Nathaniel went stock still, and the color drained from his face, the pallor in sharp contrast with his puritanical dark suit. He shook himself and crossed to the open communication line, leaning down to speak directly into it. “You all can go back to your dinner now,” he choked out. “Show’s over.”

He tugged on some levers to close the connection, and a dull roar of applause sounded from the neighboring car. This was embarrassing, but there was only one thing to do.

Caroline squared her shoulders and smoothed the tension from her face. “Shall we rejoin them?” she said, striving to project the epitome of unruffled poise.

Nathaniel looked ready to combust. “We’ve just made fools of ourselves.”

“No, we showed ourselves to be normal people with beating hearts and human emotions. I know sometimes you’d prefer if we were boring, cold-blooded husks, but I’m afraid we have both been exposed.”

And frankly, she wasn’t sorry. Life was short, and she didn’t want to go through it half-alive by denying her feelings. She headed toward the dining car without looking back.

Nathaniel straightened his collar as he watched Caroline sashay through the connecting corridor with the poise of a queen. A smattering of laughter greeted her arrival. She smiled and performed a little curtsy before gliding back to her seat. He couldn’t mimic her aplomb. He’d worked hard for his reputation of unfailing restraint, and the last five minutes had blown it to smithereens. He tightened the knot of his tie and adjusted his jacket before following Caroline into the dining car.

More clapping sounded as he stepped inside. Caroline took her seat beside the congressmen’s wives, who looked at him with appalled curiosity.

Rembrandt stood to whisper in his ear. “You’re an idiot. A stick-in-the-mud shouldn’t toss a catch like Caroline Delacroix back in the sea.”

Nathaniel would like to toss her a lot farther than that. They were going to be trapped with most of these people for months, and now they all knew his private business. The ribbing continued as he took his seat, but Sullivan regarded him with new respect. True, Caroline was a looker, but this sort of public exposure was nothing to be proud about, and his mortification lasted all through the rest of the meal.

Things got worse in the smoking car after dinner. The president was relaxing with George Cortelyou and the visiting congressmen but flagged Nathaniel down as he tried to pass through to the men’s sleeper car.

“A word, Mr. Trask,” the president said, rising from his velvet chair. Nathaniel braced himself, having a pretty good suspicion what was on Mr. McKinley’s mind. He followed the president to a tall potted palm at the back of the car and forced himself to meet the president’s gaze like a man.