‘For as Rorschach is en route to Florence, it would be criminal not to accept their kind invitation that we break our journey and stay with them for a few weeks, to “catch our breath”, as your Papa’s great-aunt so kindly puts it,’ her mother had said.

Frank, who never enjoyed staying with his father’s Württemberg relations, had raised his eyes to heaven and sloped off in the company of Maudie, who, at every opportunity, was sticking to him like glue.

May watched bleakly as, in the deepening dusk, their trunks and travelling bags were loaded into the waiting carriages. Maudie, she knew, was heartsick at the prospect of Frank spending holidays from his public school in Florence, and not at White Lodge or Kensington Palace. It meant that whenever he was home she could no longer look forward to seeing him, and for the last few weeks her face had been permanently wan and frequently tear-stained.

May felt great sympathy for her, but she also knew that the sooner Maudie got over her fixation of one day marrying Frank, the better it would be, for it was a daydream that was never likely to happen. For one thing, although Frank liked Maudie and tolerated the way she sought him out and trailed in his wake, he didn’t have a crush on her as she had on him – and even if he’d had a crush on her, marriage would never be on the cards. As a daughter of the Prince of Wales, a suitably prestigious, dynastic marriage would already have been arranged for Maudie and she would have no option but to do her royal duty – duty that had been instilled in her, and in Toria, Looloo, Georgie and Eddy, from birth.

Royal duty was the reason a homesick Georgie was now firmly embarked on a career in the Royal Navy and was on the other side of the world. Royal duty was the reason Eddy had suffered years as a naval cadet, when May was certain that, given the choice, he would never have left dry land for even an hour. Royal duty was why, if Ella had been willing, Eddy would have been obliged to marry her, no matter what his private feelings might have been. Royal duty was why he would eventually marry someone else who had been selected for him – someone whose father was heir to the throne of a country that Britain wanted to forge closer, unbreakable ties with. To be royal (even to be semi-royal, as she was) was to not have a life of one’s own. If she had been able to have a life of her own, May would not now be about to leave the country of her birth, a country she identified with utterly and loved passionately.

‘Hurry along, Pussy-cat,’ her father said impatiently. ‘The last thing we want is to miss the train.’