“When I accepted Nick’s proposal, I knew what came with him,” I said. “They didn’t have that option about themselves. I think anyone would at least wonder what they might have been, if they hadn’t had their future prescribed to them.”

“I never did,” Eleanor said. “I saw entire rooms of people bob in deference to my grandmother. I saw people weep at her funeral, at my uncle’s, at my father’s. I saw my family commanding rooms full of world leaders and politicians and diplomats and commoners. I saw the world change and our family stay exactly where it was, and I thought, That’s what I want.”

“To be adored?” I asked.

“To be respected,” she said. “That’s far more powerful. Far more lasting. I wanted the legacy.” She gripped her cane, but did not stand. “Perhaps I was being naïve in assuming my son and my grandson felt the same.”

Her eyes fell upon every now vacated chair in the room, in turn. “I’ve watched Edwin grow up to be a gadabout, and a shirker,” she said. “I’ve watched Agatha care more about the symbols of the monarchy than the monarchy itself. Richard has always been the person who took it seriously. Dedication is in his nature. He’d have been dutiful to the core no matter what his place was. I believe that.” She pursed her lips. “The throne is only weak when the wrong person sits on it. A direct line matters less than a solid one.”

“That’s great, but you’ve had decades to make peace with the idea,” I said.

“Accepting something does not mean making peace with it,” she spat. “This was a nightmare that I was called upon to make the best of, and I did that. Largely alone, and for Richard’s benefit.” She pointed at me. “If he doesn’t see that, make Nicholas.”

I spread my hands. “They have their own minds, Eleanor. We just have to wait.”

“Wait,” she repeated emptily. “To find out if a lifetime of agony was for nothing.” A note of desperation crept into her voice. “He will come around. They all will. They have to.”

“Why?” I asked, leaning forward. “For you, as a person, or for the Crown?”

Eleanor did struggle to her feet then, and looked down at me. “Rebecca,” she said. “You should know by now that there is no difference.”

*  *  *

“Darling moeder!” gushed Queen Lucretia, gliding over to me and cupping my now very pronounced bump with a featherlight touch. “The miracle of life is the most powerful sunshine! I am overcome.”