Windsor, England
January 2017

Learn what life's about

"There's a good girl, Lottie," I murmur and gently pat the dog's head. She remains tense, but obediently stays by my side as we walk down one of the long corridors inside Windsor Castle.

Having spent most of December getting to know Lottie under the watchful eyes of the staff at the dog shelter, we were allowed to bring her home with us earlier this month after we came back from celebrating New Year's Eve up at Balmoral with Ken's family. The long introduction paid off because while Lottie was clearly nervous in her new surroundings, she seemed to be reassured by Ken's and my presence (okay, maybe more Ken's presence than mine) and stuck close to us for the first few days.

Me, I was a little wary how she'd get along with George, despite outwardly assuring Ken that it would all go well. Luckily, George only needed to hiss once to establish a proper hierarchy and that settled that. Lottie immediately showed herself to be submissive and while he isn't too obnoxious about it, it would be a lie to say that George doesn't exploit his status in their relationship at least a little bit. He has a habit of wiggling in-between when Lottie is getting cuddles and if he wants to lie somewhere, Lottie scrambles up and leaves. I think the only reason he doesn't eat her food is that he'd never drop so low as to eat dog food!

In exchange for Lottie's obedience, George allows her to live in relative peace with us at Wren House though. He's even taking to inconspicuously wandering after her when she enters a room, only to then jump up to a high vantage point to keep a close eye on her. Ken accused him of plotting something (and really, when isn't a cat plotting something?), but I think it's his lofty way of expressing interest in this new housemate that was forced upon him without permission. He's no fan of this development, but I harbour some hope that his interest might yet extend to a sort of friendship between the two, or at least a peaceful co-existence.

"Isn't that right, Lottie?" I address the dog in a low voice. "We'll make friends out of you and George yet."

"At least no-one can accuse you of not setting ambitious goals for yourself and your pets," Ken teases as he steps into the corridor from the room to our right. Lottie pricks her ears eagerly upon hearing the sound of his voice

"It's good to have things to strive for," I inform him. "Lottie agrees with me."

But Lottie, the traitor, has already left my side and trotted over to Ken, her tail wagging cautiously as he leans down to scratch her ears. She tolerates me as a substitute human, but there's no doubt that she's playing favourites. It was love at first sight with her and Ken and there's no way I could get between them, even if I wanted to – which I don't. After all, George long ago stole my heart, so it's not like I don't understand it.

"Do you want to go for a walk, girl?" Ken asks Lottie who looks up at him with big, trusting eyes.

"Do you think she can handle the park?" I want to know. Windsor Great Park is awfully big, after all, and we've found that Lottie reacts nervously to large open spaces.

"We'll steer clear of the big fields and stick to the private areas so there won't be anyone to disturb or upset her," Ken explains. "She did so well in the fields at KP this week that I thought we'd give it a try."

While George ventures outside as it pleases him, we had to figure out a routine for Lottie. Wren House comes with a small enclosed garden attached that she loves to explore but that isn't really large enough to actually walk her in. There are also two private fields next to the palace though that we can walk her in undisturbed. We started out with the smaller field to the west of the palace before graduating to the more open field to the north that the royals like to land their helicopters in. Both fields are visible from public areas (the so called 'billionaire's row' – a street called Kensington Palace Gardens – and the public foot paths in Kensington Gardens, respectively), so we prefer going there early in the morning or late at night when there aren't many pedestrians about. One day, we aim to be able to walk her in Kensington Gardens or Hyde Park properly, but there's no rush at all. We have time and walking her in the privacy of Windsor Great Park first isn't actually a bad idea.

"Do you want company on your walk?" I ask Ken.

"Dad suggested he could come with us and Teddy made noises about joining in as well," he replies. "I think he's quite sick of all the wedding planning."

I purse my lips and grumble, "So he thinks it's okay to leave the planning to the women, does he?"

Ken smiles and raises his hands, palms facing outwards. "I'm not getting involved in that argument. There's no way for me to win this."

"Rule of thumb: if you agree with me, you generally can't go wrong," I inform him loftily.

He laughs and leans forward to give me a short kiss. I accept the kiss, before stepping backwards and motioning for him to be gone. "Alright, go on your men-only walk. Lottie will supervise you and make sure you don't get into any scrapes. Won't you, girl?"

Thus addressed, Lottie inclines her head to the side and experimentally thumps her tail on the floor.

"I think that's a Yes," Ken deduces amusedly.

"I think it is," I agree with a smile.

Lottie looks up at us, her tongue lolling from her snout, making her look like she's smiling, too.

With that settled, Ken and Lottie take off to find Owen and Teddy, him brushing his hand against mine as he passes and her bumping her head against my knee in a rare show of affection. After having waved them off, I walk in the other direction to where I know Persis and Amy to be, probably submerged up to their ears in wedding plans.

As expected, I find them in the White Drawing Room, sitting on two opposing sofas, with lots of papers spread out on the coffee table between them. As I come closer, I realise that neither of them looks particularly happy. In fact, Amy looks like she's about to cry and Persis just looks murderous, though both their displeasure seems to be directed at the papers between them rather than each other.

"How is it going?" I ask cautiously.

Persis rolls her eyes heavenwards. Amy sighs deeply.

"Not so great then," I deduce. "Is there anything I can do?"

"You don't happen to have any experience organising a royal wedding, do you?" asks Amy, her voice veering between hopeful and resigned.

I plop down on an armchair positioned at an angle to their sofas. "I don't know about the royal part, but I've organised a wedding or two before."

Amy looks at me and it takes a moment for her confusion to lift. "That's right! You used to be a wedding planner!"

"Party planner," I amend, "but some of those parties were weddings alright."

Not that Amy seems to care about the distinction. While I'm still speaking, she's already started pushing the papers in my direction. Persis helps her eagerly.

Biting back a smile, I pick up one of the papers and glance at it. It appears to be the draft for a guest list and I'm surprised to see the names of a number of politicians and heads of state on it, including representatives of most foreign royal families.

"I didn't realise your wedding is set to be a state event," I remark absent-mindedly as I scan the list.

"It isn't!" wails Amy.

I raise my eyes from the list and look at her. "Then why –?"

Persis interrupts me before I have a chance to finish. "Overy got that list from my parents' office."

Overy, as Teddy's private secretary, is the one where all wedding plans officially come together, but of course he's getting support from the Buckingham Palace offices. This is no one man-job, after all, and even with Persis acquiring her own private secretary (a calm, motherly woman by name of McPhee), Overy still has more than enough to do with just the day job.

I frown at the list. "Have you spoken to anyone about this? Owen or Teddy?"

Amy shakes her head. "I didn't want to bother Owen and Leslie with this. I did speak to Teddy, but he just said to scratch everyone I don't want to invite."

"Not helpful, Teddy!" Persis grumbles at her absent brother.

"No," I agree thoughtfully, "not helpful at all."

I have a theory with regards to how this list came to be and as I look back up at the two, I enquire, "Do you want to know what I think is behind this?"

When they both nod, I continue, "I think they're trying to build your wedding on the blueprints they had in their drawers for Ken's wedding and that's why this isn't working out."

Persis nods slowly as she considers my words, but Amy's face shows confusion. "What do you mean?"

"Look at it this way: Ken is not only the heir, he's more than five years older than Teddy and he and I have been dating for a long while, whereas Teddy was single this time last year," I elaborate. "If you look at it from the outside, who would you have put your money on to get married first?"

"Well… Ken, probably," Amy replies slowly.

"Precisely." I nod briskly. "And if there's one thing I learned about royal staff is that they love to be prepared. I imagine they had drafts and blueprints ready for Ken's wedding for a while. Now it's Teddy and you getting married, but since they didn't prepare for that, they're using what they have. The problem is just that what they have isn't appropriate for you."

"That," Persis declares, "makes a whole lot of sense."

I smile at her and she grins back. Amy, meanwhile, still appears to be mulling over my words, but after a few more moments, her face clears somewhat. "It does make sense," she agrees slowly.

"But?" asks Persis before I get a chance to.

"But what do I do about it?" Amy wants to know. She looks perfectly helpless.

"First of all, you let my brother know that either he gets properly involved in this or I will make him," Persis deadpans.

I laugh and even Amy dares a smile.

"Persis has a point," I tell her gently. "I know that somehow, planning weddings came to be seen as women's work and you can be sure that Persis and I will be there to support you in every way we can, but Teddy needs to get involved. It's unfair to leave you alone with this, especially because this royal stuff is so new to you."

As I speak, I can see relief wash over Amy's face. It's so apparent that she's struggling with all this and it almost feels like what I said gave her permission to admit that, poor girl.

"First step, get Teddy involved," she summarises, raising her index finger. "Second step…?"

"Tell the staff what you want and don't want," Persis supplies.

Amy's gaze flickers towards me, her expression sceptical. "Am I allowed to do that?"

The question makes me smile. "Of course you are. These are people hired to support the family. You're set to become part of said family. Thus, it's their job to support you, not to make you feel dictated to."

"It's just…" Amy hesitates. "It's just that I read so much about how much power the staff has and how much of the decisions they make in the background…" She trails off.

Persis snorts. "Fiddlesticks!" she announces in a pretty decent imitation of Great-Aunt Tanya.

I reach out to squeeze Amy's arm. "I know what you mean. I had a similar impression at first, but working together with the staff last year, I realised they're far from the nebulous powers behind the throne that they're made out to be," I explain. "They're dedicated and hard-working and when the situation calls for it, they make decisions, but they don't intend to take those decisions away from you. If they don't hear back, they assume that what they're doing is okay, so if you want something done differently, you need to tell them so."

"Or make Teddy tell them," Persis adds.

"Or make Teddy tell them," I agree.

Amy frowns, clearly pondering her words. "Can I just tell them what I want? Aren't there, you know, rules and restrictions and stuff?"

I exchange a glance with Persis. She purses her lips, indicating for me to take the question. "There are traditions and there's precedent," I reply carefully. "That doesn't mean you have to follow them all to a T, but of course if you move away from them too much, there might be problems. It's about walking the line in-between, I think."

"Sounds complicated," Amy remarks with a wry smile.

I shrug. "You'll learn how to do it and until then, Persis and I are here to guide you."

"We are." Persis nods vigorously. "And because of that, our first question is to ask what you want your wedding to look like?"

"You mean what I'd want it to be like if I weren't marrying Teddy?" Amy clarifies.

I shake my head. "No, that's not what Persis meant. You are marrying Teddy and he is a senior royal. That's a fact we won't get around. If we started imagining romantic beach weddings in the Caribbean, that would be fun, but it would lead us nowhere because it's not practical and it's not feasible under the circumstances we're working with."

"Because I need to learn how to walk the line," Amy replies, understanding dawning on her face.

"Welcome to our world," Persis jokes drily.

It provides the moment of relief we need and as all three of us laugh, the atmosphere in the room lightens considerably. Even Amy looks more upbeat, now that she's beginning to understand the game she's being made to play.

"How about we approach it from the other end?" I suggest when the laughter has died down again. "We don't try to plan your wedding from scratch, we take the plans we have and change them to be more to your liking. How about you name three things you'd strike if you could and three things you would add?"

"The first part is easy!" Amy declares without a moment of thought. "I'd want it to be smaller and more private with less people and not such a big to-do around it. They're talking about making our day a national holiday and that's just…" She breaks off, her eyes wide.

"That's just scary," I finish for her and give her and understanding smile.

Persis, meanwhile, is shifting through the papers on the coffee table. After a few seconds, she holds one of them aloft and when I look at it more closely, I recognise it as a blueprint of Westminster Abbey.

"If you want it smaller and more private, you need to change the venue," she announces and drops the blueprint to the floor.

Amy blinks. "Can I do that?"

I suppress a smile at her dumbstruck expression. "You haven't announced a venue yet, so I don't see how why wouldn't be possibly. Now, we aren't suggesting you get married on a flower meadow somewhere in Finland with a shaman to officiate, but Persis has a point. A Wabbey wedding is as big as they get. All of London will be up for it and there's just no way it won't be huge. If you want something smaller, move it out of the city."

"To where?" asks Amy, still looking confused.

"To here, for example," Persis suggest casually and shrugs.

"Good thinking." I nod slowly as I consider her idea. "Windsor is small enough that there won't be the crowd London draws, but it's still close enough for easy access. And no-one could claim that it's not suitably grand or not royal enough. I mean, the castle has been around for nearly a thousand years!"

Persis nods eagerly. "Have you been down to St George's Chapel?" she asks Amy.

"Teddy showed it to me when he gave me the tour. It's very pretty!" Amy answers and as she does, I hear a note of excitement in her voice. It looks like Persis struck gold with her suggestion.

"It is," I agree. "And it has the added advantage that, while the term 'chapel' is definitely an euphemism, it's not nearly as big as the Abbey."

"Which means that we'll have to cut down the wedding list," Amy continues, cottoning on to my train of thought.

Persis beams at her. "Now you're talking!"

Amy smiles, then sighs suddenly. "Mr Overy said we need to get the guest list ready until Tuesday so that they can send out invitations. Apparently, it's already short notice and they can't wait any longer."

"Today is Saturday, so we have another three days to go," I point out to her. "And the timing of the invitations becomes less of an issue once we cut all those foreign royals and politicians. Your old school friend and Teddy's roommate from university are far less likely to already have plans for early May than the Prime Minister of Australia or the Queen of Denmark."

"That… that makes sense," murmurs Amy, looking somewhat awed by the fact that anyone thought it prudent to invite the Prime Minister of Australia and the Queen of Denmark to her wedding.

I pick up a pen from the table and scratch out both.

"Okay, so we'll deal with the guest list next," Persis declares. "But first – food. I need chocolate to get through this. Anyone else want cake?"

"Sure." I shrug.

Amy hesitates, then shakes her head. "I'd better not."

Exchanging a quick glance with Persis, I see her raise both eyebrows, before she quickly jerks her head in direction of Amy, telling me to do something.

"Why shouldn't you eat cake?" I ask carefully, even though I have an idea what's behind this.

"Oh, it's just…" Amy pauses and blushes slightly. "There was this segment on TV the other day and they had some pictures of me that weren't my best and… well, one of the presenters called me…" She breaks off and shakes her head, looking down.

"Chubby," finishes Persis, her voice uncharacteristically hard. "They called her chubby, the bastards!"

I press my lips together to keep from cursing. Then, after taking a deep breath, I lean forward to take one of Amy's hands, making her look up at me.

"They write mean and hurtful things because that's how they sell papers. It's unfair and it's cruel, but that's how it is and there's no way we can make them stop," I explain gently. "I've tried, but… you can't control the press. The best you can do is to try not to let it get to you. I know it's not nearly as easy as it sounds – God knows I've spent too many years googling my own name to see what they've written! – but ignoring it is our best defence. I stopped looking at what they publish sometime last year and it's been such a relief. You have to remember that it doesn't matter what they write about you because their words don't define you. They're mean-spirited, petty people and you shouldn't ever give them any power over you." Pausing briefly, I think back over my own words. "Oh, and do yourself a favour and steer clear of everything on the internet. Be it blog posts or comments, you do not want a piece of that!"

I know, after all, what I'm talking about. When Ken and I got back together, I resolved not to look at what's written about me anymore and I feel lighter for it. However, even I can't escape it all and I didn't miss the fact that the press used the arrival of Amy to pit us against each other. I know that she wouldn't believe me if I told her so, but she, as the new princess-to-be, is getting most of the adulation right now. I'm well-aware that it's a honeymoon phase and that before long, the papers will lean into the narrative of 'brash, uncouth American', but she hasn't been on the scene long enough for that yet.

For now, she's the shiny new thing and I am – not. If she's the pretty, fresh-faced new princess, the narrative calls for me to be the embittered, jealous girlfriend that still can't her hands on a ring. The papers are running with that angle and while rationally, I know it's just because it sells well and that there's no truth to it, even small glimpses of those headlines can be hard to stomach. People on the internet are apparently even more rabid and from what I gathered (mostly from an amusing if bittersweet re-enactment by Dev), entire fights have broken out between strangers over whether Amy or I make the better princess. It's madness and though I know how hard it is to 'ignore it all', it's the only way I know to keep my sanity – and thus, it's the best advice I can give.

Amy swallows heavily and tries to smile at me, but it's a weak smile that flickers and dies too quickly. "That's very nice of you to say and I know I shouldn't let it get to me, but…" She shrugs helplessly.

I nod and squeeze her hand. "It's incredibly hard to ignore all that. I know it is. I wish I could make it easier for you."

"I guess I just need to develop a thicker skin," Amy replies, again with that weak smile, and squeezes my hand back so hard that it almost hurts.

Persis, who has been very quiet these past moments, leans forward, an intense look on her face. "You need to promise me something, Amy," she tells her, her voice strained with emotions. "Promise me that you will never ever stop yourself from eating something because of what anyone else might think about your figure."

Amy blinks, clearly confused, and looks from Persis to me for help. I give her a smile that I hope is encouraging, but don't say anything. This is for Persis herself to tell.

"I… I will try," Amy states when no help from me is forthcoming.

[Trigger warning for eating disorders ahead!]

Persis shakes her head forcefully. "No, you need to do better than try. You need to promise me because…" She takes a deep breath. "Because I've been there and it leads nowhere good. I know what it feels like to have the world stare at your body and tell you you're unattractive and fat. I know that feeling, that hope that if only you lose one more pound, it will get better and they will all approve of you. The problem is, it never works like that."

There's a hard look on her face and her jaw is clenched, but despite how much this must pain her, she keeps talking. "It starts with refusing cake, because who needs cake, right? But that's not enough, so after cake come sweets and snacks and anything that's fun. But they still criticise you, so there's got to be more you can do, right? You stop eating meat and carbohydrates because don't all those diet books tell you that veggies are much better for your figure? But the veggies don't do the trick, so you start cutting dinner, because who needs three meals a day anyway? Who needs two? Who needs any meals at all? Sure, the hunger is bad, but you get used to that and soon, you find that chewing wet cotton balls helps a little, so that's what you do now instead of eating dinner – or lunch, or breakfast."

Amy, I notice, trembles a little and there's a shocked expression on her face. Still, I hold back. It's for Persis to decide how much she wants to share and for no-one else.

"Except," Persis continues, "that by now, your family has started to notice. They start asking if you've lost weight, so you drink litres of water before stepping on a scale to make them think that you weigh more than you do. But they're still worried and you don't want to worry them, so you must eat. But eating is bad, so there's got to be a way to get rid of all those disgusting calories again, right? That's the moment when you first kneel in front of a toilet and stick a finger down your throat. It's disgusting at first, but gradually, it gets easier. It sounds like the perfect solution, too, because your family is happy that you're eating and you're happy that you're still losing weight. It's a win-win, isn't it?"

She pauses briefly, to look at a wide-eyed, stricken Amy. Next, she looks at me from the corner of her eye and I give her a tiny nod to go on.

"It's not. It never is," she answers her own question. "Because it never ends. Because soon enough, all you think about is food and how to avoid it. When you slip up, you hate yourself. When you refuse food, you're in control. Ten ounces less on the scale mean that you're strong. Ten ounces more mean you're a failure. Your entire existence becomes about food and it never stops. It just goes on and on and you don't realise that in fact, you control nothing. It controls you. It controls your entire life and do you want to know where it ends?"

This time, Persis really seems to expect an answer, waiting for Amy to nod very slightly before continuing. "If you're lucky, it just ends in a white tiled clinic where they make you eat every last gram of the meals they put before you and then keep you under surveillance to make sure you actually keep it down. That's if you're lucky. If you're not lucky, it ends six feet under. Ten percent of women with an eating disorder die. They starve. I'm still here, but you have no idea how much of a fight that was – how much of a fight it still is at times. But I'm still here and that's why you have to promise me never to stop eating. It looks like nothing in the beginning, but it's not nothing. Don't even take the first step. Don't do that to yourself. You have to promise me that you won't!"

"I… I promise," Amy whispers, her voice shaking and her face utterly pale.

"Good," replies Persis curtly while already reaching for the bell to summon a footman. "And now, let us eat cake!"


The title of this chapter is taken from the song 'School' (written by Rick Davies and Roger Hodgson, released by Supertramp in 1974).


To DogMonday:
The Christmas chapters do work quite well to summarise the story and to illustrate Rilla's growth, don't they? They funny thing is that originally, I didn't plan to always come back to Ingleside for Christmas, but then I wrote the Christmas chapters for the first two years and thought, "hmm, I might have created a little tradition there", so I went and ran with it. They're quite useful for creating structure, too. And, of course, it gives us an opportunity to revisit Rilla's family and get updated about spontaneous marriages and baby plans ;). Though yes, of course, at some point, "Christmas at Ingleside" will turn into "Christmas at Balmoral" for Rilla, which she's aware of. This is her family and always will be, but she's looking to become part of another family as well and that one's a little more demanding due to circumstances. It does make her a bit wistful, but what she doesn't know yet is that I have another tradition up my sleeve to make up for losing this one =).
Di defending Walter was totally a nod to canon, yes. RoI tries to convince us that Walter suddenly develops that close bond with Rilla, but his special relationship with Di goes back much further and I always thought it ought to have been stronger than LMM wants us to think. Since I resurrected Joy as the sibling Rilla is closest to, she doesn't idolise Walter in my story, so I figured it would make sense to give Walter and Di their close bond. It doesn't come up often because I think most of their interactions happen when it's just the two of them present, but it's absolutely why, of all his siblings, Walter wanted Di at his wedding. And conveniently, I made her live just a train ride away, too ;).
I had the ages of Rilla's grandparents all figured out and then didn't write them down (unusually for me), so I actually have to think about how old they are. If I remember correctly, John was born in 1925, Marilla in 1928 and Bertha in 1929. So... they're old. Very likely, they're too old to still be so sprightly and active, but... the plain truth is, I don't want them to die. I like them popping up on occasion and I also don't want to derail my carefully planned storyline by having Rilla mourn a grandparent. So, I guess I'm asking readers to stick with me on that one and accept all of them as being very healthy and active well into their 80s and 90s (just like GA Tanya), even if it's actually pretty improbable. I'm trying very hard for realism with almost anything else, but with this one, I guess I'm really just asking everyone to roll with it.
The order is a very handy instrument for Owen to show public approval and reconigtion, isn't it? I actually wanted Rilla to be more than just a
Commander, but then I read about the Canadian government's position on British orders, so this was the highest they could go. It's still a very visible sign of how grateful Owen is for her help - made extra visible by the fact that she can pin that order to her clothes and wear it to important events, if she felt so inclined! Now, as for Gilbert, he's close to retirement and when that happens, I can see him getting recognition for all the good work he did in the field of neurosurgery. Maybe an Order of Canada for him, or at least a civilian Meritorious Service Cross?