The despair Eddy had felt on entering the room was deepening with every passing second. He looked around in the vain hope of finding help, but saw only his Aunt Beatrice who, despite her marriage to Henry of Battenberg, was still her mother’s constant companion – something Toria had told him had been one of the Queen’s conditions when she had given Beatrice and Henry permission to marry; and the other person in the room was the Munshi, the Queen’s Indian servant, who was kept even more permanently in the royal presence than poor, put-upon Beatrice. Resplendent in a turban and Indian robes, he was standing in front of the room’s closed double doors, his arms folded, as if daring Eddy to make a bolt for it.

With all hope at rock-bottom, Eddy returned his attention to his implacable grandmother. ‘Willy,’ she said, resolutely pursuing her agenda, ‘is growing very irate at this long, drawn-out wait for matters to be settled. He feels your procrastination in not yet having formally proposed to Mossy is not only an insult to his sister, but an insult to him.’

For a terrifying moment Eddy thought she was about to add that it was an insult to her, as well. Mercifully she didn’t do so, but his stomach still heaved. Even as a child, when Cousin Willy was irate, he had been like a bull in a china shop. Now that he was the Kaiser, there was no telling how he might give rein to his temper; he might even go so far as to break off diplomatic relations with England.

‘I’m sorry Willy should feel like that,’ he said, the reminder that marriage to Mossy would make Willy his brother-in-law only making him more determined than ever that he wasn’t going to be brow-beaten into proposing to her. Summoning up all his courage, he said, ‘But I think Willy would be even more irate if I was to marry Mossy and, when I do not love her, make her unhappy.’

‘Between two healthy young people it is very easy for love to grow.’

‘Or for it not to, Grandmama.’ He wondered if he should cite as examples his Uncle Affie’s marriage to Russian Aunt Marie, for everyone knew that although they put up a good front, Aunt Marie bitterly regretted marrying Uncle Affie; or his Aunt Louise’s marriage to Lord Lorne, which was so unsatisfactory they rarely lived together.

There was silence and Eddy wondered if his last response was about to bring the world tumbling down upon his head.

His Aunt Beatrice, who was wondering the same thing, shot him an agonized glance.

The Munshi smirked.