It was The Romance of the Century but tempus fugit -- and even a sympathetic Ralph Martin who wrote about Jennie Churchill with such dash fails, as did his present subjects, to retrieve the Crown Jewels. To be in London society -- ""Guess what? I'm in the Prince of Wales set!"" Bessie Wallis announced from under the hair dryer to a passing acquaintance -- was an unexpected upswing in fortune to the Baltimore-born American who only a few years before at the age of 31 and just ending her first marriage had concluded that she'd run out of options. ""The little man"" dropping by their London flat for dinner was considered ""in"" by Mr. and Mrs. Edward Simpson, until Mr. Simpson and eventually the rest of the country began to realize that the by-then King had narrowed his realm. After the high drama of the abdication -- and Martin freshly catches the tensions and uncertainties -- there wasn't much left for encores. Aside from the controversy over the couple's visit to Hitler, the scandal of Sir Harry Oakes' murder while the Duke was Commander in Chief in the Bahamas, some penny press contretemps with Elsa Maxwell and the gossip about Wallis' divertissement with a homosexual Woolworth heir, the world pretty much turned to other business and the Windsors did likewise. They lived like nomads, although later there was a home of sorts in France where he gardened and golfed -- earlier the Duke had enjoyed crocheting and needlepoint which his mother had taught him -- while Dolly as he called her occupied herself at the dressmaker's, hairdresser's, shopping and seeing to the polishing of the silver. And together they waited for Royal favor. A book for those who cared enough to weep -- or anyone curious about the Prince's privates.