“Are you attending this fancy dinner?” he asked, drinking in the sight of her layers of silk and lace. Diamonds glittered in her ears, and she carried long white gloves in one hand.

“Hopefully not. I sometimes step in to facilitate if the first lady falls ill, but she seems in good health tonight. I doubt I’ll be needed.”

“Who are those men with all the medals?”

The scent of lemony perfume surrounded him as she leaned closer to peer through the slim window. “The German diplomatic corps. They love their epaulets and awards.”

“And the man with the scarlet sash?”

“That’s the papal nuncio. He’s the official envoy from the Vatican.” She glanced down at his notebook, both surprised and appalled. “Are you spying on them?”

“Of course. I know what to expect from ordinary tourists now, but this is a different crowd. I need to learn what’s normal at an event like this.” Would she make fun of his exactitude like she usually did?

“Scoot over and let me interpret for you.” To his amazement, she settled in beside him, sitting on the same step while her skirts billowed around them, and he wondered if her hair was as soft as it looked. They had to lean over to peek through the narrow window into the room below.

“The footmen are serving Riesling wines from Bavaria in honor of the visiting German dignitaries. We always serve something in tribute to the highest-ranking guests.”

He nodded toward a cluster of American military officers. “It looks like only the navy is represented here tonight. Why?”

Maybe it was his imagination, but it seemed Caroline stiffened when she spotted the trio of officers. “That’s Captain Holland,” she said. “He’s very high up in the navy. I’m not sure about the others. There has been an effort to improve relations between the American and German navies.”

She continued answering all his questions, and he loved the way she was so confident but not the least bit condescending as she huddled beside him on the step. She probably took part in this sort of pageantry often. It underscored the huge gulf between them, and yet he’d always felt comfortable with her.

No, comfortable wasn’t the right word. The tug of attraction, the unwelcome desire . . . none of it was comfortable, but he savored it all the same.

In the room below, the president entered with Mrs. McKinley on his arm, both looking hale and stately.

“They’re breaking protocol,” Caroline whispered. “Normally the president should escort the wife of the highest-ranking diplomat, but he always sticks close to Mrs. McKinley. She will sit beside him at the dinner table too.”

“Because of her epilepsy?”

She nodded. “He’s very attuned to the signs, and if she is going to be indisposed, he makes sure she has privacy. The spells usually don’t last long, but if it’s a bad one, he gets her out.”