Louise pulled up a chair and set about making tea from the service which had been laid out in readiness. “That’s Laddie. He’s getting on a bit, so he likes to hide in here from the rest of the pack. They’re too boisterous for him, poor old thing.” She passed Margaret a cup of tea and a generous slice of cake. “I’m assuming you don’t want to bother starting with bread and butter?”

“No, thank you.” Ignoring the cake fork, Margaret took a bite. “Chocolate, my favourite.”

“I know.”

“Aren’t you going to have even a tiny slice?”

“Not even a crumb. I have no intention of ending up like Mama. Since Papa died, she has quite literally grown in stature, and she was never exactly sylph-like to begin with.”

“Oh come, Lou, in her early portraits she had a lovely figure.”

“A crinoline hides a multitude of sins. The queen has no discipline when it comes to the table.”

“Nor have I.” Margaret rolled her eyes. “Fortunately for the sake of my many, many new dresses, I have Mama to keep me in check. At least now I’m in London you and I will be able to see more of each other.”

“I hope so, though you know that the queen has first call on my time. She has become incredibly possessive of us girls since my father died, and actively discourages us from seeing our friends, never mind socialising without her. It’s all a bit oppressive. Tell me, how are you finding life in the capital?”

Knowing better than to offer sympathy, Margaret did as she was bid. “Well, the smells are absolutely foul. The air itself tastes disgusting, especially when there is a fog. It’s like licking a penny. And the dirt! It quite literally falls from the skies, I am forever having to wash my face and hands, and my petticoats are coated with what they call mud from the streets.”

“Horses,” Louise said cryptically. “Mostly.”

“Everything is so brightly lit, and so noisy, too,” Margaret continued. “The streets are full of people no matter the hour, and buildings everywhere seem to be in the process of being pulled down and rebuilt. I can’t sleep for the noise of carriages endlessly rattling past outside, and though I’ve been assured that the new gas lighting in Montagu House is safe, every time it makes that funny popping noise I jump.”

“Her Majesty considers gas lighting unsafe; she won’t have it here at Windsor. When I asked you how you liked London, M., I meant society, for thanks to the queen’s hunger for my company, I am forced to enjoy life vicariously, you know. You have made quite an impression, if the papers are to be believed.”