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you—at half past seven?”
    “That would be perfect,” she said. “I look forward to it.”
    “Very good,” the general said to him. “I will see you out.”
    Once the two men took the steps to the street, the general reached into the inner pocket of his coat. He pulled out the two tickets. “For you.”
    “Thank you, sir.”
    “I know you must think me very presumptuous for pressing you to escort my daughter, but after speaking with you at the
Chronicle
offices, and getting a nod from Mr. Wilson . . . I am not usually so impulsive, but everything seemed to fit into place.”
    “As if it were meant to be, sir.” Lewis couldn’t have expressed it better himself.
    The general hesitated but a moment. “
That
, we shall see. But the truth is, my daughter’s desire to go out has been weighing heavily on me. When the opportunity arose to make her happy . . .” He sighed. “I
am
very glad to see a spark between the two of you.”
    He’d seen a spark? “Thank you, General. I find your daughter very lovely and charming, and I shall look forward to spending time in her company.” It felt good to be able to speak a truth.
    “Then you don’t take offense at my using you as a knight in shining armor to rescue Josephine from her prison?”
    “Prison?”
    “Mourning is a prison, my boy. One that can sap the life out of a person as sure as any torture.”
    Lewis nodded. He knew this firsthand.
    “It is time my Josephine was set free, time she was occupied with the pleasures of life. Time she was distracted.”
    Lewis found the last word odd. “Distracted?”
    “Never mind. Show her a pleasant time. Perhaps the opera can lead to other outings.”
    “Perhaps it could.” Gaining the approval of the Cains had been far easier than Lewis had hoped. Mentioning Mr. Vanderbilt had been a good idea, as was changing his father’s name to Thomas. That his father
had
worked with the mogul made the story easier to maintain.
    The general turned toward the front door. “Very good then. How lucky we ran into each other at the newspaper office.”
    “Yes, indeed.” Lewis smiled as he turned away, remembering one of his father’s favorite sayings:
You make your own luck
.

    Lewis Simmons’s gasp was just the reaction Josephine had hoped for.
    On the night of the opera, Josephine floated down the stairs to the foyer, feeling her confidence grow with each step. She couldn’t remember the last time a man had gasped upon seeing her—if one ever had.
    She watched Mr. Simmons’s eyes as he took in the sight of her.
    “You take my breath away,” he said in a near-whisper.
    That was what she had been aiming for. The joy she felt in putting on her ivory evening gown filled a place that had been empty too long. Yes, it was prewar fashion—for Mother would never have considered ordering something new while in mourning—but the dark gray stripescreated from satin ribbon, and the oversized bows parading up the skirt to the bodice . . . she felt pretty. Luxurious. And very, very female.
    It gave her comfort to notice that Mr. Simmons was also wearing evening fashion a few years too old. As such, he wouldn’t be quick to judge. When he moved to the bottom of the stairs, she placed her gloved hand upon his and let him draw her toward the door.
    Their butler, Dowd, smiled. He held her shawl, but Mr. Simmons took over and wrapped it around her shoulders. “The evening is cool,” he said near her ear.
    On the contrary. Josephine felt very warm.

    Josephine was surprised that nearly every seat in Grover’s Theatre was filled. She had no idea life had moved on in DC society.
    She enjoyed the company of Mr. and Mrs. Wilson, who were very at ease in the setting as they greeted those around them.
    Josephine recognized a few people. She saw Mrs. Wiggins and Mrs. Doolittle. They had both lost husbands in the war, and yet they were here at an opera. Perhaps it was as Papa said—with the entire country in mourning, it was imperative people