Oxford, England
March 2013
Girls, they want to have fun
"What time is it?" grumbles Nia as she stumbles into the room.
"Time to rise and shine!" I answer brightly.
She glares at me. "I am up."
"Barely so," I point out slyly, which earns me another glare.
"It's nine o'clock," Seraphina chimes in as Nia plonks down on a chair next to her.
"In the morning," I add helpfully and I swear, if looks could kill, I would keel over right here and now.
"So, it's technically still the middle of the night," concludes Nia darkly. Seraphina just smiles and sips her coffee.
As a peace offering, I place a cup of coffee in front of Nia as well. She looks at is dubiously. "Did Rilla cook breakfast?" she asks no-one in particular. She doesn't spell it out, but the implication that breakfast from me is not to be trusted is clear.
"I resent that," I tell her mildly.
She shrugs and grins.
"I'll have you know that Ken cooked breakfast, so it should be edible" I inform her as I put two plates of full English breakfast on the table before taking a few steps back to lean against the kitchen counter.
Seraphina blinks at it. Nia prods a sausage with her fork.
"This is called a banger," I supply.
Seraphina blinks some more. Nia stabs the sausage.
"So, he cooks?" Seraphina finally asks, looking up at me.
"As Nia so helpfully insinuated, I'm not the greatest cook out there," I reply. "So, yes, he cooks."
Nia holds up her fork to inspect the sausage, before lowering it and pointing one end of the sausage at the black pudding.
"What's that?" she asks.
"Black pudding," I tell her gleefully. "It's a kind of blood sausage. Pork blood, I think."
"A blood…" begins Seraphina incredulously before trailing off, her face turning slightly green.
Nia uses her knife to push the blood pudding to one side. "We don't have to eat it," she declares.
That, however, doesn't sit well with Seraphina. She turns to stare at Nia almost indignantly. "Not eat it? He cooked this specifically for us. We have to eat it! It would be impolite not to! I mean, we're their guests and he's –," she lowers her voice to a stage whisper, "– he's a prince."
Oh, right. I suppose being served food cooked by a prince is still a memorable event for some people.
Nia, evidently, isn't one of them though, for she looks distinctly unimpressed by Seraphina's outburst. "One day your manners are going to be the death of you. Possibly today, if you really plan to eat this blood sausage concoction."
"But…" protests Seraphina weakly, looking down at her blood sausage in dismay.
"Hey, Rilla, could you –" begins Nia, raising her head to look at me – and stopping dead in her tracks. "Oi! What are you eating?"
"Cereal," I answer innocently, toasting her with the bowl I'm holding.
For a moment, there's silence, before Nia splutters, "Why do you get to eat cereal?"
"Because," I explain with perhaps a little too much relish, "it might be called an English breakfast, but many people in England don't eat it all that often. You're tourists, however, so you get the full experience, including the fry up."
"Turned you into a proper Englishwoman already, did they?" mutters Nia as she inspects her mushrooms. Seraphina, meanwhile, gingerly tries a piece of fried tomato.
"I'm a cosmopolite," I reply airily.
Seraphina has the good grace to try and hide her smile. Nia openly rolls her eyes at me.
I point an accusing spoon at them. "Careful or I'll make him cook you fry ups all week long!"
"That might be not so bad. These tomatoes taste quite nice," Seraphina remarks thoughtfully.
"And this bacon is good. It could be a little crispier though," adds Nia, chewing.
"Only Americans do crispy bacon, or so I have been informed," I tell her with a shrug. "The baked beans are very English, too. They go on the fried toast. And the egg is for dipping the black pudding in."
Seraphina looks up from where she was experimentally cutting a piece off her potato scone. (Potato scones being the more Scottish substitute for hash browns that Ken prefers.) "Does that make it better?" she asks, meaning the black pudding.
"I'm sure it does," I soothe, barely hiding a smile. "Besides, never forget that it could have been worse. He could have served you devilled kidneys."
Nia huffs in disgust, but Seraphina nods valiantly. I have little doubt that she'd eat even the devilled kidneys if they happened to be on her plate, revolting as she might think them to be. Nia wasn't wrong about how deeply manners were ingrained into her.
"So, what are the plans for today?" Seraphina asks, obviously in an attempt to overcome the thought of devilled kidneys. (And rightly so.)
"I thought I'd show you around Oxford for a bit. We could also do tea in the afternoon and meet up with some friends later. Ken has a thing today, but he's free to join us for a pub dinner in the evening."
Seraphina nods approval.
"Sounds good," agrees Nia. "And tomorrow, we thought about going to see Windsor Castle. Care to accompany us?"
She looks at me slyly, but I just laugh it off. "Because that wouldn't look weird at all, right?"
"Maybe a little bit?" offers Seraphina, ever the peacemaker.
"More than that. The tabloids would have a field day if I were to take the public tour of Windsor." I pause briefly, imagining the headlines. "Mitzi denied royal treatment in palace tour. Or some such nonsense."
"Have you been to Windsor then?" Seraphina enquires curiously.
I take a sip of tea while I mull over how much to tell, before reminding myself that these are Nia and Seraphina and I can trust them. "Actually, for the past two months, I've gone riding at Windsor most Saturdays with Ken's sister and afterwards had tea with his father. More often than not, tea included a tour of different parts of the castle and grounds."
"You're having tea… with the King of England?" asks Seraphina, clearly incredulous.
I shrug, then nod.
Meanwhile, Nia rolls her eyes most expressively. "She's sleeping with the future king. Why are you so surprised over some tea drinking?"
Instead of answering, Seraphina sticks out her tongue and proceeds to take a large bite out of her toast.
"Either way, Windsor is beautiful and I highly recommend you two going tomorrow," I assert, drawing attention back to the topic at hand. "You absolutely must see St George's Chapel. It's utterly gorgeous."
"They keep the chapel closed on Sundays," remarks Ken as he strolls into the kitchen, all kitted out in his ceremonial air force uniform. Behind him follows George, tail languidly moving from side to side.
I bend down to stroke George's head. "Can't we do something about that?" I wonder aloud. (After all, sleeping with the future king has got to have some advantages.)
Ken reaches out to take a piece of toast with jam from a plate sitting next to me. "Sure. My father can arrange for someone to give them a tour and open up the chapel."
"Can he do that?" blurts out Seraphina.
Both Ken and I turn to her in surprise. She isn't really asking whether the King can open parts of his own castle for visitors, is she? (George, too, has noticed her and the enticing smell coming from the breakfast plates. He crouches down, preparing to jump on the table, but Ken quickly picks him up. George meows at this betrayal.)
"What she means is whether he would do that for us," amends Nia, sounding very reasonable but directing a grin at Seraphina.
Setting down George on the kitchen counter, Ken takes another bite of toast, before retrieving his phone from his tunic pocket and holding it out to me. "If Rilla asks him, I'm sure he will."
He's clearly teasing me and to put him in his place, I respond with my loftiest of glances. I do take the phone from him though, selecting his father from among his contacts and pressing 'call'.
Four rings later, Owen picks up. "Kenneth? Did something happen?"
"Actually, it's Rilla," I clarify.
"Rilla!" He sounds genuinely pleased. "How nice to hear from you. What is the occasion?"
"I… I mentioned having friends from America over this week, didn't I?" I begin, searching for a good way to phrase my request. "They want to visit Windsor Castle tomorrow and I was wondering whether there might be a way for them to see the chapel."
His answer is instantaneous. "Of course! We can arrange for someone to take your friends on a tour that includes the chapel. Just tell them to identify themselves as belonging with you at the ticket office tomorrow and everything else will be taken care off. No entry fee for friends of you, naturally."
They'll be pleased to hear that. Tickets to Windsor Castle are no less expensive than those for Buckingham Palace.
There's a muffled sound, before I hear Owen's muted voice as he asks someone else, "What did you say, darling?"
For a few moments, there's silence, before Owen returns to the phone. "Persis asked whether you want to come tomorrow as well and take some horses hacking with her."
I hesitate. "That's a tempting offer, but…"
"But Sundays belong to my son," finishes Owen kindly. "I understand."
He's right, too. Ken's been very good about me spending most Saturdays at Windsor (though he's so far not shown any inclination to accompany me), but we've come to the unspoken agreement that Sundays belong to the two of us. Sometimes, we go out to do things together and sometimes, we just stay in for a quiet day, but if at all possible, we spend Sundays together.
"Tell your friends I hope they will enjoy the castle and of course, we're always happy to see you when you have time," continues Owen. "I thought we might have a look at Frogmore House next and Persis is considering graduating you to Blue."
"Sounds great," I answer with a laugh "Thank you!"
We say our goodbyes and I lower the phone to the expectant gazes of Nia and Seraphina. (Ken is still munching on his toast. Or, my toast, rather. George has discovered my half-empty cereal bowl and happily laps up the milk. Between the two of them, it's a wonder I get food at all in this house!)
"All settled," I announce. "I just organised you a free private tour, including the chapel."
Seraphina shakes her head in a way reminiscent of a wet dog. Even Nia looks mildly impressed. "Breakfast made by a prince and a private tour organised by a king," she remarks, raising both eyebrows.
That succeeds in getting Ken's attention. "Did you enjoy the breakfast?" he wants to know. "I see my girlfriend has been shunning it again."
"I have a figure to watch," I point out to him.
"No, you don't," he demurs, even as he wraps an arm around my waist and pulls me to himself, giving me a kiss that is a little sticky and tastes distinctly of strawberry.
Behind us, I think I can hear Seraphina whispering "aww" and I know Nia to be rolling her eyes.
Releasing me, Ken takes a step back and pockets his phone. "I've got to run. I wish the three of you a great time exploring Oxford." He turns to look at my friends, including them in the sentiment. "See you tonight at the pub?"
"You bet," I reply, giving him a wide smile that he returns easily. Brushing his fingertips along my face in farewell, he picks up a protesting George to take him outside, then turns to leave the room. I can't really help leaning forward to look after him, until –
Nia clears her throat pointedly.
Feeling my cheeks grow warm, I turn back towards my friends. "Sorry," I murmur, a little sheepish.
Seraphina just laughs. "Don't be. I would look, too."
"In fact, you did look," points out Nia with a knowing smile.
"So I did," confirms Seraphina cheerfully. "No harm in looking, right? Especially not when a uniform is involved." She pauses for a moment, clearly pondering. "I wonder what it is about uniforms? Is it just that the garment itself is sexy or is it because it has the connotations of a brave hero off to fight for justice?"
"Oh, please," groans Nia.
"I've never thought about that before," I admit, barely able to contain my laughter. "But if it helps you any, I can tell you that Ken might consider himself and air force man, but I prefer the navy uniform."
I wiggle my eyebrows jokingly, causing both of them to break into peals of laughter. I join in, silently reflecting how glad I am to finally have them back again, if only for a week. So much has changed, but our friendship still feels like it always did and it is that realisation that makes me resolve to cherish these days as best as I can. (Thankfully, their spring break fell between terms for me. I even managed to swap shifts at work, ensuring maximum amount of time spend together.)
Seeing as I also promised to properly introduce them to England, I have quite a full day planned, so with breakfast finished (and black puddings conspiratorially disposed of), we set out toward the town centre and the university. To the regular tourist, these two things are very nearly interchangeable, after all.
Thus, I firstly take them to the most famous sights Oxford has to offer. After all, we have plenty of time in the next couple of days to do the more obscure ones as well as those not immediately in the city centre. The Cotswolds are right on our doorstep and Stratford-upon-Avon isn't far. Nor is London, should they start missing the bustle of a big city. Plus, closer to home, the Pitt Rivers Museum and the Ashmolean are always worth a look should it rain, so it's not like we'll run out of things to see.
Today, our first stop is the Bodleian Library, as befitting a proper Oxford tour. Vexingly, they don't let you take guests in there, so Nia and Seraphina will have to make sure to come back for a public tour. Can't miss the Divinity School and St Humphrey's Library, after all! As it is, however, we're left with no choice but to wave at both the Bodleian and Radcliffe Camera from the outside and move on.
Next is the Sheldonian Theatre, where, God and my professors willing, I will be awarded my degree in a few months. It's from up in the tower of the Sheldonian that one truly realises why they call Oxford the city of spires. Whichever way you turn, it all spires and turrets and towers, making for quite a compelling sight.
From the Sheldonian, we pop next door into the Museum of the History of Sciences, if only to look at Einstein's writing on the blackboard they keep on the lower level. With Trinity College and Balliol just over the street, we continue our tour there, before walking down to Christ Church, as famous for its cathedral and its history as for its Harry Potter connections. A visit to Magdalen College takes us past lunch hour and I decide to leave any other colleges for another day. (Of course, I also definitely plan to take them to Oriel and introduce them to as many quirky traditions as I can.) Instead, we stop by The Rose, a café that is quite the excellent spot to take tourists to.
"And now for some genuine English afternoon tea," I announce as we take our seats. Placing our order, I decide to go all out, getting the sparkling variant that includes not only tea, scones, cakes and finger sandwiches but also a glass of champagne for each of us, because why the hell not?
My friends seem less suspicious of this part of the English cuisine than they were of blood pudding, tucking in with gusto.
"These are very good," declares Nia, mouth full, and holds up a half-eaten scone.
"So are the cakes," adds Seraphina, chasing a bite of lemon tart with a sip of champagne.
"They are," I agree. "I first came here when my sister Nan tasked me with trying out different cakes and sending her my assessments so she could decide which type to serve at her wedding."
Nia slathers fresh clotted cream and jam on the remaining half of her scone. "She's getting married this summer, isn't she?"
"She is," confirms Seraphina in my stead. "People did an article about it a while ago."
I grimace. "So they did. Nan wasn't well-pleased. I can't blame her, either."
"It was a nice article," Seraphina points out, selecting a cucumber sandwich. "The tone was almost gushing."
"It wasn't the tone she disliked, it was more that they wrote an article at all," I explain, while taking a bite of my millionaire's shortbread. (Which is delicious enough to make my shortlist for Nan, but also undoubtedly much too filling to get chosen.)
Seraphina makes a thoughtful sound. "I suppose it would be irritating to have people snooping around your wedding preparations."
"That's what Nan says," I confirm. "For reasons only known to them, the press people have decided that they need to find out as much as they can about her wedding in advance, just because she's my sister. As Nan, understandably, does not want her wedding dress splashed all over Hello! before the big day, it has her running around trying to keep everything secret and that is adding even more stress to an already stressful time."
"Can't someone tell them to back off?" Nia wants to know, wrinkling her nose.
I shrug, helplessly. "They're hardly going to listen to us tell them to stop. And it hasn't been bad enough to drag in lawyers."
"Couldn't Ken…?" begins Seraphina.
She falls silent when I shake my head. "If he did, that would probably just intensify interest," I explain. "I hate that this is putting such stress on her, but the best thing we all can do is to keep our heads down and wait for it to pass."
Nia narrows her eyes, clearly not agreeing with me, but nevertheless letting the topic slide. Seraphina sighs in sympathy and shakes her head ruefully.
I truly wish there was more I could do (and Di hinted strongly that I should), but I don't see how. I can't control the tabloids and of course, it's not helped by the fact that inviting Ken to her wedding apparently isn't nearly as straight-forward as Nan thought it would be. I took it upon myself to liaise with Beckett about security requirements, giving her only a filtered version, but it's not making things any easier.
Add to that that Nan has her heart set on the perfect wedding and stress levels are skyrocketing. She's totally micromanaging this and I'm certain that even if I were dating Joe Average, my sister would already be stressed out by her wedding preparations alone, but seeing as I am not… well, I'll sure be glad when this wedding is behind all of us.
"We can just try to support Nan as best as we can. Hence why I took it upon myself to go cake tasting for her," I tell my friends, trying to lighten the mood.
"Such a sacrifice," replies Nia drily. Seraphina laughs, before leaning over to steal some of my millionaire's shortbread.
"This is good!" she declares, chewing. "Very sweet though."
I nod, suppressing a smile. "It is. But since I didn't have a full fry up this morning…" I leave the sentence dangling, but the meaning is clear, causing both of them to look at me with indignation. Nia even throws her napkin at me, but I dodge it most masterfully.
In retaliation, they make me try ever type of cake or sandwich sitting on our table (also a great sacrifice, that) and we spent a fun half an hour comparing opinions on the various offerings. Only once every last crumb is eaten and all tea cups and champagne glasses emptied, do we get up from our cosy corner table and leave the cafe.
Having asked my Oxford friends to meet us next to University Church, I lead Nia and Seraphina down High Street. Once there, I immediately spot Lucy, Dev and Josh by the railings.
"There they are!" I raise one arm to alert them, while motioning Seraphina and Nia forward with my other hand.
"The Yankees have arrived!" cries Dev once we're in earshot.
"Hardly," drawls Nia, the Southern gal.
"Guilty," admits Seraphina, born and bred in New England as she is.
Shaking my head at Dev, I decide to quickly get introductions out of the way. "These are Nia and Seraphina." I point at both of them in turn. "Here we have Lucy and Josh and the impolite brute is Dev.
"Hey!" protests Dev, but no-one pays him any heed. Only Nia raises an eyebrow, but when I roll my eyes heavenwards with a smile, she, too, allows herself a grin.
Where Dev is his usual unfiltered self, Josh appears to be a little overwhelmed, not quite daring to look at either of my American friends. Therefore, I quietly thank God for Lucy, who sets the ball rolling by asking about what parts of Oxford we visited during the day. Seraphina jumps to answer and between the two of them, they quickly establish an easy conversation, the rest of us chiming in as we see it fit.
Chatting about this and that, we stroll along High Street. I notice some tourists stopping and raising their phones when they recognise me, but make a point to ignore them. I'm used to random people on the street thinking it perfectly justified to take pictures of me, even more so when I'm with Ken, but it's an unwinnable battle. So long as they don't shove their cameras into my face, I just pretend they don't exist.
It's some minutes of walking and chatting later, that Josh catches my eye and leans a little closer to tell me quietly, "There's a photographer over there."
Yes, I know.
"I noticed," I murmur back. "He's one of the guys working for Getty. They usually know not to be intrusive. Don't pay him any attention."
"You can tell them apart?" asks Nia in wonder.
I can only shrug, because really, what is there to say to that? Some of these photographers have been an unbidden part of my life for the better part of 18 months now, so I couldn't not get to know their faces.
Not that I get to explain any of that though, because Dev takes that moment to ask loudly, "Who wants ice cream?"
"We just had tea, Dev," I tell him gently.
"And we'll be too full for dinner later," adds Lucy, exchanging a long-suffering glance with me.
"So?" Dev appears unperturbed. "Tea and dinner have no bearing on the ice cream stomach."
Seraphina turns to me in puzzlement. "The ice cream stomach?"
"Just roll with it," I advise quietly. She frowns, but nods.
Nia, meanwhile, declares simply, "I would like ice cream."
That causes Dev to beam at her. "Excellent! We have the best ice cream parlour right over here. They have flavours you've never tasted before."
"Probably with good reason," mutters Lucy.
Dev, alas, has already grabbed Nia with his right hand and Josh with his left, dragging them over to the ice cream place. The rest of us have little chance but to follow them inside. Once there, Dev grandly tells us to order whatever we want, which results in a scoop of vanilla ice for Lucy (the only mundane option they still offer, for reasons of 'tradition') and white peach for me, whereas Nia and Seraphina try chili chocolate and a combination of orange and basil, respectively.
The boys, on the other hand, order a concoction called 'bacon mascarpone ice cream', resulting in horrified looks from Nia and Seraphina and a resigned sigh from Lucy.
"You don't have to eat that just because he put you up to it," I remind Josh after we've left the place and nod at Dev as the culprit.
Dev throws me a wounded look. I bite back a smile.
"Especially because you could always cite religious reasons for your refusal to eat it," points out Lucy reasonably. "Not mixing meat and milk and all that."
Josh looks from her, to me, to his ice cream and finally back up at all of us. "I just like ice cream," he states, sounding a little helpless.
Immediately, Dev claps him on the back, a proud smile on his face. "That is the spirit!" Says it and turns on his heel without another word, marching back into the ice cream parlour.
"Where is he going?" asks Seraphina, staring after him in wonder. Nia quietly eats her chili chocolate ice and grins to herself.
"To buy more ice cream," deadpans Lucy.
And indeed. Just a fraction of a second later, Dev sticks his head out of the door and asks, "Does anyone want to try the fish and chips flavour?"
Unsurprisingly, there are no takers.
The title of this chapter is taken from the song 'Girls Just Wanna Have Fun' (written by Robert Hazard, released by Cyndi Lauper in 1983).
A/N: On this cheery note, I must leave you for a little while. I'm away on a work trip all next week, so posting will skip one Wednesday. Regular updates will resume on Dec 4th. In the meantime, any and all comments are as always much cherished and appreciated :).
To Mammu:
Leslie is the daughter of a British earl, so she's definitely "well-bred". She has the pedigree, so that wasn't the reason for why Owen's mother didn't approve of her. (We will get into that in around ten chapters, according to the current plan.) Owen's father was also an earl's son and all previous royal spouses were royal themselves, which makes Rilla the first true commoner who could conceivably end up as a royal consort.
Owen and Ken most definitely have history and not solely of the good kind. (More on that in around ten chapters as well.) I think Owen would like them to be closer, but there's lingering resentment on Ken's part that goes back many years and has never been properly resolved. That's why Ken's gut reaction is not to want Rilla close to his family, but he listened when she expressed a wish to meet them, so he's trying to be supportive about it. We shall file that under "progress".
Ah, yes, "pony" covers a wide range of different smaller horse breeds. I was taught that a horse smaller than 14.3 hands is considered a pony, which includes a lot of relatively tall and horse-like looking ponies, but of course, it goes all the way down to furry Shetland ponies. (Cute as buttons, but also pretty cheeky little beasts!) My horses are giants anyway - 16 and 17 hands, respectively. Too tall for short me to look over their backs ;).
To JoAnna:
Meeting Leslie will most definitely be interesting! It's one of the scenes I had fully planned pretty much from the beginning and it will be a very important turning point both for the story and for Rilla and Ken's relationship. All that is not solely because of Leslie, but the meeting is caused by other 'situations' and it's the catalyst for further change to come. So, yes, should be interesting ;).
I've decided that history is Owen's thing. Like Persis has horses (and sports) and Teddy has design and arts. To Leslie, I allocated music, but of the more classical kind than Ken listens to (hence Rusalka). "Kind and caring" also characterises Owen very well. I see him as a fundamentally nice person who was born into very odd circumstances that don't always let him act in the way he'd like to. But he resolved to make Rilla feel welcome and he really made an effort to make it happen. And yes, he does find her amusing which, as Rilla notes, is not a bad thing. It certainly gives them something to create a tentative bond over and that's a good thing :).
