form, or nearly so. This is the so-called Iveagh Tiara and here we have the Girls of Great Britain and Ireland Tiara. It used to have pearls on the spikes here, but Mary had them removed at some point."
"Those are pretty!" I exclaim spontaneously and bend forward to get a better look at both tiaras. The Iveagh Tiara is smaller and more delicate, while the Girls of Great Britain and Ireland Tiara is intricate in a way that recalls lace. They're both gorgeous!
"An encouraging reaction," remarks Great-Aunt Tanya, obviously pleased with me. "We'll turn her into a magpie yet."
Leslie laughs. "I'm sure you won't rest until you have succeeded, Tanya."
I don't doubt that either!
"We can definitely keep those in mind," I decide, indicating Queen Mary's wedding gifts. "But just out of curiosity, are there any tiaras that weren't made for Queen Mary?"
"A few," replies Leslie and indicates the final three tiaras on the table. "This one here was bought by Queen Mary, but it originally belonged to Grand Duchess Vladimir of Russia. It can be worn with pearls hanging from the arches, as you see here, or with emerald chips. In theory, you could also wear it bare, but that looks rather odd."
"Grand Duchess Vladimir was the wife of my great-grandfather's brother," interjects Great-Aunt Tanya. "She died before I was old enough to know her but she was said to be a very grand woman."
"Not hard to believe, looking at this." I point at the decidedly grand tiara of interlinked diamond circles and dangling pearls.
Great-Aunt Tanya nods. "Yes, quite. No-one did jewellery like the Romanovs!"
Looks like someone is not quite over the fact that her tiaras, primarily Russian-made as they are, don't feature today.
With a smile, Leslie passes over the little jibe. "The Russians made some beautiful jewels back in the day," she agrees placidly. "In fact, this next tiara was inspired by the Russian kokoshniks. It's British-made and was given to Queen Alexandra, wife of Edward VII, in 1888, but she asked that it be styled to look like a tiara belonging to her sister Marie, then-Empress of Russia." The tiara she indicates looks like a crescent of densely-packed diamonds and it sparkles like crazy.
"Of course, Empress Marie was my great-grandmother," chimes in Great-Aunt Tanya. "As was Queen Alexandra."
"Which leads us to our final tiara," continues Leslie, not to be deterred. "It's the oldest one I can offer you, made for said Queen Alexandra as a wedding gift in 1862. It's a versatile piece that can be worn without these diamond bridges here or with diamond stars instead of the large fleurs-de-lys. Due to the hairstyles of the time, it also has a wide circumference though, so it might be a bit tricky to style."
"It also looks heavy," I muse as I poke experimentally at the tiara, before shutting its case. "I don't think I want a very heavy tiara, especially seeing as I'll be wearing at all day."
"That's sensible," agrees Leslie and smiles at me.
Great-Aunt Tanya is not so patient. "Well, have you decided then? Which one will it be?"
I take a step back to better look at the assembled tiaras. Several cases are already shut seeing as we ruled out the tiaras inside. After a moment of deliberation I shut two more, leaving the Iveagh Tiara, the Girls of Great Britain and Ireland Tiara and Queen Alexandra's Kokoshnik Tiara to sparkle back at me.
"I like these three," I decide. "But I'm not sure which one I like best yet."
"It's a big decision and you don't need to make it now," Leslie assures me. "I will have these three sent to KP and you can try them on as often as you like. I imagine the final decision will also depend on what style your wedding dress will be."
"Have you picked a designer by now?" Great-Aunt Tanya wants to know, eyeing me curiously.
I grimace slightly. "I'm… I'm still weighing my options."
Great-Aunt Tanya looks at me sharply. "Well, it's time you settle on one of those options if you don't want to be very avant-garde and get married in the nude."
Leslie and I laugh, but even as I do, I know Great-Aunt Tanya is entirely correct. She's not the only one who's on my case about the wedding dress either. My sisters are (Di especially) and so is Lucy, who has – rightfully – been bugging me to make a choice ever since I first told her about my engagement.
"You need to pick a designer," she complains, again, as we idly browse the stalls of one of London's many flea market on the next day. "You're getting married in three months and you don't even have a designer yet, much less a dress!"
"Three and a half months," I correct defiantly.
Lucy gives me an impatient look. "So? That's short notice for any wedding, much less for what will be the wedding of the century!"
"It's only 2017," I point out, just to be stubborn. "There's a lot of century left."
Another very impatient look from Lucy. "Don't be cute. It doesn't suit you," she chides. "And now for that designer! Do you at least have a shortlist?"
"Melissa and Elena got in touch with several designers and design houses and they sent in suggestions," I reply quickly, glad to prove that some progress has been made.
Lucy raises an eyebrow. "And?"
I sigh, deflating a little. "And nothing. They were good designs and it was fun to look at them, but… none of them felt like me, you know?"
"I do know," concedes Lucy, mellowing slightly. "But do the designs really already have to feel like you? You're in the unique situation that every designer will clamour to work with you and turn your ideas into reality. Don't you think you could pick the design you like best and work from there?"
"I suppose I could," I agree, though a little reluctantly. "I guess part of the problem is that I'm just a bit overwhelmed. The planning and organising isn't the problem, because I know how to do it, but the wedding dress… you can only look at so many designs for flouncy white dresses before they all start looking a bit same-y."
Something about my words – or maybe about the despondent way I deliver them – makes the disapproval leave Lucy's face. Instead, she reaches out and gives me a brief hug. "Of course it's overwhelming! It would be a wonder if it wasn't. Even so, you need to make a choice about the designer soon, so how about this? I'll come to Wren House tomorrow after work, we eat dinner and then I'll help you sort through the design suggestions. I'll even bring the wine!"
That makes me smile. I knew I could rely on Lucy. "That sounds like a great idea," I tell her sincerely. "But no need to bring any wine. We'll just raid Ken's stash."
"I was hoping you'd say that," admits Lucy, laughing, before looping her arm through mine and pulling me towards a stall selling handmade silver jewellery.
Most of the jewellery isn't my style (and if I have to be honest, Great-Aunt Tanya and her priceless Romanov jewels rather spoiled me), but as Lucy browses the pieces on offer, I let my gaze drift over them as well. Near the back, I spot a couple of delicate silver bracelets, adorned with differently coloured gemstones.
"Excuse me?" I ask the seller. "Could I have a closer look at those bracelets at the back?"
"Of course!" Without looking up, the woman reaches for the tray holding the bracelets to show them to me. When she offers me the tray, she raises her head – and proceeds to drop it, bracelets an all.
Lucy catches the tray just in time. "Whoops!"
"Oh my God!" breathes the woman. "You're –"
"Uh, yes," I quickly cut her off, smiling vaguely. "That's me." I've so far managed to fly under the radar today, mostly on account of no-one expecting to see me here, so I don't want her to announce my presence to the world.
Lucy cottons on to that immediately. "These are pretty bracelets," she announces, holding out the tray for me to see.
The bracelets are intricately woven without being ostentatious and each is adorned with several small gemstones. All in all, there are twelve different versions of the bracelet, all using a different gemstone, leading me to wonder –
"Are these birthstones?" I ask the seller.
She stares at me wide-eyes for a moment before her eyes flicker down to my engagement ring, but then she catches herself and nods. "Yes, they're birthstone bracelets, using semi-precious stones. They're favourites among our customers. The adjustable clasp allows them to be worn by children or adults without problem."
Looking down closely at the bracelets, I make a quick decision. "I'd like to buy eight of them please. I need… one for February, two for May, one for June, one for July, one for August. one for October and one for December." That's a bracelet for each of my bridesmaids and one for me.
Out of the corner of my eye, I can see Lucy figuring out who the bracelets are meant for and nodding approvingly. The seller, meanwhile, has regained her wits enough to select several bracelets from the tray.
"One amethyst bracelet, two chrysoprase, one moonstone, one carnelian, one peridot, one opal and one turquois," she lists as she picks up the bracelets, holding each up for my inspection briefly before carefully slipping them into a velvet-y pouch.
"How much is that?" I ask, reaching for my purse.
The seller quickly shakes her head. "Oh, no! Please! This is my treat. Consider it a gift on the occasion of your engagement!"
Darn!
"That is very kind of you, but I can't accept it," I protest feebly, because I've just discovered the little price tag valuing each bracelet at ₤24 and I couldn't possible accept jewellery for nearly 200 bucks from this woman who might be providing for her family with the jewellery she sells. At the same time, it would be rude not to accept the gift though, so I'm well and truly stuck.
"You must!" the woman stresses and holds out the little pouch for me to take. "Please! I was so happy to hear that you and Prince Ken are getting married and I'm so honoured that you like my bracelets. You must accept them as a gift, please."
What to do, what to do?
A quick glance at Lucy shows her to be as lost as I am. Without a good solution, I'm still dithering when, out of the corner of my eye, I spy McMillan silently step up to the stand. Without anyone else noticing, she quickly slips four crisp ₤50 notes into the seller's handbag hanging from a chair behind her before withdrawing again.
I let go of a deep breath and finally accept the little pouch.
"Thank you," I tell the seller sincerely. "This is very, very kind of you. Your jewellery is beautiful and I'm so glad to have discovered it."
She beams back. "Please do come back anytime!"
"I will," I promise, laughing softly, as I carefully stow the pouch in my handbag and take a step back. "Have a good day."
"You, too," she replies. "Give my best to Prince Ken."
Nodding and smiling to acknowledge that, I slip my arm through Lucy's and quickly pull her away from the stand before the seller has any chance to discover that her gift wasn't such a gift, after all. Ducking my head, I adopt a fast pace, dragging Lucy along and trusting my PPOs to follow me. It's only when we've reached the next row of stalls that I slow down and look for McMillan. She, perhaps sensing that, appears by my side in an instant.
"Thanks. That was well-handled," I thank her. "I'll give you back the money when we've returned to KP."
McMillan nods and smiles slightly. "No problem, Ma'am. We're here to rescue you, no matter the situation."
I laugh. "And you do it exemplarily!"
With my engagement to Ken publicly announced, I was given my own security team to accompany me from that moment on until the day I die. Hanson is the head and McMillan his second-in-command. Hanson picked her out, just like he chose all of my other PPOs. I'd only briefly seen McMillan with Leslie's security detail before, but I've since gotten to know her better and I must say I firmly agree with Hanson's choice – his choices, really.
McMillan draws back a little, always close enough to protect me but just far away so as not to be stifling, and as my gaze follows her, I also spot Beaverstock (who asked to be transferred to my detail as well) and Memon (who came with recommendations from Scotland Yard) close by.
Lucy nudges me in the side. "Do they go everywhere you go?" she hisses, nodding at Memon walking slightly ahead of us.
I nod, grimacing slightly.
"Even when you have to use the bathroom?" Lucy asks and wrinkles her nose.
"McMillan does," I explain, "and if she isn't with me, Corr is. They try to always have a woman on my detail for exactly those situations." Just as McMillan was transferred from Leslie's detail to mine, Corr used to be part of Persis's security team before. Female PPOs are rare and we have to distribute those few between our teams so that every female royal has someone to go to the bathroom with her.
Lucy considers that information for a moment, before shaking her head. "This is weird," she declares.
I laugh. "It really, truly is."
Truth to be told, I thought I knew how it felt like to have security accompanying me from years of dating Ken, but to have them with me everywhere I go took some adjustment. I'm not sure I'm really used to it already and I'm even less sure whether I like it (actually, no, scratch that – I know that I dislike it), but it's part of the job description. Kicking up a fuss about the PPOs would accomplish exactly nothing and frankly, after that awfully scary experience on my birthday, there's at least a small part of me that doesn't mind the security of having someone there to protect me. It's just one of these things that aren't black and white.
Thankfully, Hanson primed all my PPOs to give me as much space and independence as possible (and also prepared them for me being a rather difficult person to look after because I still insist on living my life and going to place like this flea market, for example), so they try their very best to give Lucy and me a comparatively wide berth. As we continue to stroll among the stalls, it almost feels like the old days – if it weren't for the people who whisper and point despite my best efforts to remain incognito, that is, and if it weren't for my face staring at me by the dozen from the magazine stand by the side of the flea market.
"Oh, look," Lucy remarks, grinning. "She looks familiar."
I glare at her and pull at her arm to keep her moving, but she digs her heels in and closely studies the magazine covers.
"They look photoshopped," she announces after a moment.
"Of course they are photoshopped!" I reply impatiently. "No-one's skin is that smooth and my hair is definitely not that bright. They really love playing up the ginger angle."
"They're nice though," Lucy points out, waving her hand vaguely at the magazines.
I shrug. She's correct in that most of the titles are benevolent, but that's really just because they know that gushing royal wedding titles sell even better than thinly-veiled nasty lies. Ever since the engagement was announced, the press machine went into overdrive, alternatively speculating about every little possible detail of the wedding planning or constructing barely accurate, sickeningly sweet stories about Ken and me that make my teeth want to rot. I guess it's better than some of the nastiness they used to throw at me before, but I still don't want to look at the magazines for any longer than necessary.
"Come on." I hook my arm through Lucy's again and pull her away from the magazine stand. "Let's go find a place to eat."
"Food!" she declares brightly and readily follows me, the magazine covers mercifully forgotten.
With no real destination in mind, we (and the PPOs) wander along the streets surrounding the flea market on a look-out for somewhere to eat that strikes both our fancy. I just want to suggest a rustic-looking Italian place down the road, when Lucy suddenly stops.
"Look!" she demands and when I look at where she's pointing, I see a small boutique on the other side of the street – and would you believe that it's selling wedding dresses, of all possible things?
Turning back to Lucy, I eye her doubtfully. "Are you serious?"
She shrugs and grins. "Why not? It might provide you with inspiration and if it doesn't, it might provide me with inspiration for what kind of bridesmaid dress I want. I want a say in what I have to wear, in case you weren't aware of it."
"I thought as much," I reply. "Persis said something similar."
"A girl after my own heart," declares Lucy, sounding pleased. "Now, come on. It won't hurt to have a look."
Part of me would like to explain to her that yes, looking will hurt if someone spots and photographs me in that boutique and that it's also rude to possibly get the hopes of the poor owner up when I'm likely to end up wearing the custom design of a famous British fashion house. The bigger part of me, however, knows that Lucy won't be denied if she has put her mind to something, so in the interest of conserving energy, I decide not to try, instead trudging after her as she triumphantly marches towards the little boutique. (The PPOs follow, with McMillan sticking close to us and the men taking up position on the sidewalk.)
There's a soft chime as we enter and mere seconds later, a young woman appears from the back of the shop. I don't catch a good look at her, because I quickly turn away and pretend to study a dress with a feathery bodice that hangs in a corner. I'd rather not be recognised right away!
"Can I help you?" the woman asks pleasantly. Her accent, I notice, sounds more American than British and reminds me of the long-gone New York days.
"We're just having a look," Lucy announces brightly, knowing instinctively that she'll have to do the talking because neither McMillan nor I will.
"Look all you want," the woman invites. "If you want to have a closer look at one of the dresses though, I ask you to put on some of these gloves. I don't want the material to accidentally get dirty."
"No problem." That's Lucy and just a moment later, I feel her push a pair of white cotton gloves into my hands. Absent-mindedly, I pull them on while listening to Lucy talk with the woman and, at the same time, studying the dresses hanging all over the small shop.
They're… not bad, I must say. In fact, they're not bad at all!
"Are you the owner?" Lucy wants to know, drawing my attention back to their conversation.
"Yes," confirms the woman. "I opened the boutique some years ago after moving here from the States."
(That certainly explains the accent.)
Lucy whistles softly. "Wow, that's really impressive. You can't be much older than we are!"
The woman laughs. "I don't know about that, but I was lucky that I had some money put aside before coming here. I wrote a somewhat successful newspaper column while at fashion school and I put away all the money I was paid because I always knew I'd want to design wedding dresses and open my own bridal shop one day."
"Even more impressive," announces Lucy firmly. "What did you write about in your column? Life as a fashion student?"
"Among other things," replies the woman. "I also wrote about clothes I found while out shopping and about celebrity fashion. When I started the column, Rilla Blythe was still living in New York and her relationship with Prince Ken had just been revealed. I loved her style – still do – and we frequented the same second hand shops, so I wrote a lot about her. Those articles always got the most interest."
I feel Lucy looking at me from the side, but I don't react to her. Instead, I let go of the lace skirt I'd been examining and impulsively turn to look at the woman. "I know you!" I announce. "I remember your column! You're… you're Pip, aren't you?"
For a second or two, the woman – Pip – just stares at me (and like the jewellery seller, I can see she's trying not to look at my ring), but she regains her wits quickly. "Yes, I'm Pip," she states, wonder in her voice. "And you're Rilla."
"The very same," I confirm with a smile. "And I don't know if you knew this, but I always read your column back in the day. Your style suggestions were really great and you were also among the very few people who said nice things about me in the media back then."
"They were so nasty to you!" Pip remarks disdainfully and shakes her head. "They dragged you down when all you ever did was date some guy and wear cute boots."
"My cowboy boots!" I exclaim. "I loved those! I wonder where they ended up, actually… Maybe I left them at Joy's?"
"I was a little jealous about those boots," admits Pip, laughing. "I spent years searching for a pair that felt just right, but never quite found them."
Obviously taking that as her cue, Lucy takes a step closer and slyly comments, "It's funny that you should mention that, because Rilla feels the same way about her wedding dress. She hasn't yet found a design or a designer that feels just right either."
As she takes in the meaning of Lucy's words, Pip's expression changes quickly several times before finally settling on tentatively hopeful. Taking a deep breath, she asks, "I might be making a fool of myself here, but… is there any chance you came here… deliberately?"
"Sorry. Us being here is a perfect accident," Lucy tells her with an apologetic shrug.
"And yet…" I remark thoughtfully, "it might turn out to be a very happy accident in the end. I mean… I need a wedding dress, you're a wedding dress designer and we already established that we have the same fashion taste. Who's to say this isn't kismet?"
"Do you mean…?" Pip trails off, as if not quite daring to finish her question.
I shrug. "Why not? I could see this working, so… surprise me! What kind of design would you suggest for my wedding dress?"
In response, Pip just stares at me for several long, long seconds and I know that her mind is going a mile a minute. This is a big chance for her and I know she doesn't want to mess it up. I suppose it's a bit unfair to spring this on her without warning but at the same time… I feel weirdly good about this, like it can't really go wrong.
"A cloak," Pip suddenly blurts out. "To begin with, I'd give you a cloak."
A cloak?
None of the other designs featured a cloak.
And yet…
As I picture it, I feel a slow smile spreading over my face. "I like the way you think. Continue, please!"
Not needing to be asked twice, Pip immediately grabs some sketching paper and a pencil and starts drawing away. Lucy and I lean over her shoulder curiously (and even McMillan sneaks a quick look) and watch as her strokes come together to form the outline of a dress – a wedding dress – my wedding dress.
The title of this chapter is taken from the song 'Lucky Man' (written by by Greg Lake, released by Emerson, Lake and Palmer in 1970).
A/N: I'd just like to take a moment to recommend that everyone go and read "Correspondence from Hanson", written by the lovely DW.618. It chronicles the happenings of Twist as seen through Hanson's eyes and told to his wife in messages and emails. It's a lot of fun, so if you'd like to learn more about Hanson (and since he was sadly off-duty in this chapter), do give it a read and drop DW.618 a review if you enjoyed it =).
To DogMonday:
The Maltese Cross is a symbol used by several (Christian) organisations devoted to the service and support of others, usually with a strong medical background. The Order of St John is one of these, for example. That's why I thought it would be a good fit for Gilbert, but you're not the first one to ask for an explanation, so obviously it wasn't the best choice. I reckon there might be cultural differences at play here, because it felt like such an obvious choice to me that I never thought to check whether it would be equally self-explanatory to people from other countries. I'm not stuck on the Maltese Cross representing Gilbert though, so if you (or anyone else reading this) has a better idea, I'm absolutely up to changing it =).
We'll spend some more time with Amy in a couple of weeks and look more closely at what her troubles are and how to help her. You're right though that Rilla can't solve her problems for her, nor is it her job to do it. She can offer advice and a shoulder to lean on, but ultimately, it's not up to her to figure out Amy's life and future for her. Only Amy can do that, with strong support from Teddy. If they can't work it out themselves, no-one can do it for them.
Yes, I think Rilla and Ken talked beforehand about which part of their relationship to reveal and which to keep private. As Monica explains, all the questions she asked were vetted before the interview, so if they hadn't felt comfortable with sharing how they met, the question would have been thrown out. I think they probably figured that it was a harmless piece of information. They had to give the people something during that interview and this is a nugget of information that feels like they're opening up without actually revealing anything personal about themselves. Ken actually gets more personal when he talks about what their separation meant for him. In doing so, he reveals a vulnerable side that the public was probably unaware of before, and he also gives a look at the dynamic between him and Rilla, which shows her to be a take a more active part than many believes. (Which, I reckon, is probably why he talked about it at all.)
I'm picturing Rilla's dress with cap sleeves, so summery but still suitably modest. The colour and the flower print were definitely meant to invoke canon, so good catch there! I always thought of the lighthouse dress as dark green, though you're right that the shade is never specified. It might be because I myself love a good, rich, dark green colour? It's my favourite, right along with teal =).