“Receiving lines,” he said. “Can’t stand ’em.”

“I’m sure they wouldn’t notice if you just slipped past.”

“Their Royal Highnesses,” he muttered. “Nothing royal about her. You know that, don’t you?”

I turned my head toward the man before me, the richest man in the British Empire. A dazzling fact, if you paused to consider it, but of course you couldn’t pause in the middle of a cocktail party and consider the pounds, shillings, and pence that belonged to the fellow walking at your elbow. You just gazed in pity at his thinning hair, his frown in profile, and said gently, “I do. I also know it’s wiser just to go along with things.”

He didn’t reply. I liked his face, his kind eyes and his even, sturdy, jowly features. Possibly I only imagined the ruggedness that clung to his skin, the hint of rock and earth, because I knew this about him. Or perhaps, when you spend half your life prospecting in the wilderness, no amount of Bahamas sunshine can burn away the scent of frontier.

As we drew closer, the cluster of people moved away, revealing a pair of familiar, ravishing figures, exactly the same height, one dark-haired and one fair. A half-dozen lanterns hung from the nearby palms. The light created a nimbus around them. What a show, I thought. What a goddamned brilliant show they put on. You almost wanted to applaud.

Oakes turned to me and said, “You know, you oughta meet my daughter Nancy. You’d like her.”

“Would I?”

“She could use someone like you, a few years older. Take her under your wing.”

I smiled. “Hasn’t she got a perfectly good mother?”

“Sure, she does. But girls that age.” He shook his head, and that was all, because we had reached the goldfish pond and the duchess and the duke, laughing warmly with a short, perspiring man who had materialized from nowhere. The duchess’s head turned in my direction. She wore a dress of pale blue silk and an expression of brief, unguarded discontent, and a shock ran down my limbs because I thought perhaps someone had made a terrible mistake—God knew what, maybe that invitation hadn’t been meant for me after all. But the duchess’s frown smoothed away as I reached her. Oh, the duchess. It’s a funny thing, when you encounter a face like that, a face you’ve seen frozen in a hundred two-dimensional photographs, and here it is before you, looking at you, alive. Those pungent blue eyes, that coronet of dark hair. That skin stretched over her cheeks and jaw, now endowed with breadth and depth and texture. Around her neck, a staggering circle of diamonds and rubies set off the blue of her eyes and her dress. How patriotic of her. She took my hand between two of hers and shook it firmly.