“Maybe I could ask Mrs. Foster to accompany me to the reception at the Smithsonian. Or would that be too humdrum?”

The barb found its mark, and Nathaniel flinched. Then the air went out of him, and he braced his elbows on his knees. Her remark about the Smithsonian was meant to be a flippant jibe, but it had hurt more than she intended. When he spoke, his voice was so soft that she could barely hear him.

“Caroline, I need this,” he said, still staring at the floor.

She met Luke’s gaze. For once there was no laughter or mockery in her brother’s face, just a sad understanding. She wanted to help Nathaniel, but it seemed that in restoring his pride, she would be setting him on a course that would take him far away from her.

But wasn’t that what she’d sworn to do that night she called him at the White House? She’d spoken of how she would faithfully wait for him, no matter how long it took. She vowed that walls or distance could not separate them. She had not foreseen the Milwaukee assignment, but she would need to find a way to deal with the distance. Nathaniel needed to strike out on a new adventure, and she would remain loyal while he did so.

She pulled her chair closer to the group and set her misgivings aside. If this was what Nathaniel needed, she would support him.

Caroline approached the Fosters’ house, armed with the mortifying ruse Nathaniel had designed. Implementing it would be humiliating and embarrassing, but she would do it.

Luke drove her to the elegant Foster townhouse in Georgetown. He’d finally cut his hair and looked sharp in his natty new clothes as he drew the horses to a halt outside the residence.

“Good luck,” he said with a wink, knowing how much she loathed this mission. After all, Mrs. Foster had delighted in goading Caroline for her crush on Nathaniel, and this afternoon would stir all those painful memories. She squared her shoulders and prepared to do battle.

The Fosters lived in an ornate French-style chalet, and a maid answered the door. Caroline had to loiter in the parlor for an unseemly amount of time while the maid went to see if Mrs. Foster was “at home.” The interior of the house was a gold and ivory display of ostentation, and the delicate gilt chairs looked like works of art rather than something to sit on. Nevertheless, Mrs. Foster eventually appeared and invited Caroline to tea.

“How are things progressing with Agent Trask?” Mrs. Foster asked once they were settled at the tea table. “Is there new hope on that front?”