“It all seemed so incredibly selfish of her,” Sarah said quietly. “And so unfair to him. It’s really very sad.” She spoke with real feeling, having felt a terrible bond with her in recent years. But the stigma of divorce seemed to weigh a great deal more heavily on Sarah than it did on Wallis.

“She’s not really a bad person. But shrewd. I always thought she knew what she was doing. My cousin … the duke”-—as though he needed to explain—“gave heir over a million dollars worth of jewels before they were even married. He gave her the Mogul Emerald as an engagement ring. He had Jacques Cartier himself find it for him, and he did, in Baghdad, and they set it for him, or rather, for Wallis. It’s the most extraordinary thing I’ve ever seen, but I’ve always rather liked emeralds.” It was fascinating hearing him make comments on the jewels they’d seen, rather like a surprisingly intimate tour guide. He didn’t tell them gossipy things, but he told them about jewels made for Alexander the Great, and necklaces given to Josephine by Napoleon, and tiaras designed for Queen Victoria. There was even a remarkably pretty diamond-and-turquoise one she had worn as a young girl, which he made Sarah try on, and on her dark hair, it looked lovely. “You should have one of those,” he said softly.

“I could wear it on my farm.” She smiled up at him and he made a face.

“You’re irreverent. Here you are, wearing a tiara Queen Victoria wore as a young girl, and what do you do, you talk about a farmhouse! Dreadful girl!” But it was obvious that he didn’t think so.

They stayed with him there until late in the afternoon, and it was a rich lesson in history and the quirks and habits and foibles of the monarchs of England. It was an experience none of them could have had without him, and the elder Thompsons thanked him effusively as they returned to his Daimler.

“It is rather amusing, isn’t it? I’ve always loved going there. My father took me there for the first time. He used to love to buy interesting jewels for my mother. I’m afraid she doesn’t wear them anymore. She’s gotten a bit frail, and she seldom goes out now. She still looks marvelous in them, but she claims now that she feels foolish.”

“She can’t be very old,” Sarah’s mother said protectively. She herself was only forty-seven. She had had Jane when she was twenty-three, and she had married Edward at twenty-one, and lost her first baby the year after.

“She’s eighty-three,” William said proudly. “She’s absolutely superb, and she doesn’t really look a day over sixty. But she broke her hip, I’m afraid, last year, and it’s made her a bit skittish about going out on her own. I try to take her out myself when I can, but it isn’t always easy.”

“Are you the youngest of a large family?” Victoria was intrigued by what he’d said, but he shook his head, and said he was an only child.

“My parents had been married for thirty years when I was born, and they had long since given up any hope of having children. My mother always says it was a miracle, a blessing straight from God, if you’ll pardon me for being so pompous.” He grinned mischievously at them. “My father always said that it was a bit of the devil. He died several years ago, and he was a charming man. You would have liked him,” he assured them as he started the Daimler. “My mother was forty-eight years old when I was born, which really is quite amazing. My father was sixty, and he was eighty-five when he died, which isn’t bad. I must admit, I miss him. Anyway, the old girl is quite a character. Perhaps you’ll have a chance to meet her before you leave London.” He looked at Sarah hopefully, but she was looking pensively out the window. She was thinking that she was too comfortable with him, that it was all too easy. But the truth was that it wasn’t easy at all. They could never be more than passing friends, and she had to keep reminding herself of that, particularly when he looked at her a certain way, or made her laugh, or reached out and took her hand. There was no way they could ever be anything more to each other. Nothing more than friends. She was going to be divorced. And he stood fourteenth in line to the British throne. When they arrived at the hotel, he looked down at her as he helped her from the car, and he saw that she looked worried.

“Is something wrong?” He wondered if he had said something to offend her, but she had seemed to have such a good time, and she had clearly enjoyed trying on die jewels in the Tower. But she was angry at herself, she felt as though she was misleading him, and she owed him an explanation. He had a right to know who and what she was, before he wasted any more kindness on her.

“No, I’m sorry, I just have a headache.”

“It must have been that stupid, heavy crown I made you try on. Sarah, I’m terribly sorry.” He was instantly contrite, which made her feel even worse.

“Don’t be silly. I’m just tired.”

“You didn’t eat enough lunch.” Her father reproached her, he had seen the look of dismay on the younger man’s face and felt sorry for him.

“I was going to invite you all out to dinner.”

“Maybe another time,” Sarah was quick to say, and her mother looked at her with an unspoken question.

“Maybe if you lie down,” she suggested hopefully, and William watched Sarah’s face He knew that there was something more going on, and he wondered if there was a man involved in it. Perhaps she was engaged to someone, and she was embarrassed to tell him. Or her fiancé had died. She had mentioned a year of great sorrow. … He wanted to know more, but he didn’t want to press her.

“Perhaps tomorrow for lunch?” He looked Sarah straight in the eye and she started to speak and then stopped.

“I … I had a wonderful time today.” She wanted to reassure him. Her parents thanked him and disappeared upstairs. The two young people had earned the right to be alone, as far as they were concerned, and they sensed that Sarah was having some inner conflicts about him.

“What do you think she’s going to say to him?” Victoria asked her husband with a worried frown, as they rode upstairs.

“I’m not sure I want to know. But he’ll weather it. He’s a good man, Victoria. He’s the kind of boy I’d like to see her settle down with.”

“So would I.” But they both knew there was no real hope of that. He would never be allowed to marry a divorced woman, and they all knew it.

Downstairs, in the lobby, William was looking at Sarah, and she was being vague in answer to his questions.

“Could we go for a walk somewhere? Do you feel up to that?” She did, of course, but what was the point of going anywhere with him, or even seeing him again? What if she fell in love with him? Or he with her? Then what would they do? But on the other hand, it seemed ridiculous to think of falling in love with a man she had just met, and whom she would never see again once she left England.

“I think I’m just being very stupid.” She smiled. “I haven’t been around people in a long time … not men, anyway … and I think I’ve forgotten how to behave. I’m really sorry, William.”

“It’s all right. Would you like to sit down?” She nodded and they found a quiet spot in the corner of the lobby. “Have you been in a convent for the past year?” he asked her, only half teasing.

“More or less. Actually, I threatened that for a while. It was more like a convent of my own making. I stayed in my parents’ beach home on Long Island.” She said it quietly, he had a right to know, and it didn’t seem so unusual now, or as desperate as it had then. Sometimes it was hard to remember just how terrible she had felt when she’d been there.

“And you stayed there for a year without seeing anyone?” She nodded silently in answer, her eyes never leaving his, not sure what she should tell him. “That’s an awfully long time. Did it help?”

“I’m not sure,” she sighed as she spoke honestly to him, “It seemed to at the time. But it made it very difficult to come back out into the world again. That’s why we came here.”

“Europe is a good place to start.” He smiled gently at her, and decided not to ask her any difficult questions. He didn’t want to scare her off, or cause her pain. He was falling in love with her, and the last thing he wanted was to lose her. “I’m glad you came here.”

“So am I,” she said softly, and she meant it.

“Will you have dinner with me tonight?”

“I … I’m not sure … I think we were going to the theater”—but it was a play she knew she didn’t want to see—The Corn Is Green, by Emlyn Williams. “I really should ask my parents.”

“If not, then tomorrow?”

“William…” She seemed about to say something important to him, and then she stopped, and looked at him squarely. “Why do you want to see me?” If the question seemed rude to him, he didn’t show it.

“I think you’re a very special girl. I’ve never met anyone like you.”

“But I’ll be gone in a few weeks. What’s the point of all this, for either of us?” What she really wanted to say to him was that she knew there could be no future for them together. And knowing that, it seemed foolish to pursue their friendship.

“The point is that I like you … very much … why don’t we face your going when we get there?” It was a philosophy of his, live for today, I’ve for now, don’t borrow trouble from the future.

“And in the meantime?” She wanted guarantees that no one would get hurt, but even William couldn’t promise her that, no matter how much he liked her. He knew neither her history nor what the future held for them.

“Why don’t we just see…. Will you have dinner with me?”

She hesitated, looking up at him, not because she didn’t want to, but because she did, too much so. “Yes, I will,” she said slowly.

“Thank you.” He looked at her quietly for what seemed like a long time, and then they stood up, and the men at the desk noticed how handsome they were, and how well they looked together. “I'll pick you up at eight o’clock then.”