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Aurelia let her twin, still talking nineteen to the dozen, lead her to a chamber decorated in soft blues and lavenders, with an Aubusson carpet and a four-poster bed worthy of Marie Antoinette.
    “I’m just across the hall,” Amy told her as they sat down on a blue brocaded chaise longue. “In the room with the rose-covered wallpaper. We can trade if you like.”
    “No, this room is lovely,” Aurelia assured her. Suzanne, her new maid, was already unpacking her trunks and hanging the gorgeous Worth gowns in the wardrobe.
    “You look wonderful, by the way,” Amy remarked. “Even better than at Christmas.” She tilted her head to one side, studying her sister intently. “Your hair, for one thing…”
    “Do you like it?” Aurelia fingered the short, feathery fringe that softened the expanse of her forehead and—better yet—rendered the scar at her hairline far less visible. “I thought it might help make my face look—not quite as thin.”
    “Oh, it’s very becoming,” Amy assured her at once. “Your face does look fuller and healthier. I like the curls too, at the side,” she added, gently touching a wispy tendril.
    “So do I.” The side curls drew the eye downward, away from her scarred cheek. “My friend Claudine calls them ‘à la Grecque’ because they remind her of Classical sculpture.”
    “Who on earth is Claudine?”
    “Her full name is Claudine-Gabrielle Beaumont. She’s a French actress,” Aurelia explained. “She arrived in Bad Ems for a rest cure, about a week after you and Father left.”
    Amy’s eyes widened. “Mama let you associate with a French actress ?”
    “Not at first. I liked her right away, but Mother didn’t know what to make of her. But then when she was bedridden with the grippe, Claudine came to visit. She brought flowers and hothouse fruit and was so kind that Mother couldn’t help softening her stance. So while she was resting, Claudine and I would go for walks in the gardens or about town. After Mother recovered, she would join us now and then.” Aurelia smiled at the memory. “Once, the three of us had a picnic near the ruins of a Roman castle.”
    “That sounds wonderful,” Amy said wistfully. “Is your friend very beautiful?”
    “Not exactly. She said herself her nose was too long, her mouth too wide, and her cheekbones too high. But she could make you think she was the most beautiful woman in the room, by sheer charm alone.”
    And charm had been the most important quality Claudine tried to instill in her. Exercise and Dr. Strauss’s treatments had strengthened her weak leg, but Claudine’s tutelage had helped restore much of the confidence she’d lost after her accident and Charlie’s defection.
    “She took you under her wing, didn’t she?” Amy observed shrewdly.
    “I suppose she did. And she gave me tons of advice on how to get on when I was back in Society. How to dress, how to move, how to carry myself…‘You must stand tall, hein ?’” Aurelia quoted in a fair imitation of her friend’s accent. “‘And walk like a queen, not creep about like the little mouse.’”
    Amy laughed appreciatively. “Oh, I do like the sound of her! What else did she suggest? I wouldn’t mind picking up some French sophistication myself.”
    “Oh, she recommended certain creams and lotions to make the skin supple. And cosmetics.” With difficulty, Aurelia refrained from touching her scar. Claudine had surprised her by rejecting any sort of heavy maquillage for a light dusting of powder and occasionally rouge. “Her maid Françoise cut my hair, by the way. But Claudine said that the secret to being beautiful and poised is to believe you are—and not let anyone convince you otherwise. Not even your own reflection.” She paused, feeling self-conscious again, and smiled at her twin. “But enough about me! What’s been happening with you ? You sounded so mysterious in your last letter.”
    Amy flushed. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to. It’s