“I know you are thrilled, my dear,” she began. “I certainly would be in your shoes. But . . .” She hesitated, and I sensed caution in her voice. “But I feel I must warn you about something. As you know, Sinclair is my husband’s nephew, and I have known him since he was born. He is a high-spirited young man, and charming. You saw it yourself this evening. But he has a streak in him that I find—”

“What is it, Mrs. Shaw?”

“I find him somewhat insincere. In short, he uses people for his own amusement, and when they no longer please him, he abandons them. I’ve seen him do it time and time again.” She leaned toward me. “I don’t want to see you hurt, my dear. Go with him to the party and enjoy yourself. But don’t misread his intentions.”

I knew she meant no harm, but I felt my anger rising. She’d assumed I was just like other girls, but she didn’t know me. She didn’t know that I was always the belle of the ball, and that men fell over themselves to be with me. I wouldn’t have known this either had my memory not come back. I remembered how Ma had filled my head with such notions from when I was a child, and every time she was proved right, my confidence grew.

I shrugged my shoulders and stood up. Sinclair Shaw wouldn’t be abandoning me anytime soon, I was sure of that.

Christmas Eve night arrived, and I felt like a queen. Mrs. Shaw, who confessed she was not up on the latest fashions, had asked young Martha to help. Now I was rigged out in the most beautiful dress I’d ever seen. The bodice was pale blue, with a low neck and wee shiny beads all over it. A broad silver ribbon was wrapped high around my waist. The skirt was the same blue as the bodice and fell to my ankles. It hugged my hips and had a slit up the front that, I was told, was so your legs would be free to dance. I had matching silver shoes with shiny silver buckles. And, to top it all off, Martha suggested a silver headband. She said headbands were becoming all the rage, and I would look very up-to-date.

As I paced back and forth, admiring myself in the mirror, I was glad I hadn’t put much weight back on. I remembered that I’d always been big and curvy, but when I came out of the hospital I was like a skeleton. I’d filled out since then, but only enough so I no longer looked like a stick. I tossed my long, black hair, running my hand through the waves. Martha had insisted that all the modern young women had short hair, but I refused to let go of mine. Anyway, I’d rather be different.