Gussie looked worried for a moment, then he burst out laughing. “Good sense of humor. I like that. Let me get you a cocktail, Your Highness. What are you drinking?”

“I’m afraid I’m not too well up on cocktails,” Marina said. “How about you, Georgiana? Do you have a favorite?”

“I had a sidecar last time I was here and your bartender made it very well,” I said, not wanting it to be known that my experience with cocktails was limited in the extreme—although it had broadened a little on my first transatlantic crossing.

“Splendid,” Gussie said. “Two sidecars please, Albert.” He turned back to us. “I’ve trained my man to be a splendid bartender, don’t you think? He keeps threatening to leave me and get a job in the bar at the Savoy. Only they wouldn’t pay him as well, isn’t that right, Albert?”

Albert gave a wan smile so that we couldn’t tell whether he agreed with this or not, and went on shaking the cocktail.

“So where is your intended, Gussie?” I asked.

He made a face. “At home with her mother, I’m afraid. Mother’s just had an operation so my bride has deserted me to minister at her bedside.”

“Oh, that’s too bad,” I said.

He gave me a knowing grin. “She doesn’t actually like this kind of shindig anyway. I think it’s a good excuse, personally. But never mind. We’ll enjoy ourselves, won’t we?”

Gussie put a hand on my shoulder, making me remember a not-so-pleasant experience with him once. But then he had been very drunk. “And I gather it’s to be a right royal evening tonight. I’ve told everyone to be on their best behavior and practice their ‘sir’s and ‘ma’am’s.”

“Really?” I asked, giving him a worried look in case he was referring to Prince George, who had been known to come to Gussie’s parties.

Gussie’s face lit up as the front door opened. “And here they are now. Jolly good.” He abandoned us and pushed his way across the crowded foyer as the Prince of Wales came into view. He was dressed impeccably in evening attire as usual and I was not in the least surprised to see he was accompanied by Mrs. Simpson, wearing the black beaded evening gown she had worn on the ship crossing the Atlantic. I was, however, surprised to see Mr. Simpson in tow, looking broody and uncomfortable. Well, who wouldn’t?

“Good of you to come, sir.” Gussie pumped the prince’s hand with enthusiasm.

“Wouldn’t miss one of your parties for anything, Gussie,” the prince said in his light drawl. “And I believe you’ve met my friends Mr. and Mrs. Simpson.”

“Of course. So glad you could make it.” Gussie was the soul of discretion. “What can I get you to drink?”