“I shall try very hard to bear that in mind. I hope that you and Esther will be very happy.” Margaret kissed Molly’s cheek. “You deserve it.”

“Away with you now, and mind you don’t crush that dress. It’s five minutes to twelve, and we’re under strict instructions to have you all assembled in the corridor outside the queen’s apartments by noon.” Molly pinned a smile to her face. “I won’t say goodbye, for I pray our paths will cross again at some point.”

With a stifled sob, Molly pulled her apron up over her face. Margaret pressed the gold locket that was her parting gift into her maid’s hands and fled. Though her eyes burned, she willed them to remain dry. There would be time enough for tears. She would not permit anyone to witness her distress, especially not her father, waiting with the rest of the honoured guests downstairs in the White Drawing-Room. She intended to see this last torturous duty through to the bitter end with dignity.

MAKING HER WAY TO JOIN the other bridesmaids, Margaret was assailed by the memories of happier times at Windsor in the company of Louise. Her tinkling laughter seemed to echo along the corridors. How many of those so-called informal dinners had Margaret endured, forced to sit next to the most tedious of the queen’s courtiers because she had been the last to enter the dining room, lacking Louise’s nerve to rush ahead of the company and claim the best seat, the most entertaining company? How many hours had the pair of them spent huddled together in Louise’s apartments, giggling over court gossip, exchanging girlish confidences or simply enjoying each other’s company, Margaret lolling on a settee with a dog, while Louise sketched? One encounter blurred into another, and now there would be no more.

Shaking off her melancholy, Margaret pinned her formal smile to her face as she joined the wedding party. Princess Helena was to be escorted up the aisle of the Private Chapel at Windsor flanked by the queen on one side and the Prince of Wales on the other. It could not be said that Lenchen’s toilette flattered her somewhat dumpy figure, Margaret thought as she waited with the other bridesmaids for the lengthy procession to assemble. The white satin wedding dress trimmed with copious amounts of Honiton lace, adorned with orange blossom and myrtle, made the bride look like a dessert made of whipped cream and spun sugar. On top of which, she looked as if she had been sprinkled with diamonds and opals, and her train was so long that there was a real danger it might tip her backwards. The princess herself, though, radiated happiness, making no attempt to hide her eagerness to embrace married life.