Samantha
Friday the 25th of May dawned clear and sunny. I knew this, of course, because I was awake before dawn, peeking out of a bedroom window at Windsor Castle.
It was, finally, the day of what I privately called the Royal Spectacle and some of the press were jokingly calling the Royal Non-Wedding. Whatever you wanted to call it, it was going to be a big deal. Not nearly as big a deal as Will and Catherine's real wedding, or Charles and Diana's "Wedding of the Century," but a big enough deal that it would be broadcast on TV and the internet, and people were already lining up outside to watch the important people arrive and then depart afterwards to the reception.
I was never one of those little girls who dreamed about weddings or played dress-up as a bride with old lace curtains. I was not the type to practice writing "Mrs. Current Boyfriend's Name" all over my notebooks as a teenager either. But I had, over the years, tucked two things into the back of my mind that I wanted, were I ever to get married someday. Number One, I wanted to design and make my own wedding dress, mostly because Number Two was that I wanted to ride horseback from the wedding to the reception, and I had to have a dress that would accommodate that feat.
These two ideas would probably have made for a quirky wedding and gotten a few laughs had I married anyone other than His Royal Highness Prince Harry, the Duke of Sussex. With anyone else I could have gotten married in a barn and had all the guests sit on hay bales. But now that I was having a public ceremony presided over by the Archbishop of Canterbury, with millions of eyes watching, my requests for the ceremony were met with reactions that ranged from surprise to horror.
"I don't care about flowers and musical selections or what's going on the menu for the luncheon," I said stormily one afternoon at Windsor. "In fact, I don't really care about any of it. You can arrange this ceremony any way you please and I will show up and do my part as expected. But I will make my own dress, and Harry and I are riding horseback from the chapel. And I'm tired of arguing about it."
The Queen had selected a number of women with fancy titles or fancy dresses or both to help with the arrangements. They brought samples and brochures and lists of Important Things that must be done and Important People that should be invited, and I just didn't really care about any of it. Harry and I were already married. I was ready to get on with our lives, and this felt like it was holding us back.
In the end it was Eugenie, who was busily planning her own big royal wedding for the fall, who helped us iron out the compromises that made the fusty ladies happy.
"So the dress and the horses are the two sticking points?" she asked over a cup of tea in her sunny dining room.
"Yes. They just won't let me—"
Eugenie had heard my grumbling for weeks and she cut me off with a smile. "Which is more important to you?" she asked. "If you can only have one, which one would it be?"
I wanted them both, but I saw her point. "The horses."
"Ok. What are their complaints about the dress?"
"That I will make something totally unsuitable, and they don't think I have the skill to make something nice enough for the wedding. Which is total bullshit—you wear my coats! You know I can do it."
She nodded. "I know. But they don't, and you're trying to make them happy. How about this...can you find a designer to work with? Someone they will approve of, who will work with your ideas and designs to make a dress that will make the ladies happy? That way you can have the dress you want, and the ladies will feel better because it will be made by someone they see as a professional. Besides," Eugenie said, "it's always good to promote the work of English designers, especially if you can find one that is not one of the big names. I bet if you look around you can find someone who is willing to make pretty much exactly what you want, and put their stamp on it. That's a win all around, I say. And you won't have to worry about the time it will take to sew the thing yourself."
"But I like that part!"
"I know you do. But I think you've got to throw the ladies a bone here. I bet if you come to them with a designer and sketches in mind, they will give in on the horses. Just try it and see. Plus—" Eugenie gave me a devilish grin that reminded me of Harry, "There's nothing that says you can't make your own dress for the going-away."
Her advice was wise and I knew it. I stewed over it for a few more days, discussed it with Harry, and then I went back to the ladies, prepared to compromise, bringing a reluctant Harry with me for backup.
The Ladies were prepared as well, and after some tea and pastries and small talk about flowers and such we got down to the negotiations. Harry had coached me on how to approach the discussion, so I took a deep breath and dived in.
"I've realized that you are right about the dress," I said, trying to sound sweet and conciliatory while my hands were balled into fists under the table. "I think I would like to bring a designer on board to make the dress, with my input, of course. It will need to adapt to riding horseback, as Harry and I still plan to ride from the chapel to the reception."
The Ladies exchanged glances, pleased at this. The eldest lady, with the fanciest dress—obviously the designated speaker of the group—leaned forward.
"I'm sure we can help you to find a suitable designer," she said, with an emphasis on suitable.
Harry gripped my knee, out of sight of the Ladies, silently urging me not to take the bait, and I kept quiet.
"Her Majesty is willing to let you ride horseback after the ceremony," Head Lady announced, as if bestowing a peerage, "if your dress will permit you to ride side saddle."
"Side saddle?" My voice shot up at this request. "Is that still a thing?"
"Her Majesty rode sidesaddle during Trooping the Colour for many years," Head Lady shifted into her schoolmarm voice, as if as a Canadian I was not educated enough in royal protocol to know this fact.
"I don't know how to ride side saddle," I said, looking at Harry.
"It would look much nicer with the dress," Harry conceded. "I'm sure it's not too difficult to learn. We can find someone to teach you."
"And Driz?" I said doubtfully.
"If Drizzle was smart enough to learn to play polo, she can learn to carry a side saddle. Besides, she's only going to be walking."
"I'm sure Her Majesty will loan you both horses out of her stable, if needed."
I got it. If the Queen thought it would look more proper to ride side saddle, I would learn how. Besides, I wouldn't be sewing my own dress any more, so I should have plenty of time to work with Driz until we had mastered it.
"Her Majesty would also like to loan you a tiara to wear for the ceremony," Head Lady announced. "After you've finalized your designs for the dress, we can look at some of the tiaras and choose one that will complement your gown."
The loan of a tiara was also a sign of approval. Harry caught my eye and nodded briefly, and I said, "That is most generous of Her Majesty. I appreciate the offer."
Game, set, match. The Ladies all began to smile and offer names of designers, passing the pastries around again, and Harry took his exit, leaving me to work out the details. It wasn't ideal, but we'd gotten the most we were going to get. To keep peace in the family, I was willing to concede points to the Queen. I had to be.
And now it was all over but the ceremony itself. My father was tucked into one of the best hotels in London, waiting for his chance to walk with me into the chapel in his fine new suit. My stepmother, now all agog at the reality of being close to royalty, was more attentive to me than she had been in years. Everything and everyone was ready, except me.
Oh, all the clothes and flowers and arrangements were ready. The diamond-encrusted tiara sat waiting in its special velvet box, along with the rest of the jewelry that cost more than I could even imagine. But I was still nervous about my role in the ceremony, of appearing on camera before millions of people, in what I thought should have been something private between me and Harry and our families.
"It's going to be fine, you know."
Harry wrapped his arms around my waist and I leaned back into his protective embrace. "What are you doing up this early?" I asked.
"I was going to ask you the same thing."
"I just couldn't sleep."
"You will look beautiful, and everyone loves a bride. Even one that's already married," he said with a laugh.
I turned around so I could give him a kiss. "You know what the best part of this is?" I asked.
"Riding Drizzle? Showing off your mad side saddle skills?"
"That's the second best part. The best part," I took his hand and pulled him towards the bed, "is that we can do this before the ceremony."
He laughed. "If it puts a smile on your face, I'm all for it."