Margery tried another angle.

“Crispin is your husband.” “Yes.” “Then you should think about his reputation.” Lenore glanced at Odette, a few steps away, still in the wine-colored dress Crispin had wanted her to wear when he introduced her as the woman meant to be at his side.

Then she looked back at Margery.

“That’s what I’ve done for eight years.” She said nothing more, and went back to the ballroom.

But she carried Georgina’s two small words back to the table with her — I didn’t know — and turned them over for the rest of the evening, because they contained the whole shape of the thing.

Georgina had not lied about Lenore.