“That doesn't mean she'll want to come to Elluria,” Randolph pointed out.

“To have risen so high, so young she must also be ambitious,” Durmand said hastily. “She will welcome the chance to broaden her horizons.”

“My dear Prime Minister, you're creating a fantasy figure to suit yourself,” Randolph said sharply. “You have only to add that a hotel manageress's training is the ideal basis to become queen of Elluria.”

“In so far as it requires elegance and authority, that may be true,” Durmand defended himself.

Randolph sighed. “Perhaps I can't blame you. We're all hoping for the best. Let us hope that she is the paragon of your imagination.”

“There's only one way to find out,” Durmand said. “She must be sought out and brought here without delay.”

When he left the room Randolph headed for the elegant apartment that was reserved for Countess Sophie Bekendorf when she was visiting the palace. She'd been there often recently, preparing for the wedding that would make her Randolph's princess, and eventually his queen. Her life too had been overturned, he reminded himself. She was five years his junior, and their marriage had been planned in her cradle. He admired her and knew how perfectly she would have adorned a throne.

She smiled and rose when he entered, crossing the floor quickly, looking into his face. Her tall slim figure had been tautened by hours of riding. Her face was beautiful, though marred by a slight hardness in her eyes. Her manners were elegant and commanding. She knew who was worthy of her smiles, and who not.

She was all anxiety, taking Randolph's hand. “Was it very bad, my poor dear?” she asked gently.

“Worse than I can say. The heir turns out to be a hotel manageress in England. Her name is Dorothea Hebden.”

“It's impossible!” she said violently. “A servant.”

“Not quite. She seems to have achieved some authority-”