“She thought the world of you, though,” I said. “She looked up to you. It’s all over her diaries.”

“The ones you read. You didn’t see the rest of them. Things changed between us. She changed them,” Eleanor said. “She made herself the star of her own romance. But this is my story.”

We all exchanged glances, and sat back, waiting.

“Henry believed me, and seemed to let her go. He and I began spending more time alone together,” she said. “He looked at me differently, touched me differently, a lingering hug here, a brushed hand. He knew the demands being made on me. And he was the only one who ever really listened to me. We could talk to each other. My parents paraded other dreadful titled men past me, and each was more grasping than the last. None of them saw me as an actual person. Only as the Crown. A prize for them to possess. The prize.

“And then Grandmummy fell ill, and everyone panicked. The old bat ended up living another two years, of course. Sometimes I wonder if she was faking it to move me along.”

Nick, leaning against the fireplace, snorted at this, and Eleanor glared at him.

“Regardless,” she continued, “it began to feel as if time were of the essence. Henry took me out on the lake one afternoon in the spring, and we agreed we should get married.”

“Romantic,” Richard said sarcastically.

“I think maybe it was,” I said to him, before turning to Eleanor. “You told me before that Henry wouldn’t necessarily have chosen this life for himself. He did it for you.”

“I needed him. And he needed me. I shielded him against his family’s disdain for his academia and lack of political ambition, and he shielded me from my family’s lack of affection or concern for my well-being. He did love me,” Eleanor said stubbornly. “Passion is not everyone’s endgame. A person can contain many kinds of love, and none is more valid than the other.”

My eyes flicked to Freddie, who was staring at the flames in the hearth. I forced them back to Eleanor.

“What happened when Georgina came home?” I asked.

Eleanor’s jaw tightened. “The specifics, I’m afraid, died with her and Henry,” she said. “I thought it was over before it began. Georgina was still Georgina, maddening but my best friend, all at the same time. Henry and I got married. We had Agatha. We were happy.” Her voice caught. “I believed we were happy.”

Richard tapped his fingers against the bedpost. “Until I came along,” he said.

Eleanor looked up at him, half a century of sorrow all over her face. “Yes,” she said. “And no.” She pursed her lips. “Henry was a terrible liar. He could never hide anything, even if he tried. And he did try. But I told myself I could live with it. I told myself I didn’t need all of him; I told myself I had parts of him she never would. I was, after all, his wife. I was stronger than this. Until…”