Page 79 of The English Queen

She followed Elise down the halls, people bowing as they passed. She’d never felt so important in her life. Louis paced outside the music room, looking dreadfully nervous.

“Louis, darling,” Beth approached as Elise receded.

“Beth,” he stammered, turned, and locked eyes on her.

“Your mother said you’re a bit nervous, darling. You needn’t be, my love.” She took his face in her hands.

“It’s so much pressure. I hate all of this. And it’s an entire day. What if I seem stupid, aloof? What if people think I’m a ridiculous choice—”

“We both come alive with the other in the room. It won’t happen. You will be brilliant. I may fall up the stairs. I hope not. But if I do, it will be memorable. ‘Oh, have you met our Queen? She tripped up the stairs on her wedding day! Queens… they’re just like us!’ I will take it in stride, darling.”

“You won’t. And you’re so beautiful, no one cares.”

“You should talk. You look handsome in this uniform. I’m going to have to do something about it later,” Beth giggled. “Deep breaths.”

“Deep breaths, yes. I love you, Beth. I love you so very much.”

“It will be easier after this.” She gave him a slow kiss and linked her hands around his neck.

He kissed her back, “I have to do that in public soon.”

“Don’t think about it. It’s the best you can do. That was Vanna’s advice. She says you won’t even think about it by that point.”

Louis nodded.

“If it helps, think about this,” Beth said, voice low. “It’s not much of a consolation but I’ve slated a twenty-minute, no-questions-asked break for us after we return from City Hall. What we do with those twenty minutes is up to us.”

“Beth!” Louis’s voice carried.

Beth shook her head. “Well, I leave it up to you. What would The Pope say?”

“The same thing he’d say if he knew I’d seen you naked this morning and he’d think it worse I don’t even give a flying fuck about it.”

“You should really go to confession.”

“I think I’d give the priest a heart attack.”

“Beth, we need you back,” Beth heard Vanna calling.

“You should go. I will have to leave in a minute.” Louis gave her one last kiss.

“I will see you in a minute, Louis.”

Beth watched Louis leave the palace via live television coverage. The telly placed near the drawing room allowed staff awareness of leaving and arrival times. Beth watched Louis arrive with his mother at the church. She and Keir were last to leave. She knew Louis was depositing his mother before taking his seat before the registry table. Beth’s mother would sit near dear Winston who agreed to escort his beloved great auntie down the aisle. Her siblings would take their seats. Her nieces and nephews assembled to help. Natalie and Victoria looked like young women that morning more than little girls. They helped Beth out of the car and settled behind her to serve as primary attendants.

They arrived at City Hall.

Keir joked, “Last chance to run, bug.”

“Not running,” Beth squeezed his hand as the door opened.

Her father hopped out. Beth handed her bouquet to Natalie and took her father’s hand. He helped lift her out as the girls helped straighten her outfit. They stopped and Beth waved at the crowd, smiling with her father before taking his hand and walking up. On her father’s arm, him dressed head to toe in his best dress uniform, she ascended the stairs to the grand hall. Beth was elated to stay upright. The doors opened and the entirety of the room rose as a quartet played her down the aisle to Pachelbel’s Canon in D. It was the most traditional choice, but it seemed right. The entire time, Louis looked happy but was relieved she had arrived. He smiled big at her as she reached the end of the aisle. Keir gave him a firm handshake.

“Take care of her,” Keir patted Louis’s arm.

“I will,” Louis promised Beth’s father.

Keir sat by Maggie and the ceremony began. Louis and Beth sat for the painless ceremony. They gave their intent. The registrar reminded them of their almost-bureaucratic responsibilities as spouses. It was gender-neutral and a bit cold, but it was refreshing in comparison to the gendered religious ceremony to follow. It was all quite Belgian. Everything was in French, the language most Brits would recognise well enough, and most Belgians were fluent in—even if they refused to ever speak it.

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