The Archbishop of Canterbury performed the ceremony. Charles Longley did not look in the least like Sebastian’s nemesis. Square-faced, clean-shaven, and bald, he had the appearance of one of Mr. Dickens’s more genial characters. She could not imagine him hauling Sebastian over the coals, never mind dispatching him to Africa. Which reminded her that it was she who was to be cast into the wilderness.

As the queen rose to give her daughter away, and Lenchen smiled shyly up at her bridegroom, Margaret’s eyes strayed to the assembled guests, seeking out her parents. Her mother’s head was bowed, as if in prayer, but her father’s face was set, his gaze fixed firmly on the couple at the altar. He had not spoken a word to her since that frightful final confrontation. If she was dining at home, he ate at his club. On the rare occasions when he had been forced to attend a function in her company, he had travelled in a separate carriage. If he did happen to enter a room where she was present, he looked straight through her.

After today, she would be eradicated from the family history. In years to come, when the wedding photographs were being studied by Lenchen’s grandchildren, she would be a forgotten, peripheral figure. “Oh, that was a friend of Louise’s,” Lenchen might say. “I have no idea what became of her.”

Today, as far as her father was concerned, was Margaret’s last day on earth. She would see it through without breaking down. She had not once done so in his presence, nor come close to begging for a reprieve. Her dignity was all she had, and she would cling to it come what may.

The final blessing was administered. Princess Helena and Prince Christian were now man and wife. At least she had been spared Killin, Margaret reminded herself. And if her father was to consign her to history as the daughter-who-never-was, didn’t that give her carte blanche to suit herself?

Courage, M.! As a march struck up, Margaret picked up the bride’s train, and prepared to discharge what might be her final duty in society.

LATER, AT THE RECEPTION, Margaret grabbed Louise by the arm. “Finally! I was beginning to think you were avoiding me.”

Louise’s pretty mouth pursed. “Come with me.” Casting a glance over her shoulder, she led them over to the window, pulling the curtain over a little to conceal them. “The fact is, I am not supposed to be fraternising with you. The queen has only tolerated your presence as Helena’s attendant because she doesn’t want any bad publicity associated with the wedding, which might arise, were she to drop you at this late stage.”