Kate (31 page)

Now we are three—William and Kate present their newborn son to the world and pose for the media on the steps of St. Mary's hospital in Paddington. Prince George Alexander Louis of Cambridge was named two days after his birth. (© Ruaridh Connellan/Barcroft Media/Landov)

As they did not come from aristocratic lineage, the Middletons didn't have a family crest. Lady Diana Spencer, Sarah Ferguson, and Sophie Rhys Jones all had family insignias when they married into the family, but the Middletons would need to register a petition for their own crest. Any individual in the United Kingdom can apply for such an insignia, but the College of Arms decides whether to accept the petition. Michael liaised closely with Garter Principal King of Arms and Senior Herald Thomas Woodcock from the College of Arms, and with Kate's input, they agreed to incorporate acorn sprigs within the design. Kate loved the notion that from tiny acorns great oaks grow, and the part of Berkshire where they lived was famous for its oak trees. The design, in blue, white, and red, to reflect the colors of the Union Jack, comprised three acorns, one to represent each of the Middleton children, and at the center was a gold chevron that represented Carole, the
matriarch of the family, and acknowledged her maiden name, Goldsmith. There was a line down the middle of the crest—a play on the Middleton family name—and white chevrons to represent their love of mountains, skiing, and the great outdoors. The crest cost nearly $7,000, and according to Thomas Woodcock, the family was pleased with the final design, which they were all allowed to use from then on. “They had a very strong idea of what they wanted, particularly the acorns, which were Catherine's idea.”

Carole and Kate were in daily contact, and when they were seen visiting fashion designer Bruce Oldfield's Knightsbridge store in Beauchamp Place, it was reported that the famous couturier, a favorite of the late Princess of Wales, had landed the coveted commission. Designers Daniella Helayel, who created Kate's engagement dress, Jenny Packham, Amanda Wakeley, Sarah Burton, and Alice Temperley were also rumored to be in the running for the commission of the century, but Kate was determined that her wedding dress should remain a secret until the moment she walked into the abbey. She wanted it to be a surprise for William, and the only people who knew the identity of the designer were her mother and her sister. According to Kate's hairdresser, James Pryce, “Kate described the dress from the waist up and said that it had a V neckline with lace sleeves, but that was really all we knew.”

With all the planning, shopping, and liaising, William and Kate rarely had a quiet moment together, and they were grateful for the peace and solitude they enjoyed in Anglesey. Just weeks before the wedding, the Queen asked William if he would travel to Christchurch in New Zealand, which had been badly hit by an earthquake that had claimed many lives. He was
back in time for his stag weekend, which had been planned by Harry and William's closest friend, Thomas van Straubenzee. The weekend before the wedding, spent somewhat ironically at a twelfth-century former monastery in North Devon, was one long party. Harry had arranged a competitive program of water sports, pub crawls, and drinking games, and the group, which included Guy Pelly, Tom Inskip, and Hugh and Ed Van Cutsem, emerged from the weekend the worse for wear after drinking bottles of vintage port supplied from Charles's cellar. Kate was too busy planning the wedding to organize a hen night, so Pippa threw a small party for her closest girlfriends.

As April drew to a close, the pressure of planning a royal wedding had begun to show on Kate, whose clothes seemed to hang off her. Carole, who was on a strict protein-only diet in order to shed a few pounds ahead of the big day, made a point of reminding Kate to eat, calling her every evening to check whether she had had supper. Her dress designer was summoned to Clarence House to make the necessary adjustments, and in addition to the final dress fitting, there was one last run-through with her hairdresser.

There was a rehearsal of the actual ceremony at the abbey the day before the wedding as well as a dawn run-through of the wedding-day procession. William's regiment, the Household Cavalry, responsible for ceremonial occasions, had been preparing for weeks, making sure every uniform was spotless, buttons and boots were polished, and the manes of their horses—two of whom had been named William and Catherine—were brushed to perfection. While most of London was still sleeping, there was a practice of the processional route from Westminster Abbey to Buckingham Palace. The Queen's carriages were driven through a ghostly Central London,
horses trotted along Westminster's Whitehall in the chilly morning, and soldiers performed their drills in front of their commanding officers. The countdown had begun, with time-honored British precision.

CHAPTER 11

Mr. and Mrs. Wales

I
T WAS JUST AFTER
6:00
A.M
., and the morning sunshine streamed through the sash windows of the Royal Suite of the Goring Hotel, where Kate had spent her last night as a single woman. Outside, a lone road-sweeper brushed the street clean while Union Jack–themed bunting fluttered on the police barriers that ran the length of Beeston Place in Central London. Several photographers with long lenses and ladders were setting up their equipment on the pavement.

Hundreds of wellwishers had waited for hours the previous afternoon to greet Kate as she arrived at the hotel with her mother and sister from lunch with Camilla at Clarence House. There had been cries of “Good luck” and “Enjoy your big day,” as cameras and smart phones were held high in the air for a final picture of Kate before she emerged the next morning as a royal bride.

The Queen had offered Kate a suite of rooms at Buckingham Palace on the eve of her wedding, but she had politely
declined, preferring to be with her family. Her parents had organized a bridal dinner, and Kate was grateful for the chance to catch up with old family friends, some of whom she had not seen for several years. It had been a special evening, and Prince Harry, who had been dining with his brother and father at Clarence House, joined the party for a nightcap. Kate had retired to bed before 11:00
P.M
., joking that she needed her beauty sleep, although she knew she would not be likely to sleep a wink. William, who like all grooms was not allowed to see his bride until the ceremony, had gone on an impromptu walkabout to meet the crowds outside Clarence House at 8:30
P.M
. with his brother. The crowds had stayed, cheering the groom and singing “For he's a jolly good fellow” long into the night, and William had heard them from his bedroom window, sleep eluding him, too. “They were singing and cheering all night long, so the excitement of that, the nervousness of me, and everyone singing—I slept for about half an hour,” he recalled.

Kate decided not to turn on the television. The news channels were devoting almost all their coverage to the wedding day, not a calming prospect for an already nervous bride. Neither was the prototype of Queen Victoria's wedding dress, which usually formed the centerpiece of the Royal Suite in a glass-fronted wardrobe next to the four-poster bed. The gown had been removed, and in its place Kate's wedding dress was hanging on a mannequin made exactly to fit her measurements. The layers of duchess satin and hand-embroidered lace were a work of art. Kate had worked closely with Sarah Burton, the head designer at Alexander McQueen, overseeing every stage of the creative process. The ivory satin bodice was slightly padded at the hips to accentuate Kate's waist and give
the dress a Victorian feel, and hand-embroidered flowers had been stitched into the skirt. Sarah Burton had sneaked into the hotel for a final check the night before the wedding, wearing a hood over her head so that the waiting cameras could not get a clear shot of her.

Kate glanced at the day's itinerary. In less than half an hour, the hairdressers—eight of them—from the Richard Ward salon in Chelsea were due to arrive to start working on the bridal party. “It was strangely quiet as we drove through the city,” remembered James Pryce. “We could see the police setting up the balustrades, and as we pulled up at the Goring Hotel, I saw that an awning had been erected over the entrance. The road was then closed off, and by that point the paparazzi were all in place. We started working on the aunts and uncles and the rest of the bridal party while Kate got ready.”

Royal brides traditionally have flower girls, but Kate had wanted bridesmaids, and the couple had chosen four: William's cousin Lady Louise Windsor, the Earl and Countess of Wessex's seven-year-old daughter; William's three-year-old goddaughter, Grace Van Cutsem, the daughter of his friend Hugh Van Cutsem and Rose Astor; Eliza Lopes, Camilla's three-year-old granddaughter; and Margarita Armstrong-Jones, the Queen's nephew Viscount Linley's eight-year-old daughter. They were all placed under the charge of Pippa, the bride's maid of honor. They had also chosen two pageboys: William Lowther-Pinkerton, the ten-year-old son of William's private secretary; and Tom Pettifer, his former nanny Tiggy Legge-Bourke's eight-year-old son.

A suite had been designated for hair and makeup, and by 8:30
A.M
., Kate was ready for Mr. Ward and Mr. Pryce to start
work. Although Pippa and Carole had professional makeup artists, Kate preferred to do her own in the privacy of her dressing room. Her smoky-eye makeup was her trademark look, and she expertly applied her kohl pencil and shaped her brows. She was grateful to have a professional on hand to give her a touchup so that she looked flawless for the cameras, but Kate was determined to look like herself. Having been given the choice of three tiaras from the Queen's personal collection, she opted for the delicate and ornate “halo” tiara that had been commissioned by George VI in 1936 for the Queen Mother, who then passed it on to the Queen as an eighteenth birthday present.

The hairdressers worked through a checklist as they created the demi-chignon, half up, half down hairstyle. “I had a sheet with instructions on and ticked the list off one by one while James worked on the hair,” said Richard Ward. According to James Pryce, the most complicated part was securing the tiara. “We backcombed the top to create a foundation for the tiara to sit around, then did a tiny plait in the middle and sewed the tiara on. Richard and I were both just chatting to her. Kate didn't want TVs on and we didn't talk about the wedding. This was about Kate being in her own space and we couldn't hear the noise from the street or anything.” With her tiara in place, Kate went to another room to get into her dress. “It took about forty-five minutes,” recalled James Pryce. “She was in her room, and I knocked on her door and went in. She was standing in her dress with Sarah and a few assistants working on her. I was like: ‘Wow, you look amazing.' It was all too much to take in. Once I'd checked her hair over and made sure the tiara was secure, she left the room. I could hear the roar from the crowd as she left with her father.”

William and Harry had left Clarence House shortly after 10:00
A.M
. in a chauffeur-driven Bentley state limousine. Dressed in the bright scarlet uniform and cap of the Colonel of the Irish Guards, a title the Queen bestowed on William just before the wedding, the groom and his best man, who was dressed in his heavy ceremonial Blues and Royals uniform, looked resplendent.

There were cheers and shouts from the crowds who stood behind the police barriers. A major security operation had been taking place for weeks leading up to the wedding day; sewers and lampposts, traffic lights and public trash cans had been inspected, and manholes had been uncovered, leaving nothing to chance. The wedding day was a prime target for a terrorist attack; as well as the British royal family, there were fifty foreign heads of state attending and senior members of government, along with celebrities. The city had been on a constant terror threat alert since the London bombings in July 2005. There were also fears of republican demonstrations; the wedding was reported to be costing $30 million and the security bill alone, which would be met by the taxpayers, was close to $8 million. But as the royal brothers drove slowly down Horse Guards Parade that morning, the only chants from the flag-waving masses were celebratory.

Stepping out of the car, they turned to wave to the thousands of people who lined the streets. Entering Westminster Abbey, they were greeted by the Dean of Westminster, and as they walked up the aisle together to await the bride, forty minutes before she was due to arrive, it was impossible not to imagine how proud William and Harry's mother would have been. William seemed excited, though his habit of wiping his palms and clenching his jaw gave away his nerves. Sweat pads
had been stitched into his heavy jacket to help him stay cool. At one point Harry made a quip, and William visibly relaxed and went to chat with his mother's side of the family, the Spencers, who had been given a front-row pew in the abbey. The church held many memories for the family, particularly William's soon-to-be-married uncle, Diana's brother Earl Spencer, who had delivered his now-famous and moving eulogy at the princess's funeral in the very same church.

It had been agreed that William and Harry would wait in the chapel of St. Edward the Confessor, which is separated from the high altar by a gilded screen and was where the abbey's marriage registers would be signed at the end of the wedding service. The chapel, which houses the shrine of St. Edward, is the burial site of medieval kings and queens. The great stone tombs would have been enough to send shivers down William's spine, but he was relieved to be away from the buzzing congregation and the TV screens that had been erected in the abbey so that everyone could see what was happening at the high altar.