Chapters (71)
- Title Page
- Copyright Notice
- Dedication
- Acknowledgments
- Family Tree
- Prologue
- Harry and Emma Clifton: 1970–1971
- Chapter 1
- Chapter 2
- Chapter 3
- Chapter 4
- Chapter 5
- Chapter 6
- Chapter 7
- Giles Barrington: 1971
- Chapter 8
- Chapter 9
- Chapter 10
- Chapter 11
- Lady Virginia Fenwick: 1971
- Chapter 12
- Chapter 13
- Chapter 14
- Sebastian Clifton: 1971
- Chapter 15
- Chapter 16
- Chapter 17
- Chapter 18
- Chapter 19
- Chapter 20
- Chapter 21
- Lady Virginia Fenwick: 1972
- Chapter 22
- Chapter 23
- Chapter 24
- Maisie Clifton: 1972
- Chapter 25
- Emma Clifton: 1972–1975
- Chapter 26
- Chapter 27
- Chapter 28
- Sebastian Clifton: 1975
- Chapter 29
- Chapter 30
- Chapter 31
- Chapter 32
- Hakim Bishara: 1975
- Chapter 33
- Chapter 34
- Chapter 35
- Chapter 36
- Chapter 37
- Chapter 38
- Giles Barrington: 1976–1977
- Chapter 39
- Chapter 40
- Chapter 41
- Chapter 42
- Chapter 43
- Chapter 44
- Chapter 45
- Chapter 46
- Harry and Emma Clifton: 1978
- Chapter 47
- Chapter 48
- Chapter 49
- Chapter 50
- Epilogue: 1978
- About the Author
- Also by Jeffrey Archer
- Newsletter Sign-up
“You did, and now we must let the world share our happiness.” Cyrus’s mouth remained open. “I’ll tell you what I’m going to do, my darling,” continued Virginia, getting out of bed and pulling open the curtains to let the sun flood in. Cyrus’s mouth remained open as he stared at her naked body. “As soon as I’m dressed, I’m going home to change. After all, even though I’m now your fiancée, we wouldn’t want anyone to see me in the same clothes I was wearing last night, would we, my little dumpling.” She giggled as she leaned over and kissed him on the mouth.
Virginia picked up the phone by his side of the bed. “Breakfast for one,” she said. “Tea, toast and Oxford Marmalade, and perhaps a Virgin Mary. My fiancé has a dreadful hangover. Thank you, yes, as soon as possible.” She put the phone down. “I’ll be back around ten, dumpling,” she promised, “and then we can go shopping. I think we should start at Moss Bros. You’ll need a top hat and tails for Ascot, and perhaps a gray silk cravat if you’re going to be seen regularly in the royal box. And then you can join me while I spend a little time looking at Hartnell’s spring collection. I’ll need to find something worthy of the winner of the King George VI and Queen Elizabeth Stakes,” she added as she pulled on her skirt and did up her blouse.
There was a knock at the door. Virginia left the bedroom and opened the door to allow a waiter pushing a trolley to enter.
“My fiancé is still in bed. Do go through. Your breakfast has arrived, my darling,” Virginia said as she followed the waiter into the bedroom. “And be sure to drink your Virgin Mary,” she added as the tray was placed on his lap, “because we’ve got a busy day ahead of us.” Once again she leaned over and kissed Cyrus, who was now sitting bolt upright and staring blankly at her. “I must also give some thought to the wording of our engagement announcement in the Court Circular. Something simple but dignified,” she said, “letting the world know the significance of our two families coming together. Of course everyone will expect a society wedding at St. Margaret’s, Westminster, although I’d prefer a quiet affair, perhaps in Baton Rouge.” The waiter proffered the bill. “I’ll sign it,” said Virginia, who, before ushering him out, added 20 percent, to make sure the young man couldn’t possibly forget what he had just witnessed. She then gave Cyrus one final kiss and said, “See you in a couple of hours, dumpling.”
She had slipped out of the room before he could reply.