“So where are you off to then?” Mrs. Tombs asked, appearing in that uncanny way every time I came into the front hall. “Another bit of shopping?”

“No, I’m going to have tea with the queen,” I said.

“Go on with you. Pull the other one, it’s got bells on,” she said, chuckling.

“No, honestly.”

“Why would the queen want to have tea with you?” she asked, her voice dripping with sarcasm.

“Because I’m her cousin,” I replied. “I’m Lady Georgiana Rannoch. I’m frequently invited to the palace.”

“Blimey.” She put her hand up to her face. “And I never knew. I thought your face looked familiar somehow. Wait till I tell her next door that I’ve been entertaining royalty.”

I almost said “And serving her leftover stew,” but I contented myself with a smile as I went out.

I arrived at Buckingham Palace on the stroke of four. It always took every ounce of courage to approach those tall, gilded gates and to tell those impossibly tall guards that I was expected for tea. Then I had to cross the forecourt, which always seemed to take forever, with the eyes of passing tourists upon me, before I went under the arch, across the courtyard and up to that terrifying main entrance.

“Good afternoon, my lady,” the welcoming footman said, bowing. “Her Majesty is expecting you in the Chinese Chippendale room. Allow me to escort you there.”

Oh, crikey. The Chinese Chippendale room. Why couldn’t she have chosen somewhere else? Any other room in the palace would have done. But the Chinese Chippendale room was her favorite: small, intimate and decorated with far too many Chinese vases, priceless porcelain statues and her jade collection. There’s probably something you should know about me: in moments of stress I tend to get a little clumsy. I remember tripping over the footman’s outstretched foot when he bowed to usher me inside once, thus propelling me rather rapidly into the room and nearly butting HM in the stomach. I would be all too capable of turning around and knocking a priceless Ming vase flying.

Still, I put on a brave face as I was escorted up the grand staircase to the piano nobile, where the royal family actually lived and entertained. Along those never-ending, richly carpeted hallways with marble statues frowning down at me from their niches. Then a light tap on a door, the footman stepping inside and saying, “Lady Georgiana, Your Majesty.”

I stepped past him, carefully avoiding his foot, pushing the door into an unseen table or tripping over a rug. I stopped in surprise and thought I was seeing double. Two middle-aged ladies with identical, waved, gray hair, upright carriage and lilac tea dresses were sitting on the brocade sofa beside the fireplace. My first thought was that I should have worn a tea dress and the cashmere cardigan was inappropriate, but then one of the ladies held out her hand to me.

“Georgiana, my dear. How lovely to see you. Come and meet my dear friend.”