She balled up the sheets in her left hand. “I don’t hear any better ideas from you.”

“How about…a margarita?” I asked. “Have you ever had one of those? Are you even allowed to right now?”

“I have not, and I do as I please,” Eleanor said. She tapped her chin. “I should also like to buy clothing on the internet. Things I don’t need, seasonally inappropriate, and very unlikely to fit properly. Mummy, I expect you’re writing this down.”

Another noise from Marta. I translated it correctly and took out my phone and opened up a new note.

“And you can show me a baseball match,” Eleanor continued. “You natter on about it so much, I should see what the fuss is about.”

“It’s the off-season right now,” I said. “But I can teach you how the game works, so that once they start up again, you’ll be ready to go.”

“Good. That will entertain me during the interminable physical therapy for this,” Eleanor said, casting a disdainful look at her arm.

“If you don’t mind my asking,” I said, “why me? I always felt like…more of a thorn in your side.”

“Too right,” Marta said.

“Because other than my mother, you’re the only member of this family who has ever cursed regularly in my presence, which means you are capable of speaking to me like a human,” Eleanor said.

I gazed at her in wonderment. Her hair was a mess. She wore no lipstick, nor a giant fancy brooch chosen for maximum intimidation. She had a pillow mark on her cheek from her earlier nap. Before my eyes, she had begun morphing from Her Majesty the Queen, my most terrifying opponent, into…my grandmother-in-law.

“Well, then, it’s a good thing I didn’t fuck off,” I said.

*  *  *

I left the palace upbeat. It was as if Georgina—at least, the way I liked to imagine her—had gotten bored in the Great Beyond and resurrected herself through Eleanor. I was still giggling when I arrived at Marj’s office at Clarence House, to Nick’s bemusement.

“Your grandmother,” I said, dropping into a chair, “apparently wants to have fun.”

He was nonplussed. “What does fun mean to her exactly?” he asked. “Are we talking medieval torture, or Parcheesi, or…”

“She wants me to teach her baseball,” I said.

“To play?” he sputtered. “She can’t even use her right hand.”

“No, goofus. To watch.” I sat up straight and wriggled my shoulders proudly. “I, Rebecca, Duchess of Clarence, and daughter of Earl Porter of the Iowa Porters, am going to turn the Queen into a Cubs fan.”

Nick grinned. “God save us all.”