“Or you’ll be tarred with the same brush as Herr Hitler and make things worse,” Amelia cautioned, deliberately breaking Mrs. Bedaux’s rules in favor of Aunt Bessie’s mandate to help Wallis not give in to her worst instincts. Amelia had as much influence over Wallis as His Royal Highness’s family had over him, but she had to try.

“Herr Hitler is a powerful man. His recognizing me will force others to do the same.” Wallis dropped the empty vodka glass in the door compartment and clicked it closed. “I want everyone who’s ever looked down on me to have to look so far up at me their necks hurt. They deserve the pain for what they’ve put me through. You should think about doing the same.”

“I don’t want revenge.” She wanted the happiness she’d enjoyed during the first year with Jackson, before it’d all fallen apart. The truth lingered under the new manners, tenuous confidence, and secretarial skills. She was still the debutante who wanted to be noticed, happy, and loved.

“Stop feeling sorry for yourself and moping over what you lost. Heaven knows I’ve done enough of it to recognize when someone else is doing it too. Let me tell you, it won’t do anything but make you miserable. The best revenge is a life well lived. Isn’t that why you’re here? Hold up your head and prove to everyone you’re better than they think you are; do it until you believe it too.”

She was right. Amelia had spent so much time mourning her lost life or wishing things were different she’d barely noticed they already were. She was in France, and it’d taken a leap of faith to come here but she’d done it. Despite the early stumbles, she was succeeding. She was about to dine with the King of Romania and in a silk Schiaparelli gown. She’d write to Aunt Bessie and tell her to spread that little tidbit around. She’d send her brother a note about it too and he’d tell Mother. What she wouldn’t give to see the look on her face then. Wallis was right. Amelia had mastered her new position; it was time to take pride in it and herself and concentrate on the future instead of the past.

Chapter Seven

“Your gown is beautiful,” Mrs. Bedaux whispered to Amelia from beside her at King Carol’s dinner table. Amelia wore her new organza evening gown imprinted with ferns. It had a modest neckline to flatter her not overly large chest and deny King Carol a good view of her décolletage, but it didn’t stop him from trying many times during dinner in his suite.

“Thank you,” Amelia whispered, and returned her attention to the Romanian monarch.

“What His Majesty’s Government fails to understand is the importance of Germany’s superior air and military power.” King Carol sat at the head of the table in a uniform covered in epaulets, medals, and ribbons. His mistress, Madame Lupescu, sat beside him in a dark blue dress that set off her white skin and red hair to perfection. “Britain can’t match it.”

“I’ve seen the munitions plants in Germany, visited the flying schools and airplane factories. They’re the best in Europe, far better than anything I’ve seen in Britain or America,” Mr. Bedaux added.

“Is that true, Mrs. Montague?” King Carol sat back to allow a footman to remove his crème brûlée dish. “Are American airplane factories as lacking as British ones?”

“I can’t say. I’ve never visited one.” She mimicked Wallis’s reserve and confidence to hide her nervousness at suddenly being the center of attention, determined to appear as if she did this every night. “Even if I had, I wouldn’t know the difference between a good one and a bad one.”

“I assure you, even the untrained eye can spot the difference.” He flicked a glance at her chest then turned back to His Royal Highness. “It isn’t only factories and munitions that convey superior strength but leadership. Germany has a powerful head not hindered by squabbling parties and coalition governments.”

“Dictators do get things done.” His Royal Highness tugged at his bow tie. He was seated at the other end of the table and dressed in a black tuxedo instead of a military uniform. “I wouldn’t be surprised if England soon begs for one of their own.”

“Or a real king with real power.” King Carol pointed one ring-clad finger at His Royal Highness. “A king is ordained by God to rule and must wrest power from the plebeians and their ridiculous constitutions and limitations.”

“Didn’t your ministers mind you curtailing their power?” Wallis rested her elbows on the table and laced her gloved hands beneath her square chin, enraptured by King Carol. She sat across from Amelia and beside Mr. Bedaux, splendid in a black Mainbocher halter dress with a flared skirt and gold trim that crisscrossed the bust and encircled her tiny waist. It was unusually low-cut for Wallis and allowed her large sapphire-and-diamond necklace to shine in the candlelight.

“Ministers don’t matter, only the people do, and I’m their greatest champion. I fed them when the ministers let them starve. I created work for them when the ministers left them hungry. The people saw what I did for them and supported my return to the throne. Soon, I’ll dissolve the government and take complete control and the people will support me again.”

“David, you always had a way with your subjects,” Wallis flattered him, “especially the miners and such.”

“I did, didn’t I?” The Duke traced the base of his crystal wineglass with one finger. “Unlike my father, I wanted to improve the workers’ plight. I still do. It’s why we’re going to Germany. Herr Hitler has created jobs and opportunities for his people. I want to study his methods and help other countries implement them. Sharing ideas will help encourage cooperation and peace between nations.”

“You’ll enjoy Herr Hitler,” King Carol said. “He’s a visionary, like you.”

“Of course, it’s easier to implement one’s vision when one is still on the throne,” Wallis said. If the Duke caught the dig, he didn’t show it. King Carol noted it and smiled at Wallis like a snake.

“I was banished in 1925 for following my heart.” He raised Madame Lupescu’s hand to his lips and kissed it before he fixed his eyes on the Duke. “My government forced me to abdicate the way yours did, but I came back. An abdication is merely another obstacle to overcome.”

“That’s one way to look at it.” Wallis slid the Duke a sideways glance, studying him as if she could see the path King Carol had blazed, one the Duke might follow if given the opportunity.

Amelia sat perfectly still, hoping her surprise didn’t show on her face. She hadn’t known what to expect from this dinner but she hadn’t expected revolution. This wasn’t ordinary dinner conversation. It smacked of treason and something more dangerous. After everything Wallis and the Duke had been through with the abdication, they shouldn’t even entertain these wild ideas.

“Of course, it’s very different in England,” His Royal Highness said at last, returning some common sense to the discussion. Amelia hadn’t expected him to be the voice of reason.

“Of course, but war is coming. It changes things and creates opportunities. Who knows what it might offer you.” King Carol threw Madame Lupescu a look that said he craved the opportunities of chaos.

“I do enjoy any chance for improvement.” Wallis smiled, deepening her sharp cheekbones.

“Especially improvement in one’s title and standing,” Madame Lupescu said. “The one the wife of a monarch deserves. The one she was promised.”

Wallis pinned the Duke with a hard look, his failure as heavy in the air as the lingering scent of dinner and cigarette smoke. His Royal Highness said nothing but continued to turn the delicate crystal glass by its stem, casting rainbows from the candlelight onto the white tablecloth.

“Of course, it’s just a bit of fun, playing what if and what not.” Madame Lupescu clapped her gloved hands together as if breaking a hypnotist’s spell and everyone responded with nervous smiles. “Who’s up for a game of bridge?”

“King Carol is a remarkable ruler, with admirable ambition and will,” Wallis remarked in the private elevator to their suite. “Look at what he’s done for himself, his country, and Madame Lupescu.”

The elevator doors opened and the Duke escorted Wallis into their suite. Wallis withdrew her hand from the crook of his arm but he caught her fingers and held them against his chest. “You know there’s nothing I wouldn’t do for you, darling. I’ll get you the extra-chic title, I promise. Despite what some think, I still have supporters and pull in London.”

She patted his hand, her emerald engagement ring clinking against his signet ring as she slid free of his grasp. “Good night, darling.”

“Good night.” Dismissed like a servant, His Royal Highness walked off to his bedroom.

Amelia slowly inched toward the door and the public elevator outside the suite that would carry her to the longed-for quiet of her room.

“Don’t go,” Wallis commanded. “Sit with me for a while. I’m not tired yet.”

Despite aching for sleep, Amelia followed Mrs. Bedaux’s fifth rule to not complain and walked with Wallis to her bedroom. Inside, Mademoiselle Moulichon bustled around arranging Wallis’s night clothes and turning down her blankets. Pookie, Detto, and Prisie offered an obligatory wag but didn’t get up from their baskets.

“What an evening.” Wallis stepped behind the black lacquer screen, a souvenir from her time in China, and changed out of her evening gown, draping it over the top so Mademoiselle Moulichon could take it to be cleaned. “King Carol is quite a man. He didn’t fold like a house of cards the minute his ministers objected to his relationship with Madame Lupescu.” Wallis emerged in a full-length raw silk and lace peignoir that put Amelia’s plain terry robe with the fraying sash to shame. What she wouldn’t give to be in it now instead of discussing this questionable topic. Wallis shouldn’t give King Carol or anything he’d said a second thought but here she was, still mulling it over.

Wallis sat down at her dressing table. “Help me off with my jewelry.” She rubbed the back of her neck when Amelia unclasped the sapphire and diamond necklace. It weighed a ton. “What a relief.”

Amelia laid the necklace in a velvet tray on the dressing table. “You shouldn’t wear it if it gives you a neck ache.”

“I have to. I must always look regal, for David.” And she did. Wallis spent at least fifteen minutes of her already lengthy dressing time coordinating her jewelry with her outfits. Wallis removed her matching earrings then carried the jewelry tray to the small black-and-red-striped private safe in the closet. The carnation-shaped combination lock clicked as Wallis turned it back and forth before the clank of metal signaled the open door. “What King Carol said about wresting power from the political parties was very interesting.”

“And dangerous. If things don’t work out the way he plans, he and Madame Lupescu could end up in front of a firing squad.” If the fear of death couldn’t dissuade Wallis from whatever idea was germinating from the seed planted by King Carol, then nothing could.

The lock clicked again as Wallis spun it to lock it. Wallis returned to the dressing table and twisted open a jar of Elizabeth Arden cold cream. “That’s what I adore about you, you’re so sensible. I let my imagination run wild while your feet are firmly on the ground. You’d think after everything I’ve been through I’d have feet of lead, but I still catch myself believing in fairy tales. I don’t mean David becoming King again—from what I’ve seen of monarchs I don’t blame him for chucking it all—but living life on my terms again, with my reputation restored, but I suppose it’s too late for that. People have memories like a vise grip when it comes to scandals.” Wallis scooped out a dollop of cold cream and spread it over her face. “Look at Cookie. She won, she’s Queen. Instead of being a gracious winner she insists on degrading me with her petty insults. My own mother-in-law won’t even acknowledge me. She barely speaks to David.”

“Perhaps you could write to her,” Amelia suggested. “I broke the ice with Peter by writing to him and he wrote me back. We still talk sometimes. Who knows, maybe someday we’ll have lunch together, not where anyone from the railroad might see us, but maybe at some out-of-the-way Woolworth’s counter. Do you think Queen Mary would meet you at one of those?”

Wallis met her eyes in the mirror and a wide smile broke the severe lines of her face. “Does one wear a crown to Woolworth’s?”

“Maybe just a small one.”

The two of them burst out laughing.

“You always were a riot.” Wallis gripped her side against a stitch from enjoying the image of Queen Mary ordering a milkshake a little too much.

Amelia didn’t argue but graciously accepted the compliment. She was about to make another joke when Mademoiselle Moulichon’s somber entrance sobered them.