Caroline’s hope was that Ida might help raise funds for the school. Last month the first lady had visited a factory of female lace makers in Baltimore, and the associated publicity had garnered hefty donations from as far away as San Francisco to improve the working conditions. Caroline hoped for similar success with Petra’s school.

Tea had already been set up in the back garden of Petra’s townhouse when Caroline arrived.

“Darling,” Petra drawled, although in her thick Serbian accent it sounded more like “daaahlink.” They embraced and kissed on both cheeks as the Europeans did, and then Petra gestured to the table set beneath cherry trees. “Come try this new tea. It’s imported from the Himalayas.”

Petra poured tea and sliced an almond cake with the elegance of the diplomat’s wife she once had been. Caroline gamely took a sip of the Himalayan tea and winced.

“It’s not very good, is it?” Petra asked.

“You taught me better than to answer a question like that.” Caroline had learned much from Petra, everything from how to flatter a disgruntled bureaucrat to carefully navigating a minefield of politically charged conversations.

After finishing their almond cake, Petra launched into the reason for their meeting today. She had already leased a building close to a streetcar stop so students could get to it without difficulty. Rooms would be designated for English language instruction, typing, and switchboard skills.

“I also want the school to help the students find jobs,” Petra said.

Caroline nodded. “I can help there. I know plenty of people who own businesses in Washington, and my brother knows even more.” Her brother Gray employed hundreds in his spice business and had connections all over the East Coast.

Petra opened a petite jade box filled with loose tobacco and began rolling a cigarette. Caroline looked away, focusing on a squirrel gathering acorns for the coming winter. Anything to distract her from the craving for a cigarette. It had been twelve days since she’d given in to temptation.

The strike of a match startled the squirrel, and a moment later Petra released a long sigh as she drew on the cigarette. “Are you sure you don’t want one?”

“I’m sure.”

Nathaniel wouldn’t like a woman who smoked. Not that she would ever change to suit Nathaniel Trask. It was merely that he knew how hard she was trying to quit, and she refused to be a failure in his eyes. She wanted his respect.

“There is a new head of security in the White House,” she said, hoping the topic would divert her from the tense, tingly desire for a cigarette. She stood and paced in the small garden. “He’s completely irrational. He won’t even permit men to have their hands in their pockets if the president is nearby.”