She didn’t remember Frittie, for she had been a baby when, after falling through an open bedroom window, he had bled to death, a victim of the family bleeding disease, haemophilia. Her mother had, however, often spoken to her about Frittie and of how they would all one day meet in heaven – something she devoutly believed her mother and Frittie had now done. Frittie’s bedroom had been kept exactly as it had been on the day he had died, and Alicky knew it would be nice and quiet in there and that she would be able to think of tomorrow and of how one day she, too, would be a beautiful bride.

A fierce glow spread through her from head to toe. When that day came, she would have someone of her very own – someone even more special than a Kindred Spirit; someone who would be her soulmate forever and ever; someone who would be her soulmate for eternity.

The day preceding the wedding was a hive of frenzied activity. Last-minute alterations to bridesmaid dresses were made, ancient family silver was given a last hard polishing and, under Irène’s careful eyes, the gardeners brought in armful after armful of white roses from the palace gardens.

‘And now for the best bit of the wedding preparations,’ Irène said, taking Alicky by the hand, ‘the decorating of the chapel with the roses. I had intended doing it on my own, but on reflection, I think I’m going to need a little help.’

Alicky’s cheeks flushed with pleasure. ‘Will there be white roses in my bridesmaid’s bouquet?’ she asked as they made their way to the family’s private chapel in the east wing of the palace.

‘No, sweetheart. You and Marie-Louise will be carrying posies of lily-of-the-valley.’

Alicky was disappointed, but was too polite to let her disappointment show. ‘And what will be in Vicky’s bouquet?’ she asked, as the general hubbub taking place in the main rooms of the palace receded.

Irène, who was much enjoying this interlude of private time with her little sister, said, ‘Vicky’s bouquet will be white roses mixed with white gardenias and stephanotis. Stephanotis,’ she added as they entered the chapel, ‘signifies “marital happiness” and I’m quite sure that is what Vicky will enjoy with Louis.’

Alicky was to remember the afternoon she spent carefully wrapping rose stems in white satin ribbon, pinning fan-shaped bouquets of them on the ends of the pews, filling vase after vase to mass the many stained-glass windows – paying particular attention to Frittie’s commemoration window – as the last time that, for days, her stomach wasn’t a knot of churning nerves.