It crossed Daphne’s mind that Nina might simply be a nice person. But that didn’t make sense. Nina must be tricking her somehow, wearing her niceness the way Daphne did hers: as armor, as a disguise, as a way to disarm people.
Daphne certainly wasn’t fool enough to actually trust Nina. She trusted no one, especially not other women. Her mother had repeated it often enough throughout the years: other women were her competition, and they would fight dirty. At least when a man wanted to hurt you he was open about it. Women pretended to be nice, then stabbed you in the back.
Yet for some reason, Daphne was the one who’d said that she didn’t hate Nina anymore.
She must be losing her touch.
She turned back to the table, lifting one of the calligraphed place cards and tapping a manicured finger against it. Daphne nodded to herself as she switched the card with another.
“Who did you just trade for Annie McClane?” asked Queen Adelaide, Jefferson’s mother.
Daphne hadn’t seen her come in. Startled, she sank into a deep curtsy, but the queen waved away the gesture.
“Please, it’s just us in here.” Adelaide had on jeans and a draped cashmere sweater, the kind that cost over a thousand dollars, though she wore them around the house like T-shirts. An enormous diamond cuff bracelet glinted incongruously on her wrist.
“I thought that Ms. McClane might not want to be seated near Lord Furless. I know they dated a long time ago, but from what I heard about their breakup, it sounded…messy,” Daphne said tactfully.
Queen Adelaide’s face was impassive. “And who else have you moved?”
Daphne swallowed. “I moved Sarah Clemens next to Sergeant Jeffries. She studied Arabic at Cambridge, and he was posted in the Middle East for so long, I thought they might have something to talk about.”
Adelaide smiled, and Daphne nearly collapsed with relief. “Well done. Those are good changes.” The queen pulled out one of the Chiavari dining chairs and took a seat, gesturing for Daphne to do the same.
Daphne slid her gown carefully beneath her as she settled onto the chair cushion, so that it wouldn’t wrinkle.
“This is a big night, isn’t it?” Adelaide glanced to the front of the room, where a table was arranged perpendicular to all the others. Six places had been set along one side, so that its occupants could eat in full view of the room. “This is your first time at the head table, in my usual spot.”
“Your Majesty, I didn’t—”
“Don’t apologize,” the queen assured her. “I’m actually headed to the airport soon. I’ll be spending the week with my parents.”
Queen Adelaide’s father, the twins’ and Beatrice’s grandfather, was the Duke of Canaveral—and until her marriage, Adelaide had been set to inherit that duchy, as well as the Duchy of Savannah through her mother’s side. The Double Duchess, people had called her. She’d forfeited her rights to both titles when she married George IV and became a future queen.
In Daphne’s mind, she’d traded up. Being queen was far better than being a duchess, even a duchess twice over.
“I’m sure you’re ready to get away, after everything that’s happened this year.” Daphne hesitated, then added, “I can’t imagine how difficult it was, losing His Majesty so unexpectedly.”
“And now, in a way, I’m losing my children, too.”
“You haven’t lost them,” Daphne said, a little puzzled. But Adelaide’s eyes were fixed on some point in the distance, as if she’d forgotten Daphne was even here. As if she were talking to herself, or her late husband.
“They’re outgrowing me,” Adelaide said softly. “They don’t need me anymore, not in the way they used to. That’s the hardest thing about being a mother. When your children are little, they rely on you for everything: for food and safety and clean underwear; for guidance, and love. And then they get older and learn to wipe their own butts and form their own opinions, and one day you look up and realize that they don’t really need you anymore. That, actually, you’re the one who suddenly needs them.”
Daphne was still reeling from hearing the queen use the word butt. “Your children need you. Jefferson needs you,” she insisted, and the queen’s eyes flitted back to hers.
“Jefferson has you, Daphne,” the queen replied. “Beatrice is struggling with the weight of the crown, which is something I’ll never fully understand. Even Sam has to deal with being the other sister, the not-queen. She’ll need to carve out a place for herself, since there’s no defined role for her.” Adelaide picked up a dinner fork; its handle was stamped with the Washingtons’ crest. “It was different for me. I married into this family, so I was an outsider when I came into it. Like you.”
Jefferson’s mother had never spoken to her like this. She’d never really paid much attention to Daphne at all, treating her with the same politeness that she did everyone.
The queen smiled wistfully. “Watching you, I’m reminded of how I felt when I was first navigating all of this. It’s strange, isn’t it? A family that is also an institution, a living part of history. You remind me in so many ways of myself. You’re so smart and thoughtful. You look beautiful tonight,” she added warmly.
Daphne’s cocktail dress was gorgeous, its champagne tulle embroidered with lamé mousseline petals. It was the sort of delicate, wispy thing that a princess should wear.
Daphne tried not to think about what she’d done to get it.
This time, she’d made sure that the photos she sold were more generic, almost anonymous: a candid shot of Jefferson in his school uniform from Forsyth Academy, laughing in the hallway; another of him playing football, which she’d taken from the sidelines. The photo was so high-resolution that you could see each bead of sweat.
Those photos had been taken in public places; anyone could have snapped them. There was no chance that they could be traced back to Daphne.
“Thank you,” Daphne told the queen. “Your family has always been so welcoming to me.”
Adelaide smiled approvingly. “You’ll do fantastic tonight, Daphne.” She tilted her head, considering. “There’s something missing, though.”
Daphne watched, speechless, as Adelaide loosened her diamond bracelet and handed it over. “You probably know I’m not allowed to lend out anything from the Crown Jewels collection, but this one’s my own personal property. George gave it to me for Christmas one year.” The queen winked. “A bit of sparkle never hurts, does it?”
“I…thank you.” Carefully, Daphne fastened the delicate clasp. The bracelet seemed to glow on her wrist, as if each diamond were a shard of white-hot fire. It weighed surprisingly little, yet it still felt heavy with significance.