“Vive le Roi! Vive le Roi!” they shouted.

“They’re calling for you, David, they’re calling for us. We have to greet them.” Wallis linked her arm in his and drew him onto the balcony. The people erupted in applause, and the pressmen across the street snapped pictures of Wallis and the Duke waving as if they were the King and Queen of England on the Buckingham Palace balcony on Armistice Day.

It reminded Amelia too much of Berlin and she wanted to pull them back inside. There was nothing more to this than waving but it didn’t sit right with her, as if they weren’t here for peace but for themselves. Guilt nagged at her for doubting Wallis, especially after everything Wallis had done for her, but she couldn’t shake the feeling. Whatever they were doing with this “prince of peace” business, she hoped they didn’t live to regret it as much as they had the abdication.

Paris, June 1939

The United States ambassador’s residence at 2 Avenue d’Iéna was filled with gilded woodwork and Louise XVI furniture overseen by a full-length portrait of George Washington. The doors to the magnificent garden were open and guests milled about in the cool evening air, accompanied by the soft notes of a grand piano. Wallis dazzled in her white dress, the pale color setting off the deep red of her ruby necklace. The distinguished guests danced and mingled to celebrate Wallis and the Duke’s June birthdays. With Wallis and the Duke safely occupied inside with Ambassador Bullitt, Amelia and Robert were free to explore the crushed-gravel path near the back of the walled garden. Amelia paused at a small pond to watch the goldfish flitter beneath the lily pads.

“We toured the military cemetery in Verdun the morning of the Duke’s NBC broadcast. The endless rows of white crosses were heartbreaking. If only the Duke’s speech had made a difference.” The Duke’s attempt at being a prince of peace had fizzled as fast as his crusade for workers. “All it did was cause more trouble for them with His Majesty’s Government.”

“And Britain. Herr Hitler views the Duke’s pleas for peace as British weakness.” Robert stood beside her, the two of them reflected in the water’s glassy surface. “The more uncertain things become, the more guarded he should be with what he says and does. He should also be careful with who he is and isn’t friends with.” Robert dug a coin out of his pocket and tossed it in the pond, sending ripples spreading across the still surface. “For instance, their staff. How many of them came from Bedaux’s château? They’re probably all spies.”

“If they are, they must be bored hearing about jewelry, clothes, and antiques. Buckingham Palace doesn’t send the Duke birthday cards much less dispatch boxes full of state secrets.”

“It doesn’t mean I’m wrong.”

Amelia fiddled with the skirt of her silver lamé dress, a piece more form-fitting than usual, run up by her Paris seamstress and modeled after one of Robert Piguet’s designs. All the servants in Germany had been spies. It wasn’t a stretch to believe the ones here might be too. “I’ve worked with Mademoiselle Moulichon and Mr. Hale since the wedding. I’ve never seen anything out of the ordinary with them.”

“I’m glad to hear it.”

They wandered deeper into the garden where the boxwood hedges were cut low to show off the many statues on pedestals adorning the walks. They stopped behind a statue of Diana the Huntress.

Amelia leaned against the smooth, cold stone, the goddess’s wide, flowing toga shielding them from the house and party. “What’ll happen to you if war comes?”

“I’ll stay in France until ordered to leave. What about you? Have you thought of returning to America before any trouble starts?”

“Everything I have is here, my work, my friends. It might take bombs to make me give it up.” She hadn’t saved enough to start her own business and she wasn’t likely to get a job in Washington, D.C., or Baltimore. She could use her connections to find a position in New York but the thought of starting over with an employer who viewed her as nothing more than an expendable employee, not a cousin, confidante, and cherished member of her staff, wasn’t appealing.

“Promise me, no matter what the Windsors do or where they go, you’ll follow your instincts and keep yourself safe.”

“My instincts haven’t always been reliable.”

“They’re better than you realize.” He rested one hand on the statue and brushed her cheek with the other, his touch light, comforting, and searching. “Promise me you’ll stay safe.”

They shouldn’t be intimate where anyone could see them but with the world hurtling toward an uncertain future, she couldn’t push him away. “I promise.”

“Good. It’ll give me one less thing to worry about if things go sideways.” He leaned down and pressed his lips to hers. She shifted closer and slid her fingers beneath the satin lapels of his tuxedo, delighting in the firmness of his chest beneath her fingertips. With war looming on the horizon, this could be their last time together and she didn’t want to waste it. She’d lived with enough regrets about Jackson and her family, she didn’t need any about Robert. He’d been a friend and confidant for the past year, never judging her, always believing in her. She couldn’t lose this. War might interrupt it but she wouldn’t willingly toss it aside.

Chapter Fifteen

Château de la Croë, September 1939

“Sir Walter called. Britain has declared war on Germany.” The Duke walked to the end of the diving board and with a graceful hop, sprung off it and into the pool. He swam to the shallow end, where Wallis, Amelia, and Mr. Metcalf stared at him in horrified silence.

War. It’d been rising all summer like the heat in the air in the mornings. Invitations to parties had been few and far between, and Wallis had canceled most of her picnics and dinners, unable to bear more regrets. The shuttered villas and empty hotels had made it seem as if no one but the Windsors, the Rogerses, and the Maughams were left in this corner of the world. Even the staff had been forced to reckon with it as one by one the footmen and even the chef had been called up for military duty. Only the men too old to serve, such as Mr. George Ladbroke, the new chauffeur, remained. Even Mr. Forwood had been forced to abandon his sovereign and rejoin his Scots Guards regiment. Mr. Hale should have gone back to England but Wallis had fought with Sir Walter to have him exempted from service so he could remain with her.

“We should make arrangements to return to England before it’s too late.” Mr. Metcalf rose from his chair, leaving his drink on the table to melt in the sun. He’d replaced Mr. Forwood as the Duke’s equerry while his wife remained safely in England. “With Germany on the move, the Italians might decide to invade and we’re too close to the border to be safe.”

“I’ll make train reservations to Paris. We can travel to the coast from there.” Amelia was eager to do more than sunbathe while the Germans plotted their next move.

“We aren’t going anywhere,” the Duke said while floating on his back. “We’re perfectly safe here; besides, with everyone else gone, there’ll be plenty of space on the trains for us and our things if we choose to leave.”

Amelia looked to Wallis, expecting her to insist they go. She sat in her lounge chair in her Nile-green bathing costume, oddly silent, her opinion and thoughts as hidden as her eyes behind her white sunglasses.

Amelia picked up the telephone receiver and turned the dial with a pencil, her fingers shaking too much to do it. She reached the operator, who tried to put her through to Robert at the Chancery but the line was blocked.

“I’ll ring you back when I make the connection.” The operator sounded as frazzled as Amelia. Thousands of people were clogging the phone lines with frantic calls home to decide what to do and where to go. It was a good hour later when the phone rang and the operator came on the line. “I have the connection.”

“Are you on the way back to Paris?” Robert asked.

Amelia breathed a sigh of relief at the sound of his voice. The German blitzkrieg was mowing over Poland like a tractor while governments scrambled to respond and here she was with Mr. Metcalf trying to convince Wallis and David to get to safety. They might as well bang their heads against a wall for all the good it was doing. “No, the Duke won’t leave. He doesn’t think we’re in danger. Are we?”

“The Germans aren’t likely to move from Poland just yet, giving everyone some breathing room, but if they decide to push through Belgium into France it could get bad. The King of England’s brother is a prized catch. The Windsors should get to England immediately.”

“Mr. Metcalf and I are trying to convince them but they won’t budge. I don’t know why they’re being so stubborn. Wallis is an expert at looking out for herself but she’s awfully cavalier about this.”

“Then you should go.”

“I can’t leave them to fend for themselves. Wallis would never abandon me like that, and they need people around who can talk some sense into them and help them when they finally decide to go. I don’t think they can even make train reservations by themselves. I also can’t leave the staff and merchants. I have to settle those accounts so they have money for food and whatever else they need for whatever is coming.”

“You never fail to think of others. I admire your sense of duty.”

“I just hope I don’t regret it. Besides, as much as the royal family doesn’t want them, they don’t want the Germans getting them either. If I stay with them, I should be safe.”

“True. One moment.” Muffled voices pulled him from the conversation before he returned to the line. “I have to go. Things are crazy here. Stay safe.”

“You too.” The line clicked silent and Amelia dropped the receiver on the base, missing the anchor of his voice. She was scared and wanted to be anywhere but here but she couldn’t leave. If she didn’t have work to keep her busy, she might dissolve into a puddle of tears the way Mademoiselle Moulichon did every night. She’d quietly made arrangements for the Windsors and their things to return to Paris, ready to flip the switch the minute the Duke and Wallis changed their minds.

If only they’d change their minds. She still couldn’t understand why they were being so stubborn.

She picked up the receiver and rang for the operator to put her through to the one person who might be able to convince Wallis and the Duke to leave.

“The plane is waiting to take you and your remaining staff to England. Space is limited so you can only bring one suitcase each,” Sir Walter explained. The poor man had barely had time to change since braving the Channel, a quick plane ride south, and the long drive to the château. The dark circles under his eyes and his wrinkled suit betrayed the strain of his travels, but at least he’d agreed to come when Amelia had explained the situation. She and Mr. Metcalf needed all the help they could get.

“Nonsense,” the Duke scoffed. “I’m a prince not a traveling salesman. I won’t spend this ridiculous war with nothing more than what I can stuff in a valise.”

“I won’t fly. I absolutely refuse.” Wallis was more hysterical about boarding a plane than possibly getting caught in a war zone. “I saw too many planes go down when I lived on the air base with Win. I won’t hurtle to the ground in a ball of flames.”

“You won’t have to.” The Duke patted her hand, the calming and reassuring one for once. “Because we aren’t leaving until my brother grants her the Royal Highness title, and the Queen and my mother agree to meet and acknowledge her. No more pretending she doesn’t exist or she isn’t the center of my life. They’ll place an announcement of the meetings in the Court Circular in order to assure her social acceptance.”

Amelia held back a groan. Now wasn’t the time to discuss this.

“I’ll convey your wishes to His Majesty but at present, there are more pressing matters than etiquette and society.”