There had been so many occasions in the past when there had been more laughter, more joy, and at a fraction of the cost. She remembered them with nostalgia.

But the Prince of Wales lived well beyond his means, and had done so for years. No one was surprised anymore at his huge house parties, shooting weekends, days at the races where fortunes were gambled, made and lost, at his gargantuan dinners or overgenerous gifts to favorites of one sort or another. Many no longer even commented on it.

“Do you know Charles Voisey?” he enquired. Voisey was at his elbow, courtesy demanded it. “Voisey, Lady Vespasia Cumming-Gould. We have known each other longer than either of us cares to remember. We should telescope it all together.” He gestured with his hands. “Take out all the tedious bits between and keep only the laughter and the music, the good dinners, the conversations, and perhaps a little dancing. Then we should be about the right age, shouldn’t we?”

She smiled. “That is the best suggestion I have heard in years, sir,” she said with enthusiasm. “I don’t even mind keeping some of the tragedy, or even the quarrels-let us simply get rid of all the tedious hours, the exchanging of phrases that neither of us means, the standing around, the polite lies. That would take years away.”

“You are right! You are right!” he agreed, conviction in his face. “I did not realize until this moment how much I had missed you. I refuse to allow it to happen again. I spend years of my life in duty. I swear I am not convinced that those I spend it with are any better pleased with it than I am! We make utterly predictable remarks, wait for the other to reply, and then move on to the next equally predictable response.”

“I fear it is part of royal duty, sir,” Voisey put in, “as long as we have a throne and a monarch upon it. I can think of no way in which it could be changed.”