Sissons swallowed. “All of them… sir.”

“Yes… quite so.” The Prince was looking decidedly unhappy now. His desire to escape this absurd situation was palpable.

Randolph Churchill took the liberty of interrupting. Vespasia was not surprised. She knew his relationship with the Prince of Wales was long and had varied. It had been one of extreme hatred over the Aylesford affair in 1876, when the Prince had actually challenged him to a duel with guns-to be fought in Paris, such a thing being illegal in England. Sixteen years ago the Prince had publicly refused to enter the house of anyone who received the Churchills. Consequently they had been almost entirely ostracized.

Eventually it had all died down, and Jennie Churchill, Randolph ’s wife, had so charmed the Prince-apparently enough to become one of his many mistresses-that he willingly dined at their home in Connaught Place and gave her expensive gifts. Randolph was back in favor. As well as being appointed leader of the House of Commons and Chancellor of the Exchequer, two of the highest offices in the land, he was the closest personal confidante of the Prince, sharing sporting and social events, giving advice and receiving praise and trust.

Now he stepped in to relieve a tedious situation.

“Of course you have to… er… Sissons,” he said cheerfully.

“Only way to conduct a business, what? But this is a time for enjoyment. Have some more champagne; it’s excellent.” He turned to the Prince. “I must congratulate you, sir, an exquisite choice. I don’t know how you do it.”

The Prince brightened considerably. He was with one of his own, a man he could trust not only politically but socially.

“It is rather, isn’t it? Did well there.”

“Superbly,” Churchill agreed, smiling. He was a beautifully dressed man of average height with regular features and a very wide, turned-up mustache which gave him a distinguished air. His manner was one of unquenchable pride. “I fancy it calls for something succulent to eat, to complement it. May I have something sent for you, sir?”