The blue-hulled Britannia knifed through the choppy swells of the English Channel. As it passed the last of the shore stations, there was a radio exchange of traditional signals. "Whither bound?'' asked the shore transmitter. The yacht replied: "Destination unknown—high seas." Later that morning, under a brilliant sun, Princess Margaret, in a red sweater and skirt, and Tony Armstrong-Jones, in blue blazer and white slacks, lay back in deck chairs on a secluded sundeck. From the topmost point of the mainmast fluttered Meg's personal standard.
Despite misgivings and grumblings, the royal wedding...
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