Nathaniel gazed down at the gilded world below as the guests socialized. Over time, it was almost like a dance. Couples slowly rotated though the room as they jockeyed for position near the president. Mrs. McKinley rarely spoke, usually just watching her husband and nodding at whatever he said. Waiters in formal attire offered tiny delicacies on silver platters.

“Do those hors d’oeuvres taste as good as they smell?” he asked.

“Wait here,” Caroline whispered, then gathered her skirts and scurried down the staircase before he could call her back. Long after she disappeared, the clicking of her heels echoed in the stairwell as she descended to the basement.

Five minutes later she was back with a fully loaded platter.

“Apparently they don’t like the stuffed mushrooms,” she said as she rejoined him on the step. “There were plenty left, and they’re all ours.”

“They just gave them to you?” he asked, helping himself to a mushroom cap brimming with spinach, herbs, and a hint of sherry.

“The kitchen staff likes me,” she said. “Maybe because I never pretend I’m not staff too.”

He couldn’t afford to warm up to anyone. Even this clandestine huddle on the stairs probably wasn’t a good idea, but sometimes the need for simple human contact got the better of him. She was the most beautiful woman he’d ever seen, and his weakness for pretty things went all the way back to his early years when he saved every dime to attend art school. Whether it was a flower in full bloom, a spectacular sunrise, or a gorgeous woman huddled on the staircase beside him, he liked beauty.

His gaze kept trailing to her. “I like that thing in your hair.”

“A snood,” she said.

“What an awful word for such a delicate thing,” he replied. Tiny golden strands were held together by crystals, a piece of art in and of itself. “It makes you look like a princess. Like Juliet or Guinevere.” He wished he could sketch her at this exact moment. He memorized her features. He would draw her later tonight so he could remember this stolen interlude forever.

The reception lasted an hour, during which he and Caroline never stopped talking. Her insight was surprisingly helpful. He wasn’t well-versed in the subtle language of protocol, but she explained how the order of the people engaging with the president was determined by rank, and how the flowers in the arrangements were selected to celebrate the nations of tonight’s guests.

When the mushrooms were gone, Caroline set the empty plate on a higher step and slid a few inches closer to him in the dimly lit stairwell. “I don’t think I’ll ever be able to eat another mushroom and not remember this night,” she whispered.