‘Many German princesses before you have married into the House of Romanov,’ she said, deep concern now replacing her anger, ‘and none of their marriages were happy. With the exception of the present Tsar, Romanov men do not make good husbands. Do you know why Sergei was such a regular visitor with his mother to Darmstadt when you were a child? It was because his father, the late Tsar, had moved his mistress into the Winter Palace in a suite of rooms immediately above her; a mistress whom, the moment his wife died of a broken heart, he married. Even your Aunt Marie’s marriage to Uncle Affie is not a happy one. English and Russian temperaments are just as incompatible as German and Russian temperaments. I fear very much for your future happiness, dear Ella, if you persist in this ill-advised engagement, most especially because of the unpleasant rumours as to Grand Duke Sergei’s tyrannical nature.’

Ella squeezed the pudgy, aged-spotted hand. ‘Dearest Granny, I suspect that all the marriages you are speaking of were arranged marriages, where the bride and groom were given very little time to get to know each other. That doesn’t apply to Sergei and me. I’ve known him since before I could walk – and I am well aware of the unpleasant gossip that surrounds him, but gossipmongers rarely ever speak the truth, and I don’t believe they do so where Sergei is concerned. It is true he has a brusque manner and that in his role as Commander of the 1st Battalion Preobrazhensky Regiment he can be a little harsh, but marriage to me will be good for him. My love will soften his nature and will ease his grief and rage over the hideous manner of his father’s assassination. Sergei needs me, Granny.’ Her eyes held the Queen’s, shining with love and conviction. ‘And I need to be needed, Granny. Over the last year I’ve discovered that being needed is what fulfils me.’

When she emerged from their tête-à-tête, Ella did so composed and dry-eyed. Deeply satisfied with the way she had obviously handled a tricky situation, Sergei strode to her side and put his arm around her waist. The congratulations for them continued. It was Willy’s hoydenish sister Charlotte, never seen without a cigarette in her hand, who asked the question Alicky thought the most important.

‘So how long before the wedding, Ella?’ she asked bluntly. ‘Willy won’t want to be a guest at it. You do know that, don’t you?’

‘That’s up to Willy,’ Sergei said before Ella could make a diplomatic reply. ‘And to answer your question, Charlotte, the wedding will be in six weeks’ time.’