Finally, Martha arranged tall, blue feathers into the back of the headband. She stepped away, admiring her handiwork, and said I would be the belle of the ball. I laughed. Mrs. Shaw sighed and told me I looked beautiful. I saw tears in her eyes, and I went over and hugged her.

“Thank you, Mrs. Shaw,” I whispered. “For everything.”

She nodded just as the blare of a horn sounded outside.

* * *

I heard the noise long before we even arrived at the Van Clines’ house. Orchestral music filled the night air, along with blaring car horns, shouts and cries of laughter. As we drew closer, I saw tiny lights strung between all the trees across a huge front lawn. There were Christmas lights too, all around the roof and windows of the house, making it look like a fairy castle. When I looked up at the house itself, it took my breath away. Sinclair had said it was “obscenely opulent”—words I’d never heard before in my life—but now I saw what he meant. It was as big as a castle, and the roof rose and fell in peaks of different heights and shapes. There were windows everywhere, some floor-to-ceiling, some tiny ones beneath the roofline. A man with the same color of skin as Beatrice, dressed in a white shirt and gray vest, helped us out of the car and then drove it away.

I put up my hand to make sure my feathers were still in place, slipped my arm through Sinclair’s and let him lead me to the front door. At the entrance, a waiter in a black vest stood with glasses of champagne on a tray. Sinclair took two and offered one to me. I was relieved that I had come to learn what champagne was. I sipped it gingerly and felt the bubbles on my tongue. I had never been so happy.

The door led into a wide hall with white marble floors. We had no sooner set foot in there when a tall girl, about my age, came rushing toward us.

“Ace, darling,” she said, throwing her slender, white arms around Sinclair’s shoulders. “So wonderful to see you.”

Who the feck is Ace? I wondered.

She turned to me. “Ah, is this the Titanic girl you told us about? She’s charming. Come on now, everyone’s here!”

Without waiting for us to say anything, she turned around and hurried back up the hallway.

“That was Caroline,” said Sinclair, “the Van Clines’ granddaughter. Come on, the ballroom’s this way.”

“Ace?” I said.

“Oh, just a nickname,” he said, smiling.