Once she flitted off, I sidled to the bar and sucked down a very large glass of ice water, and took stock of the rest of the party. It was nice not to be the center of attention for once; lurking at the bar, people-watching, I felt like the old Bex for a flash, although she probably would have been drinking a beer. Nick was stuck in a conversation with a clutch of diplomats, but when he spied me eyeballing him, he winked. Across the room, Daphne glowed in an orange silk dress and diamond hair combs, with no outward trace of the nervous woman she’d once been. But the way Freddie kept her so close, a protective hand on her at all times, looked more like a bodyguard than a doting bridegroom. Eleanor’s voice floated into my head, reminding me that love doesn’t look the same for every two people, so I blinked my inner cynic away and squeezed through the crowd to the nearest bathroom. It was occupied. I eased myself into a brocade chair in the hallway and waited.

“Bex!” came Daphne’s voice as she rounded the corner into view. “Is everything all right? Are you feeling well?”

I gestured at the closed door, which now was rattling in such a manner that I suspected Elizabeth and Edwin were the occupants. “I’m waiting for the restroom. My bladder is the size of a pea lately. I think one of the twins is using it as a pillow.”

Daphne frowned at the door, then took my hand and helped me stand. “You forget, this is technically one of my houses,” she said.

I followed her down the hallway, past the room where the party was, and up a winding back staircase.

“I hope I don’t get stuck in here,” I joked as I carefully navigated the narrow turns.

She laughed. “Not ideal, perhaps, but it seemed faster than expecting you to get across that room without being stopped to talk,” she said. We emerged into a wide corridor. “Here we go. My office is this way.”

She opened the door into a room done in cream and gray, with a few pops of color in the form of picture frames, and throw pillows on her low, modern couch. A large window overlooked Dam Square; across to the right I could see the line still forming outside Madame Tussauds, where a wax Freddie and Daphne had appeared a week ago.

Daphne gestured to her private powder room, and I gratefully availed myself of it, then came out to find her gazing at her engagement photo, framed and sitting in her bookcase. It was the one with the makeup in Freddie’s beard. He was staring at the camera and giving his best parody of Blue Steel, and she was cracking up. It was freaking adorable.

“I remember so well the day we met, Daphne,” I said. “You were a ball of nerves, and look at you now.”

“You were so direct with me, at a time when so few people were. I’ll never forget it.” She reached out and touched Freddie’s face in the photo. “My eyes are open, you know,” she said. “I know I am not the love of his life. Not yet. He’s protective of me. He cares about me. I think he can fall in love with me, in time. And I truly believe he will never hurt me.” She looked back at me. “I can give him understanding, and loyalty, and a place of his own. A place where there are no shadows.” Here, her glance went to my stomach, then back to my face. “He needs it so badly. I hope you support that.”