She wasn’t wrong. The dress was long, tight, and purple. Since Marisa has no figure to speak of and is almost six feet tall, the effect was something like a shiny purple drainpipe.

“And I thought Primrose was my friend,” she said. “I was flattered when she invited me to be bridesmaid, but now I see that she only did it because we are cousins and she had to, so she made damn sure that I wouldn’t outshine her going up the aisle. Actually I could hardly totter up the aisle, due to the tight skirt. And it was so dark in St. Margaret’s that I bet I looked like a floating head with a couple of disembodied arms on either side clutching this hideous bouquet. I’m not going to forgive her in a hurry.”

She sighed and drained the last of the black coffee. “And then I got here and I thought at least being bridesmaid usually has its perks. You know, a quick kiss and cuddle with an usher behind the potted palms. But look at them—not a single grab and grope among the lot of them. Most of them are Roly’s older brothers, and they’ve all brought their wives along. And the others are not that way inclined—daisy boys, you know.”

“You mean pansy boys,” I said.

“Do I? Well, you know what I’m getting at, don’t you?

So not the teeniest bit of titillation all afternoon. No wonder I turned to drink. It was good of you to rescue me.”

“Not at all. What are school friends for?”

“We did have fun at Les Oiseaux, didn’t we? I still miss it sometimes, and all the old friends. I haven’t seen you in ages. What have you been doing with yourself?”

“Oh, this and that,” I said. “I’m newly arrived in town and I’m hunting for a suitable job.”

“Lucky you. I do envy you. I’m stuck at home with Mummy. She hasn’t been too well, you know, and she won’t hear of my going off to London alone. How I’m ever going to meet a potential husband, I can’t think. The season was a hopeless failure, wasn’t it? All those dreadful clod-hopping country types who held us as if we were sacks of potatoes. At least Mummy is talking about taking a place in Nice for the rest of the spring. I certainly wouldn’t say no to a French count. They have those wonderful droopy come-to-bed eyes.”

She looked up as a burst of applause came from the ballroom.

“Oh, dear. They’ve started the speeches. I should be there, I suppose, when Whiffy proposes a toast to the bridesmaids.”

“Do you think you can stand without swaying now?”

“I’ll try.”

I helped her to her feet and she tottered uncertainly back into the ballroom. I slipped into the back of the crowd, which now clustered around the podium with the cake.

The cake was cut and distributed. Speeches began. I was also beginning to feel the effects of three glasses of champagne on a relatively empty stomach. There is nothing worse than speeches about someone you don’t know, made by someone you don’t know. How my royal kin manage to sit there, day after day, and look interested through one deadly dull speech after another inspires my highest admiration. I looked for Darcy but couldn’t see him, so I prowled the back of the crowd, hoping to find a chair I might sit on unobtrusively. The only chairs were occupied by elderly ladies and an extremely ancient colonel with a wooden leg. Then I thought I spotted the back of Darcy’s head and I moved back into the crowd again.