Still, Harold had been a very nice man. Camille considered herself fortunate to have found him, and they had been, for the most part, happy or at least content. His demands on her had been minimal through the eight years of their marriage. She had proven herself an excellent wife and, indeed, she had been quite fond of him. Why, she hadn’t even considered dallying with another man for a full two years after his death, out of respect. Even now, four years after his passing, she still rather missed Harold.

“And you’re doing it all to impress a man—”

“Not merely a man. A prince,” Camille said in a lofty manner. Yes, both of her sisters had married well, and Beryl’s second husband might well be prime minister someday, but neither of her sisters had ever come close to genuine royalty. “Prince Nikolai Pruzinsky, of the ruling family of the Kingdom of . . . of . . . Oh, I can’t remember where, but it’s one of those tiny countries that litter Central Europe.”

“But you barely know this man.”

“Marriage will solve that.”

“Still, this scheme of yours seems rather excessive.”

“Perhaps it is, but it’s well worth the trouble and the expense. He has an immense fortune and his own castle—besides which, he is quite handsome and dashing, and, well, he’s a prince. Which means I shall be a princess. He is everything I have ever wanted and he is this close”—Camille held up her hand and pinched her forefinger and thumb to within an inch of each other—“to proposing. He hasn’t actually said the words yet, but he has dropped more than a few hints. I’m confident all he needs now is to be assured that our family is worthy of being elevated to royalty.”

“Which you shall prove by presenting him with a proper English family and a proper English Christmas?”

“Exactly.” Camille nodded.

Beryl refilled her cup from the pot on their table and Camille knew—the way one twin nearly always knew what the other was thinking—her sister was choosing her words with care. “It seems to me that, should you indeed marry him, at some point in time he shall have to meet Mother and Delilah and Uncle Basil. The real ones, that is. Perhaps at the wedding. Have you considered that?”

“Admittedly, I have not worked it all out, but I will.” She waved off her sister’s comment. “First and foremost is Christmas, which involves a great deal of planning. You may not have noticed, but Christmas is bearing down upon us with the inevitability of a . . . a . . .”

“A boulder rolling downhill ready to obliterate all in its path?” Beryl asked with an overly sweet smile.

“I wouldn’t put it quite that way, but yes.”

“And after Christmas? What then?”