On the journey home he joined her in the back, shutting the partition so that they could speak privately.

“You had no right to do that without consulting me first,” he growled.

“I only thought of it at the last minute. Besides, it's perfect. You can keep me from making mistakes.”

“Like the one you just made?”

“I'm sorry for the way I did it, but that's all.”

“Then let me give you my first piece of advice as your confidential, private secretary. Don't ever, ever take me by surprise again.”

His reaction gave her a sense of disappointment that cut sharply and made her snap back, “I'm the crown princess. I can do anything I like.”

“Not anything.”

“Yes, anything. If you don't believe me, read the constitution. And if you say another word I'll declare a state of emergency.”

That silenced him. They spoke little on the way back to the palace, and Dottie had supper alone, feeling let down. She confided in Aunt Liz, and was surprised when the older woman seemed troubled.

“You don't think I did the right thing?”

“It depends what you were trying to tell people,” Aunt Liz said cautiously. “Naturally you need Randolph at your side, but people were thinking… That is they hoped-”

“That I would marry him? Suppose I don't want to?”

“Then the sensible option is to keep him by you as a servant. Which is what you've done.”

Dottie's hand flew to her mouth in horror. “A servant? Oh no! That's not what I meant at all. I meant to honor him.”

“You think he's honored to be a secretary? A royal prince? Not that he's a royal prince now. Or any kind of prince.”

“What is he then?” Dottie asked curiously. “Surely he has some other titles?”

“He lost all his titles since he was illegitimate.”

“What, everything? And what about his estate? I know he still has that.”

“That was a personal gift from his father years ago, so it's safe. But it's all he has now, and it's a very small place. Just a retreat, really.” She considered Dottie before saying casually, “Of course, you could always make him a prince again. Not a royal prince, and it wouldn't make him legitimate, but you could give him a courtesy title that would make his life a lot easier.”

“Did he ask you to suggest that?”

“Oh my dear, if you haven't understood that he'd go to the stake rather than ask, even indirectly, then you haven't begun to understand him.”

“No, I suppose I don't understand him. But he doesn't want me to, I understand that much. He'd see it as a sort of invasion. Oh heavens! I've done it all wrong. I'm always going to do everything wrong. Why didn't I think? Because I never think. I'm an idiot, a clown. I have no right to be here. Oh damn!”

Of the twelve candidates to be her ladies-in-waiting, the only one Dottie knew was Jeanie, Countess Batz, whom she'd met when they'd all gone to the nightclub. The others had briefly passed before her and been lost in a blur. Dottie immediately picked her.

“A good choice as a lady-in-waiting,” Aunt Liz enthused, “although perhaps a little young to be your chief lady.”

“I suppose I'll see more of the chief lady than the others?”

“Certainly.”

“Then I'll have Jeanie. I like her. Besides, her English is perfect.”

“They all speak perfect English,” Randolph remarked from a nearby table, where he was making notes. He didn't raise his head or look at her.

“I want Jeanie,” Dottie said stubbornly.

“As Your Royal Highness commands,” Aunt Liz agreed.

“Oh, don't give me that,” Dottie said crisply. “I did exactly what the two of you meant me to do. I'll bet you put your heads together and said, 'How can we make her choose Jeanie for chief lady? Oh yes, tell her Jeanie's unsuitable and watch her take the bait.' You were like a pair of sheepdogs corralling me into the pen.”

They were both looking at her now. She looked back, not defiantly but evenly, like a businesswoman setting out her terms. “Okay, it worked. Just don't kid yourself that I didn't see it happening. I may be ditzy but I'm not daft.”

“Of course you're not,” Liz enthused. “That's just what Randolph told your ministers. 'Like a ferret up a drainpipe,' he said.”

“Did he indeed?” Dottie murmured. “How interesting. It seems I'm not the only one learning things.”

Randolph gathered his papers and prepared to depart, but paused beside her first to murmur, “Well done, ma'am. You're getting good at the game.”

“You mean the game of never trusting anyone?”

she murmured back. “Yes, I was sorry to learn that one, but I manage better now that I have.”

She met Randolph's eyes. His fell first. These days it seemed that every conversation between them ended in some awkwardness. The gap between them yawned, unbridgeable, heartbreaking.

But Dottie was getting good at the nuances of court life. When she made her next move it was carefully planned.

She had just taken part in her first investiture. In front of a small audience twenty people came before her, bent one leg onto a small stool so that they were half-kneeling, and just the right height for her to pin on a medal, or bestow a title.

Randolph stood beside her, telling her who each one was, and how they had deserved honor, and when it was over and they were walking back to her apartments, she said casually, “Harold will be here soon. I'm working hard to learn everything I need to know, but I'm still floundering. Never mind. You'll be there to look after me all the time, won't you?”

“I'm afraid not,” he said.

“But why?” she asked in apparent surprise, although she already knew the answer.

“Because I'm only your secretary, and you can't keep me by you on state occasions. Naturally I'll help you behind the scenes-”

“No good. I want you 'on stage' with me.”

“That honor belongs to someone from a titled family. This is a very old-fashioned court, still. Tradition prevails. Only those of the highest rank may attend the monarch in public.”

“Then the solution's easy. I just restore your titles. Plus all,” she began to quote frantically before she could forget, “appurtenances and privileges theretofore, not withstanding, herinafter, thingywhatsit and howsyourfather.”

His lips twitched. “You've been doing your homework very well.”

“And landed estates,” she finished triumphantly.

“No, that you can't do. They are crown heritage and must belong to you. But the rest-” he broke off, sorely tempted.

Then he remembered the ceremony he'd just witnessed. He thought of kneeling before her; he who'd kneeled to nobody in his life, and his pride revolted. He was about to tell her stiffly that he would prefer not to receive her charity, but he saw her watching him anxiously, and realized how hard she'd worked to make this easy for him. His heart softened.

“Thank you, ma'am,” he said gravely. “It's a kind offer, and I accept.”

Her smile of relief told him how nervous she'd been of his reaction, and he was shocked at himself. He couldn't match her generosity. He could only pretend to and hope she didn't suspect.

She arranged the ceremony so quickly that he guessed she'd had everything planned. There was a small crowd, a few of the highest ranking families, the women in evening gowns and jewels, the men ablaze with decorations. Dottie was glittering with diamonds from the crown jewels, retrieved from the bank that morning under armed guard.

Randolph himself was in full dress uniform and Dottie, watching him walk toward her, thought he'd never looked so splendid. She knew this must be painful for him, but if only he would smile at her they could share the moment and turn the pain aside.

But he gave her no smile. His face remained stern and set as he neared the steps that led up to the throne, beside which she was standing. He climbed the steps, his eyes searching for the stool on which he must bend the knee.

It wasn't there.

His eyes met hers, registering his surprise that this detail had been forgotten. Then he saw her smile, saw her shake her head slightly and understood that this was no accident. The next moment she confirmed it, reaching out her hand to draw him to stand at her side.

She began to read from the letters patent that returned his status. Inwardly Randolph flinched, waiting for the words, “our loyal and most devoted servant.” It was foolish to be so troubled by a few words, after what he'd already endured, but every pinprick seemed to pierce him twice now.

She was nearly there. As if from a distance he heard Dottie say, “our loyal and most devoted cousin and friend…”

A frisson went around the crowd. She'd departed from the traditional words of the letters patent, words that had been carved in stone for centuries. She'd simply dumped them to spare the feelings of the man beside her. Randolph stared at Dottie, shock warring with gratitude.

Next moment she had another shock for him. Refusing to let him kiss her hand she reached up and kissed his cheek. Then she took his hand and gestured to the applauding crowd, presenting him to them, inviting them to share her pleasure.

Randolph was aware of a dangerous ache in his throat. It mustn't happen. He had to speak. Somehow he managed it. The discipline held, the words came out, meaningless because all he was aware of was Dottie's hand still holding his.

It was over. He turned, went down the steps and walked away. But before he did so he tightened his hand on hers and felt the answering grasp of her fingers. They felt so small against his big hand, but their grip was surprisingly strong.

That was how they communicated these days; through public gestures filled with unspoken emotion, while their private conversations were awkward and uneasy.

Everyone agreed that inviting Harold for a state visit had been a brilliant idea, but it resulted in Dottie needing a crash course in “royal” behavior.

She, who'd never been to a formal dinner in her life, must become familiar with a whole array of cutlery, wineglasses, finger bowls. That was the easy part. It was the conversation that drove her distracted.

“Can't I just smile and say, 'My, how interesting'?” she begged.

“Certainly,” Jeanie agreed. She'd entered into her new duties, and her youth and fun-loving nature were just what Dottie needed.

“You can say, 'My how interesting' when you're visiting a hospital or meeting a line of actors after the theater,” she explained now. “But in a longer conversation it's not enough. You have to introduce a new topic now and then.”

“But why can't other people do that?” Dottie demanded distractedly. “Then I could just float with the tide, and say 'My, how interesting!' at short intervals.”

“Because only you can change the subject.”

“What?”

“Nobody but you can introduce a new topic. If the sovereign wants to discuss one-legged spiders all night then that's what everyone has to do.”

“I'm outta here.”

“Now don't panic.”

“Panic? I'm in a state of stark terror. You're all crazy.”

The other thing she had trouble with was the royal “we.”

“You're not just one person,” Randolph explained. “You represent the state. In fact, you are the state. So you're speaking for both of you.”

“Both of who?”

“You and the state.”

“But you just said I was the state. So that's just one of us, isn't it?”

“In a sense. But you are you and the state is the state.”

“Except that I'm the state, and the state is me.”

To her surprise he beamed. “Excellent Dottie. Louis XIV expressed it in those very words. L'etat c'est moi!”

“Why didn't he speak English?”

“Because he was French.”

She tore her hair. “How did he get into this conversation?”

“Because you used the very same words, thus proving that you really do belong in the great line-up of rulers. Just remember, you use the royal 'we' to indicate that you speak for your country as well.”

“But I'll sound daft saying, 'We would like another slice of toast.' I'll probably end up with two.”

Randolph closed his eyes. “It's only for use in public,” he said with difficulty. “'We are delighted to declare that…' or 'It is our wish that…' And so on.”

“Okay, I'll try to get the hang of it. Now, would you mind going because it's late and we would like to do our toenails before we go to bed?”

In between learning the proprieties, she interested herself in politics in a way that set her ministers' nerves jangling. At the earliest possible date she carried out her threat to summon Enderlin to discuss the low number of women in parliament.

“There really is nothing to be done about it,” he protested. “Women aren't applying to stand for seats.”