“How?”
She hesitated, then answered honestly.
“As though he is restraining something.”
Anne smiled faintly.
“That does not sound like indifference.”
“No,” Margaret admitted.
Beatrice tilted her head.
“Then perhaps this is not neglect.”
“It feels like absence,” Margaret replied.
Eleanor reached for her hand.
“Absence can be challenged.”
Margaret shook her head gently.
“I will not beg for attention. If this is what he wants, then this is how it will be.”
“No one is suggesting that,” Beatrice said calmly. “But silence is not strength.”
Margaret absorbed that. Outside, the sky had shifted toward late afternoon. The room glowed warmer with their presence.
“You should be away somewhere beautiful,” Eleanor said. “Arguing about where to travel next.”
“I am here,” Margaret replied.
“And we are here,” Beatrice said firmly.
Anne squeezed her other hand.
“You are not alone in this house, whatever you believe.”
The words settled deep. Margaret drew a steady breath.
“I invited you because I needed to remember who I was before this title,” she said.
“You are still her.”
“Yes,” Beatrice agreed. “Only stronger.”
Margaret felt the loneliness loosen, just slightly.
“I do not regret marrying him,” she said. “Regardless of whether or not it is what I expected, I cannot deny what he has done for my family.”
“Good,” Eleanor replied. “Because I would hate to plan a dramatic escape.”
Margaret laughed again, the sound lighter this time.
Beatrice leaned her head briefly against Margaret’s shoulder.
“He may think distance protects you.”
