“What, this old thing?” the princess said and gave a deep chuckle. “I’d almost forgotten I had it but Clotilde fished it out from the back of one of the wardrobes and reminded me I hadn’t worn it for ages.”

I glanced at her with admiration. In one sentence she had managed to put Mrs. Simpson in her place without seeming to do so. By running down her own dress she had also insulted Mrs. Simpson’s. I decided I might like her after all. One could not tell from Mrs. Simpson’s perfect face whether she minded or not.

The company was presented, one by one, to the prince and his lady companion. I noted there was no longer a Mr. Ernest Simpson in tow. Rumors were that she was trying to initiate divorce proceedings. About time too. I don’t know how the poor man agreed to play gooseberry for so long. But what Mrs. Simpson thought would happen next I could not imagine. Of course the prince could never marry her. She was a twice-divorced woman. He would be head of the Church of England one day and the church did not sanction divorce.

The introductions came around to me. My cousin’s face lit up in a warm smile. “Hello, Georgie. Didn’t expect to find you here. Have you recovered from yesterday? Dashed freezing in the church, but all in all a splendid wedding, wouldn’t you say? Too good for my brother.”

I wasn’t sure if he meant the wedding or the bride. “It was lovely, sir,” I said, addressing him correctly even if he was my cousin. Protocol demanded it. “The reception at Buckingham Palace was particularly nice.”

I gave Mrs. Simpson a gracious little nod because she had not been invited, and saw a look of vexation cross that perfectly made-up face. Enjoying my rare moment I went on, “And I thought your speech at the reception was brilliant, sir. Very funny, and you said all the right things.”

“Well, one could hardly let Bertie do it, could one?” he said with a chuckle.

“Can you imagine it?” Mrs. Simpson chimed in, looking around the company with a malicious gleam in her eye. “D-d-d-d-dear f-f-f-f-friends and f-f-f-family. The man is hopelessly embarrassing, isn’t he?”

“He’s a very nice person,” I said. “He just gets flustered when he has to speak in public.”

“Or to our father,” the prince said. “He never can speak to the king without stuttering.”

“That’s because His Majesty gets so impatient with him and snaps at him. When he talks to people like me and his daughters he never stutters.”