Diary of a Reluctant Ruler

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“Oran!” Olly announced, clapping out a solo round of applause.

Charlie groaned, sinking into his seat, “You’re in for it now, James – there’s no escape from the embarrassing best man speech!”

“Like you’d have done anything other,” Oran grinned, “James, I request the highest of fives.”

James high-fived him enthusiastically, and they mutually congratulated each other for a while. Charlie merely rolled his eyes. Olly sat back down and turned to me, to talk over dress-matters.

“Meredith!” called Grandma from the corridor, “James!”

“Quick!” I cried, “She’ll kill us if she finds we’ve had food over the Persian rug!”

I scrambled to my feet, attempting to also hide the scoreboard, which, if Grandma saw it, would create more anguish than a pack of rabid dogs in the houses of parliament, as she’d never approve of that sort of method in finding a best man.

“Hide the chocolate!” James hissed, shoving Greg’s canoe paddle behind the sofa.

“What about the rope?” Oran asked, unable to shove it under the opposite settee, which was low on the ground.

“Sit on it,” Olly answered back, pushing him down onto the sofa, sitting down herself so the other end was also hidden.

“Ah, here you all are,” Grandma said, heels clipping into the room.

“Here we are,” I replied, uncomfortably sitting on the hat and gloves.

“The wedding organiser is here,” she said, “She’d like to see Olly too – and James’ best man, if he’s here.”

“Present,” Oran whispered, still grinning.

I nearly stood up, but then realised that would reveal what I was sitting on, so stayed where I was, “We’ll be there in a second,” I said.

Grandma nodded, and left.

Phew…

“Oh, and Meredith,” she said, reappearing, “The gardener was wondering why there were ten ballroom chairs and a large canvas sheet on the lower lawn?”

“An experiment,” I replied, “For Olly’s art project.”

“Well, in future, if you could just notify the gardener first,” she said, looking a little suspicious before leaving.

Maybe not so phew…

James stood up, nursing a bottom which had just unfortunately had to sit down on the cutlery from round two.

“Shall we?” he asked.

“We shall,” I replied, “Greg, Charlie, Jonathon, you can stay here if you like, or wander around – just watch out for tourists, visiting hours have been extended.”

The four of us traipsed out, leaving the boys to muck around as they saw fit. Successfully skirting a party of French school children by means of a window alcove and ingenious use of the curtains, we managed to get to the rose suite without mishap. Once there, Olly and Oran found themselves immediately grilled by the wedding organiser, which left me and James to frantically think about colour schemes, prompted from the colour scheme book that the organiser had already laid out.

“Green? – Purple?” I asked him, “Green and purple?”

“That clashes horribly,” James replied, drumming his fingers over his forehead in frustration.

“Blue!” I proposed, “Blue’s always good?”

“Maybe-”

“Right, now, James and Meredith, your colour scheme?” the wedding organiser said, relinquishing Oran and Olly, who looked rather flustered.

“Yellow!” James blurted at the same time as my “Purple!”

“Yellow and purple,” I repeated.

“You obviously have no idea of colour clashes,” the organiser said, sitting down and pulling the colour scheme book towards her, “Yellow and purple would look dreadful together.”

“We’re having trouble nailing down any particular colour,” I replied.

“Which we both like,” James added.

“Perhaps Gold should be in there somewhere?” I suggested.

“Or magenta?” James asked, obviously choosing the most impressive-sounding colour he could think of.

“I have a proposition then,” she interposed, “As you seem to be unable to make up your minds or discern colours which clash.”

“Right,” I said, hopeful.

“Each of you will find ten individual pictures which you like and think would somehow incorporate into the colour scheme or decoration,” she said, “I will take from them a workable colour scheme. If you want to include objects as well, that’s fine, just bring them along tomorrow. Now, dresses. I hear you’ve sacked the designer and put Olivia her in his place?...”

An hour later we managed to escape without having decided very much at all, only that the invitations for the marriage and first reception would do very well in the style she’d picked out, and that we’d like to follow the traditional phrasing in order to avoid snooty comments. It sounded pompous, but the first reception was going to have to be pompous, so that didn’t really matter;

The Lord Chamberlain is commanded by
Their Majesties
to invite _________________________
to the ceremony of the marriage of
Her Royal Highness The Crown Princess, M. C.
with
The Earl James Matthew Jacinthe,
Son of the Lord and Lady of Aramathia,
in the Cathedral Church of the Holy Virgin Mary
on Tuesday 12th April 20-- at 10.00 o’clock, a.m.
An answer is requested addressed to the Lord Chamberlain, the Adrian Palace.

We had also decided on a dresscode, which was oddly easy once we had our options laid out in front of us. Our organiser-extraordinaire (who I was starting to like a little more now that she was less scary and more helpful) set out a draft as follows:

THE MARRIAGE OF HER ROYAL HIGHNESS THE CROWN PRINCESS, M. C. WITH THE EARL JAMES MATTHEW JACINTHE
12th April 20--

DRESS TO BE WORN.

LADIES.
Morning dress with hats, also orders and decorations.

GENTLEMEN.
Navy, Army and Air Force. – Full Dress Uniform for officers in possession of it. Officers of the Army and Air Force not in possession of Full Dress Uniform of their rank – Service Dress.

Royal Households and Civil Service. – Full Dress Coat with Trousers. Those not in possession of Full Dress Coat – Levee Dress.

Civilians. – Court Dress.

I wasn’t entirely sure what ‘court dress’ was, or what ladies who were also in the armed forces would do, but it was what the rest of the world would expect. And we were thankfully able to do something different for all the normal people coming.

So with that out of the way and having seen the boys off and Olly to her rooms, James and I set off separately to find our ten pictures. Indecisive as I’d always been, I shortly found myself going back to Olly for help. And, genius that she is, she suggested that I think of things which reminded me of James, or particular moments we’d shared, or just things I’d always found beautiful or cute.

The next day, pleased with my selection and curious James’, we trouped back into the rose suite where the wedding organiser already sat, colour schemes laid out ready.

“May I?” she asked, taking the photographs we’d brought.

She laid them out in front of her, separating the various tones and making a few notes in her planner. I spotted an old green mini and a bicycle amongst James’.

“Well,” the organiser said, “An eclectic mix.”

We’re an eclectic couple.

Weird couple, more like.

“But, as I thought, you’ve managed to organise you own colour scheme – most of these photographs have greens in them, some bluer shades, browns, then light pastel shades.”

I inwardly grimaced at the mention of pastel shades.

“Green, blue and yellow,” the organiser mused, fishing around in her colour book for appropriate shades, laying them next to the photographs, discarding some and keeping others.

“Why did you pick a picture of mini?” I asked James under my breath, tracing a finger over his hand which lay lightly on my knee.

“I thought it was romantic,” he whispered back in my ear.

I laughed under my breath, “You have an odd idea of romantic.”

“Well, it won you over,” James replied.

“Touche,” I nodded.

“There,” the wedding organiser said, holding up three colour cards next to our assortment of photographs.

“Oh!” I sighed, looking at the colours, “They’re perfect.”

“How did you do that?” James asked, taking them from her hands, and turning them over.

“Lots of practice,” the organiser smiled.

“Thank you,” I grinned.

One was a pale grass green, the second was a dusty yellow verging on an orange-brown, and the third was a grey-blue like forget-me-nots. Combined they created a fresh, near edible colour scheme, like a tray full of iced fairy cakes, or a vintage curtain pattern, something reminiscent of an older, slower time period, happy and soft.

“Just perfect,” I repeated, feeling things begin to work around me.

James smiled at my happy look and kissed me on the cheek, “Like-”

“Don’t be cheesy in front of the wedding organiser,” I chastised him, smiling still.

“Sorry,” James snorted, at my mock serious look.

“Now that we have a colour scheme, shall we move on?” the organiser asked.

“Let’s,” James replied, twining his fingers through mine.