“Signor Francatelli always excels himself when the queen comes to tea,” Alix informed her with a prim smile. “He was Her Majesty’s chief cook for a couple of years, and though it was back in the forties, when she was just married, he insists that no-one understands her palate as he does.”

“He certainly panders to her sweet tooth.” The bread and butter, sandwiches, and ices would be served when Her Majesty arrived, though Margaret couldn’t see where they would fit on the table. Several bonbon dishes in the shape of scantily clad Greek goddesses holding up urns were set at carefully measured intervals. The salted almonds were at the greatest distance from the queen’s place, while the pralines and sugared almonds were closest. Italian macaroons were stacked in a pyramid, while the Naples and champagne biscuits were set out on a plate like a mosaic. The queen’s favourite chocolate sponge was three tiers high, but there was also a rich plum cake, a plain sponge, a selection of pastries, and another elaborate concoction with icing as delicate as lace.

“Here she is,” Alix said, though Margaret had heard no announcement.

“At least you will have the opportunity to enjoy your tea with Louise,” Mama whispered as the three women arranged themselves into a welcoming party. “I find I have barely finished my first sandwich by the time our monarch has finished her tea.”

As ever, Margaret was surprised by the queen’s diminutive stature as she made her curtsy to the rotund, frowning figure garbed in black. Her Majesty nodded a vague greeting, but she had one eye on the tea-table and the other on Mama.

“You brought the letter, Duchess?”

“Indeed, ma’am, I have it here.”

“If you will take this seat, ma’am,” Alix said, rushing forward.

“I don’t want to be too near the fire. This room is hot.” Shedding several shawls and mantles, which were caught adroitly by the Princess of Wales, Her Majesty took her seat, and Mama waved Margaret away.

Louise, needing no further urging, grabbed her by the hand and pulled her to the far corner of the room. “Thank heavens for your sister’s timely delivery. Now we can have a proper gossip. I take it,” she added belatedly, “that all went well with the birth?”

“Oh yes.” Margaret took her seat at the smaller but only slightly less laden tea-table. “I have never seen Mama so relieved as when she received the letter yesterday morning. When my father said that Kerr would be disappointed not to have had the son he was hoping for, she drew him such a look. They have called the little girl Cecil, after Kerr’s mother and his sister who died, sadly, the day before my new niece was born.”

“Good grief, what a tragic coincidence. Was she having a baby, too?”