In their apartment in the Kremlin Palace where they had spent the night after their ceremonial entry into the city, Alicky woke early, still clasped in Nicky’s arms. Coronation Day. Not just Nicky’s Coronation Day, but her Coronation Day also. As Head of the Orthodox Church, Nicky would crown himself, and then crown her. She wondered what her mother would have thought of her little girl one day being crowned Her Imperial Majesty The Empress of all the Russias.

The little girl who had been born and brought up in the small and modest court of Hesse-Darmstadt, being shown by her English mother how to make her own bed, darn her own stockings and mend her own clothes, seemed light years away.

As a child, and despite having been born in Germany and having a German father, Alicky had spoken English long before she had spoken German. She had grown up regarding Osborne House, Windsor and Balmoral as much family homes as the New Palace was her family home, and she had always thought of herself as being English. And now she would never again do so, for from today all her loyalties would be to Russia.

The dim interior of the Cathedral of the Assumption was lit by hundreds upon hundreds of candles. Beneath clouds of swirling incense, more than a thousand of Europe’s royalty and nobility stood in the flickering light, squeezed shoulder-to-shoulder. Their eyes focused on the two slight figures who, beneath a purple canopy, were seated on diamond-encrusted coronation thrones.

‘How many more hours do you think it will be before we can totter into the fresh air and sunlight?’ Ducky whispered to Missy, hoping to ease her backache by transferring her weight from one foot to the other.

‘An age. Nicky hasn’t been invested with his regalia yet. Alicky hasn’t ever been high on my favourite-cousin list, but I must admit she really does look the part. When it comes to imperiousness, no one does it better. Not even Granny Queen.’

From somewhere unseen, a choir began to sing.

Ducky stood on tiptoe, trying to give herself more height and catch a glimpse of Kyril.

Ernie, who was standing on the other side of her, said out of the corner of his mouth, ‘Do stop fidgeting, Ducky. At least you’re half-Russian and accustomed to all this kerfuffle. If Nicky has to crown himself, why doesn’t he get a move on and get it over with?’

‘Did you catch a glimpse?’ Missy whispered from the other side of her, knowing full well what it was Ducky had been trying to do.

‘Yes,’ she whispered back.

‘And how did he look?’

‘Divine and unobtainable.’ She wiped a tear away.

Thinking the tear was caused by the emotion of the scene, for a gold-robed priest had now begun investing Nicky with his regalia, Ernie was impressed.