WITH THE COCKTAIL HOUR before the meal in full swing, Amelia and Arthur followed the rest of the arrivals to the orangerie, which contained no actual orange trees that Amelia could tell. There were only slender marble columns and large dark windows that reflected the lights and colors of the room back at them.
Arthur acquired two glasses of wine and handed one to her. “Who do you want to talk to?” he asked, taking a sip from his own.
“I’m sorry?”
“I’m the Prince of Wales, people like to talk to me. If we must socialize, we might as well choose our company.”
Amelia wasn’t sure if Arthur’s surliness was an affectation or not, but she was delighted nonetheless. “Well, who is here?”
Before Arthur could point anyone out to her, a couple swept up to them — the man with fine, thinning blond
