It was lucky that I had had oodles of practice in dressing myself, as Queenie was more hindrance than help. She got my dress stuck trying to put my head through one of the armholes. Then her idea of doing my hair made me look like I was housing a bird’s nest. But eventually I looked presentable, wearing burgundy velvet and the family rubies, and I was ready by the time the first gong sounded.

“I’m going down to dinner now, Queenie,” I said. “I’m not sure where you go for your supper, but one of the servants will show you.”

Her eyes darted nervously and I felt sorry for her. “I can’t be late on the first evening here,” I said. “Honestly you’ll be all right. Just go down to the kitchen.”

I left her looking as if she wanted to follow me and made my own way, with some difficulty, to the predinner gathering in the long gallery. The gallery was hung with more banners, and adorned with the heads of various animals, ranging from wild boar to bears, but it looked bright and festive with hundreds of candles sparkling on crystal chandeliers. The assembled company was dripping with braid, medals and diamonds, reminding me of one of the more extravagant Viennese operettas. I felt the wave of nervousness that always comes over me on such occasions, tinged with the worry that I’ll do something clumsy like trip over the carpet, knock over a statue or spill my drink. I am inclined to be clumsy when I’m nervous. I was wondering if I could join the company without being noticed, but at that moment I was announced and heads turned to appraise me. A young man detached himself from a group and came to greet me, his hand outstretched.

“Georgiana. How good of you to come. I don’t know if you remember me but we met once when we were children. I am Nicholas, the bridegroom, and I believe we are second cousins or something like that.”

His English was flawless, with a typical public school accent, and he was tall and good-looking, with the dark blond hair and blue eyes of many of the Saxe-Coburg clan. I felt an instant stab of sympathy that he was being landed with Moony Matty. He was actually a prince I wouldn’t mind marrying myself—if one were absolutely forced into marrying a prince.

“How do you do, Your Highness,” I said, bobbing a curtsy as we shook hands. “I’m afraid I don’t remember meeting you.”

“At a celebration for the end of the Great War. We spent it in England, you know. You were a skinny little thing at the time and we made short work of a box of Turkish delight under a table, if I remember correctly.”