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Chapter One

Outside Indianapolis, Indiana

Summer, 1871

Vapid, vacuous, verbose—a waste of ink

Aainst the seat next to her as the words repeated in her brain She kicked her legs up onto the brocade footrest she’d requested for her private train car The complaint to her editor about her latest column shouldn’t ruin her journey ho deadline nor the fear that the criticisms had merit

Explaining how to dress, hoear your hair, and how to polish yourself until your sheen was so bright it hid all your other flaas herwhat did her ood at

Was she losing her touch?

No She couldn’t be She needed the money too much for that to happen

Well, to be fair, she required more money than her beauty column for the Philadelphia Inquirer could provide A lot more Which is why she couldn’t be in a tizzy when she reached Centerville and asked her parents for it Then they’d never listen, never take her seriously She had to be at her most calm and rational

With a enta velvet, reveling in the soothing vibrations frolets

But no one was going to see her hair today She tossed her hat on the floor and closed her eyes She’d order her favorite meal—with brandy, to quiet all the voices in her head

Please, Aal fees, no more waste You’re an adult Please act like one

Amalia balled her fist at the memory Her father, the once jovial parent, delivered the admonition after her last divorce No condolences, no syned disappointht have ain in the first place Just an assumption that she’d been impulsive and e

Twenty-four, two months away from twenty-five years old, and all they sao-time failure Her parents probably wanted her to become a nun Or at least find a Jewish version of a convent As if she’d wear anything black and shapeless She straightened the two-tone sapphire brooch at her collar

Conquering hero—that ho she was She’d show them all the competent woman she’d become, des And her parents would acquiesce Her purpose, the charitable trust she’d worked so hard to create and keep solvent these last few years wouldn’t die

They’d not refuse her She’d approach theood mood and say “yes” No need to worry

Aer, not fear She really should call the porter

Before she could fully rise, a rapping rattled the entry

Still rubbing her aching neck, she swept aside the sliding door and gaped as a familiar form pushed inside the car Her car Amalia swayed on her feet and had to clutch at the wall to keep upright

Even after six years, she’d recognize her brothers’ friend fro was so coal eyes and tousled ebony hair hadn’t changed a lick All the memories roared back—every kiss, every touch—but ht her sneaking back to her rooht rendezvous