“Why are they still there?” Sir Walter asked when Amelia finally got through to him in London.

“The Duke says he won’t have Wallis sleeping in cars again, and he’ll only leave if His Majesty sends a destroyer for them and all their things.”

“There isn’t one to send. Doesn’t he understand? Britain is fighting for her very existence. The intractable fool.”

Things must be bad for Sir Walter to lose his cool. It took every ounce of Amelia’s strength not to run for the next ship to America, assuming she could find passage.

“Is there something else going on?” Sir Walter asked.

“I don’t know. They spend most of their time in their rooms making calls but I don’t know who they’re talking to; it certainly isn’t me or anyone who could help get us out of here. I think Wallis spoke to Mrs. Bedaux but only because she promised to look after Boulevard Suchet.” Their obsession with their things was maddening.

“She’s better off not talking to her or anyone so closely aligned with the Nazis.”

“I know. I’d tell them I’m on the line with you but they’d only start arguing for the extra-chic title again. A lot of good that’ll do them if the Italian Army marches through here.”

“I’ll make a few calls and see if there’s someone who can talk some sense into them.”

Amelia was overseeing a delivery of wine on the front steps, the locals eager to make a few francs off the Windsors before war put an end to everything. She was inspecting bottles when the low rumble of an engine caught her attention. A small plane painted in green and black camouflage emerged from behind the wispy early summer clouds and dipped down so low over the trees, Amelia could see the red, green, and white circle on the tail.

An Italian fighter plane.

It flew off over the trees, the putting rhythm of the engine almost mesmerizing before the crack of machine-gun fire and a loud explosion broke the spell. A tall column of black smoke rose up from the nearby village, marring the fine blue sky.

“We’re under attack!” the deliveryman yelled.

Everyone dropped the crates of wine and scattered, taking cover behind columns and bushes. Amelia crouched behind the van then peered over the hood as the plane reemerged above the trees. She covered her head with her arms, waiting for another rattle of machine-gun fire or an explosion to finish her off but it never came. The whir of the plane’s engine faded into the distance and everyone slowly stood, scanning the skies for more danger. Amelia brushed the dirt off her skirt, wincing at the scratch on her leg from a sharp pebble.

“What happened?” Wallis rushed out the front door, the Duke close behind her. “What’s going on out here?”

“An Italian fighter plane bombed the village.”

Wallis and the Duke watched the large black plume rise into the sky above the trees.

“That’s how Herr Hitler will bring Britain to her knees,” the Duke whooped. “Charles thought I was silly when I said so but he’ll see I’m right.”

“Shut up, David,” Wallis commanded. “Don’t be such a blabbermouth.”

“We have to leave at once,” Amelia insisted, tired of being timid. “We aren’t safe here.”

“Nonsense, there’re always rogue pilots trying to make names for themselves.” The Duke picked up a broken bottle. “Who did this? Clean up this mess at once.”

“That wasn’t a one-off. The pilot deliberately targeted the village. I saw it. He could’ve done the same to us if he’d wanted. If we stay, there might be more planes next time and more than shattered wine bottles to worry about.”

“Come with me at once.” Wallis grabbed Amelia by the arm and pulled her up the front stairs and into the sitting room. The cool ocean breeze, heavy with salt and moisture, made the tall yellow curtains flanking the open windows move. “Why are you scaring everyone?”

“Because if you listen carefully you can hear the French shelling Genoa.” Amelia shook out of her grasp. “Why are we still here? Why haven’t we left?”

“Because there’s no reason to go traipsing around France like vagabonds, leaving our precious things to be looted.”

“They’re just things. They can be replaced.”

“They aren’t just things but a part of our wealth, and if we can’t get our money out of French banks, we’ll need them to live on. I won’t be poor again. You of all people should understand that.”

“You won’t need money if you’re dead.”

“No one is going to die.” Wallis took a steadying breath. “I have assurances that no matter what happens, we’ll be safe.”

“From whom?” Her cousin had gone mad over flatware.

“Herr von Ribbentrop. I’ve spoken to him numerous times and he’s promised that we and our things will be perfectly safe.”

“Is that who you’ve been holed up in your room talking to?”

“That’s none of your business.”

“It is when my life is at stake too. What if you’re wrong or he’s lying and the Italians march in here and hand you over to the Germans, then what? Queen Elizabeth won’t lift a finger to help you; she’ll probably be glad to be rid of you or say you threw in with the Nazis and everyone will believe her because of those pictures of you and the Duke saluting Herr Hitler in Germany. Whatever deal you think you’ve got, whatever you’re planning, if we leave, you’ll have a stronger position to bargain from than if you fall into their hands.”

Wallis turned her emerald engagement ring around on her finger. “I hadn’t thought of that.”

“It’s always better to have choices, especially since you have no diplomatic papers or safeguards, and if the Duke is captured, they might treat him as a combatant because of his military rank.” It was every argument Sir Walter had given her to try and reason with them.

“His position was only an honorary one.”

“They don’t know that, and you don’t know what nefarious game Herr von Ribbentrop is using you for. Stop playing into their hands. We’ve got to go while we still can.”

Wallis began to pace, contemplating everything Amelia had said. Amelia hoped she’d come to her senses. If she didn’t, Amelia would call Prime Minister Churchill herself and tell him to make them leave at gunpoint.

“I think you’re right. We can better bargain with them if we aren’t in their hands,” Wallis said at last.

“Bargain about what?”

She didn’t answer but faced her as she had every morning when she’d given Amelia her daily tasks. “I’ll speak with David. Prepare the household for our departure.”

“You wanted to see me?” Amelia joined Wallis in the sitting room. “The cars are filled to the brim. We can’t squeeze much else in.” The packing list had grown like a fungus over the past twenty-four hours. Major Hugh Dodds, the British consul at Nice, had told the Duke the only way out of France was by car through neutral Spain and then on to Lisbon. Amelia hadn’t been able to find a truck driver willing to drive that far.

“It isn’t about the luggage. I left my safe in Paris when we fled. I can’t leave it behind. I’d like you to go to Paris and arrange to have it shipped to us in Lisbon.”

Amelia stared at her, unable to believe what she’d heard. “You can buy new jewels. I did the insurance paperwork myself. I won’t risk my life for things you can replace.”

“It’s not about my jewelry but some personal papers and correspondence.”

She didn’t like the sound of that. “What kind of correspondence?”

“The sort that in the wrong hands could be read in the worst light.” Wallis rearranged the flowers in the vase on the abdication desk, the last bit of furniture left to pack. “I’m friends with very influential German men. I’ve known them since London, it’s all perfectly innocent, but you know how quick people are to disparage me and they would over this. Then I and everyone associated with me will be dragged through the mud, the way they dragged you over Jackson. I know you don’t want to go through that again. I can’t bear it, and in these uncertain times, anything taken in the wrong light could mean the difference between being safe and being at risk.”