AMELIA HAD PASSED ST James’s Palace many times, but she had never had occasion to enter before today. As she got out of the car, in the shadow of the looming red brick clock tower, she suppressed a shiver of unease.
Another of Arthur’s equerries fell in beside them as they entered the palace. Arthur had little to say to Amelia — and Amelia had nothing to say at all — but Arthur and the equerry spoke in low, urgent tones about meetings and timetables.
Quickly, they left the public, newer, and gaudier parts of the palace behind them. Red carpet and gilt furnishings gave way to plain dark walls and chill stone floors. It was like going back in time, centuries of British architecture and history giving way beneath Amelia’s feet. Some of this palace was as old as Kirkham House; some of it was
