face-to-sultry-face with the portrait, I wondered if it had yielded the same result for Eleanor—a happy surprise, and a memory she later could carry through the coldness of grief.
“Crikey,” Nick said, as he studied it. “That’s…suggestive.”
“It seems so unlike her,” I said. “Do you think she’d care that people will see her like this?”
“I suppose if she objected, she wouldn’t have told him he had free rein with it,” Nick said. “She’s got a keen eye. She must have known it was that good.”
It was. Eleanor’s face was young and vulnerable and seductive, and this was the first time I’d seen her captured as a real woman and not a supercilious figurehead. It was hard to reconcile it with either the imperious woman I knew or the shy, almost fretful girl of her sister’s photographs, with the weight of a nation beginning to press on her shoulders. I also couldn’t imagine how that girl had grown into the kind of passionate adult who’d give something this intimate. The part of Eleanor that had set this mood must have wanted it on the record that she’d existed this way at all.
“You forget that people lived entire lifetimes before you existed,” Nick mused. “It must have been hard for her when he died. They hadn’t been married very long.”
“Long enough for three whole babies,” Freddie said, bounding into the hallway.
“Thanks for finally joining us,” Nick said.
“I’m not late. I’m ninety seconds early,” he huffed. “In any case, blame Father. We were having lunch, just to catch up, and it went long.” Freddie straightened proudly. “He’s sending me to Portsmouth later this month for a thing with the Navy.”
Nick looked confused. “I thought I was going.”
“Father felt it only fair, since I’m the one still in the Navy.”
“Certainly,” Nick said. “I’m extremely busy anyway. Did Father mention that he’s giving me the patronage of the Imperial War Museums?”
“No,” Freddie said evenly. “We’ve been too busy discussing how I’m taking over the British Society for Early Childhood Development.”
“That’s a big one,” Nick said pleasantly. “Bex and I are being given Pediatric Blindness. Maybe we can collaborate on something.”
“Maybe,” Freddie said. “I’m going to be rather occupied with Children’s Anemia but perhaps we can work Blindness in.”
“That’d be fantastic, assuming our Lyme Disease schedule allows,” Nick said.
“Anything for the children,” Freddie responded.
“You’re both being ridiculous,” I said.
Freddie scrunched his face up, as if I’d asked him to do high-level calculus on the fly.
“We were just having a conversation, weren’t we, Knickers?” His phone buzzed and he fished it out and brightened. “I’ve got to take this. One second.”
As he stepped away, I turned to Nick. “Our Lyme Disease schedule?”
“It was just—”
“Do not say it was just a conversation, because we both know that’s bullshit.”
His cheeks reddened, and he cast a furtive glance at Freddie’s back. “I’ve been working myself ragged trying to do right by my place in this family, and still there was a headline a few days back that said Freddie has been the real champion this year,” he said softly.
“So? You’re always telling me that stuff is meaningless.”
“Well, I saw it and thought, Right, then, I’ll piss off again if that’s how you want it,” Nick said. “I cannot believe he’s come out of a scandal he caused looking so fucking golden.” He again looked over at his brother, who was plugging one ear while carrying on a conversation. “I used to want our old relationship back. But right now, what I want more than that is to make the public see what it’s got in me.” He looked up at me, eyes blazing. “And sometimes, I want Freddie to shove it.”
I told you so, Eleanor’s voice said in my head.
Before I could respond, a tall man with dramatic eyebrows scuttled into the hallway. “We’re ready to start,” he said. “Is everyone prepared?”
Freddie hurriedly ended his phone call. “All set,” he said.
“Do you need to practice with the tiny curtain, Your Highness?” the man asked Freddie. “My notes here say that you’re to pull the cord.”
“I’ve gotten very adept at these, thanks,” Freddie said.
“I’ve been looking forward to this,” Nick said. “The painting is really beautiful.”
“I started a terrific biography of this artist,” Freddie added.
“I finished that biography last night,” Nick noted.
“Yeah, well I wrote that biography, so I win,” I said.
Nick and Freddie turned to me, startled, as if they’d already forgotten I was there, whereas Eyebrows knotted his and appeared to be considering correcting me on that point. “Shall we