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to happen it would be my responsibility, no matter who is operating it.”
    “It would be you, surely?”
    “Not necessarily. There are a dozen people qualified to run it at the moment,” she said. “But it’s me in charge regardless of who—”
    “You are quite right to be cautious, mademoiselle, but it would be His Highness’s wish that for his communications that it would be you, and only you, at the instrument.” He held up one hand, the lace cuff hanging limply at the wrist, as if to forestall any response. “Your ability at teaching the skills is not in question. I can assure you—”
    “I am sure you can.”
    “What do you want? Exactly?”
    “I think written permission would be helpful. A note with Duke Victor Amadeus’ signature and seal would do, indicating that I should be selected to do what a dozen people at the Castello del Valentino can competently handle.”
    The little smile disappeared. For a moment, Terrye Jo wasn’t sure whether she’d stepped across some line with the man. Then she decided that she didn’t care—this was her gear, and she was responsible. Getting bullied by some French prince, or duke, or whatever he was, wasn’t going to work.
    “I assume that there won’t be any problem with that.”
    “You are a very determined young woman, mademoiselle. Is this a characteristic of all up-time females, like . . . trousers?”
    She smiled. Her working clothes weren’t exactly what someone like Louis de Vendôme was used to.
    “Only the tough ones.” She smiled, and Louis’ expression softened slightly. “I don’t know about the others.”
    “In the instance that I obtain this permission I will expect that you will provide the service that Monsieur Gaston requires, and that you will keep all that you see—and send over your radio—in confidence. This is most important, mademoiselle. Many things, and many people, depend on your care in this matter.”
    “I know how to keep secrets, my lord,” Terrye Jo said. “You can ask the duke and duchess.”
    “Yes,” he answered. “I already did. You are highly regarded. Particularly by the duchess.” He looked her up and down, from the fierce smile to the trousers and work boots. “Otherwise we would not be having this conversation.”

Chapter 5

    Turin

    “You look fine, my dear. For Heaven’s sake, stop fussing.”
    Terrye Jo twisted, trying to settle the fall of her very full skirts, draped over pleated pads at the hips and ending in a small train. There were petticoats and underclothes, more than she knew existed. The front of the gown was a single piece, while the back was separated at the uncomfortably high waistline. The bodice had a wide neck, with the side seams running into the full sleeves, which puffed out like a pair of frilly balloon animals. And she wasn’t even able to describe the boning at the waist.
    “Your Grace must realize how uncomfortable this all is.”
    “Mademoiselle, I am perhaps two months from term. If you think that you are uncomfortable, consider my position.” Duchess Christina Maria smiled and reached out a hand, clad in a delicate, white lace glove. “Really, Teresa. It will be all right. Now put on your gloves and your smile.”
    Terrye Jo drew on her own gloves, of thin doeskin leather. At least they covered up her hands, which showed ample evidence of hard manual work—but even though they were comfortable and beautiful, they seemed alien on her.
    As for the smile, it came much more easily.
    “That’s better,” Christina said. “Now you have no need to be nervous. You have attended to your bows and curtseys with military attention—you will do fine.”
    “That’s not what worries me, Your Grace.”
    “Then what is it, dear?”
    “I’ve . . . never met royalty before.”
    “You’ve met a duke . And a duchess ,” Christina added, smiling again. “Whose father was a king. That’s almost the same.”
    “I suppose it is, but not quite. I mean no offense, Your Grace, but