“No, I dined with my great-aunt, Princess Louise,” I said. “She has the apartment next to this one.”

“Ah yes, I am told that this house is full of old royal ladies, but they do not invite me. I am not related to them, I suppose.”

What was I supposed to say—that I was sorry she wasn’t related to the English royal family? When I said nothing she went on, “So why are you not a princess yourself if these ladies are your aunts?”

“My grandmother was Queen Victoria’s daughter. The offspring of a princess do not inherit her title. My grandfather was a duke, so my father was also a duke, and I’m merely a lady.”

“Hmph,” she said, obviously weighing whether a mere lady might rank below her. She looked out of the window. It was still as dreary and blustery as November can be in England.

“I hope Marina had a good journey. I do not think the Channel would have been smooth.”

“Probably not. But it’s only an hour, isn’t it? One can endure most things for an hour.”

“It will be longer if she comes from Hook of Holland,” she said. “And rougher. I am always seasick, even on fine days. I have the delicate constitution of my ancestors.”

I was extremely glad that Major Beauchamp-Chough joined us at that moment. “Won’t be long now,” he said. “The princess will be tired from her long journey, so I propose we let her rest until the motorcar comes for you at seven.”

“The motorcar?” Countess Irmtraut asked.

“The princess has been invited to dine with her new family,” the major said.

“We are to accompany her?” Irmtraut asked.

“Only Lady Georgiana, since she is a family member,” he said curtly.

Irmtraut glared at me.

At that moment there was the crunch of tires on gravel and a Daimler drew up outside. Major B-C jumped up and strode briskly to the front door. We heard his big voice booming, “Welcome to Kensington Palace, Your Highness. Inclement weather, I’m afraid. I hope the Channel wasn’t too rough.”

“Quite big swells. Rather exciting, actually,” answered a woman’s voice. And they came through into the room. From what I had been told—that the family had lived in exile with relatives and were rather poor—I had formed an image of a shy, rather dowdy young girl, a younger, fresher-faced version of Irmtraut. Instead into the room strode this tall and beautiful young woman. She was dressed in the height of fashion with a fox-fur-trimmed coat, beautifully cut, and a daring little hat perched on one side of her head. She gave a radiant smile when she saw Countess Irmtraut and held out her hands.

“Irmtraut. You’re here. How good of you to come.” They kissed on the cheeks.