TWO DAYS LATER AMELIA was met at the reception area of Buckingham Palace by the same footman as the first time and led upstairs, not to the reception room she’d been taken to before but to an office. The room was empty, and her escort shut the door after depositing her there, leaving her alone.
Arthur’s public office here at Buckingham Palace, she assumed. It was a dreadfully impersonal place, richly decorated in deep blue velvets and a truly excessive amount of gold braid and gilt paint. She hoped he didn’t spend a lot of time here, both because she couldn’t imagine anyone doing actual work here and because she dreaded that the room had been decorated to his tastes. There was a desk, centuries old by the look of it, facing the windows that looked out onto the drab inner courtyard of the
