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I'll—"
       She held up a hand. "No, you go to bed."
       He hesitated and then decided that, at this point,
    bed was probably best. He turned toward the steps.
    "But, Julien?"
    He paused, looked back.
       "Don't sleep too late. Mademoiselle Serafina Artois is arriving today."
       Julien clenched his jaw, nodded. His mother might think she had procured him a bride, but in Mademoiselle Serafina, Julien saw something else.
       Vengeance.

Four

    Sarah could not believe she was doing this. She could not believe she was standing in a modiste's shop, being poked and prodded and fitted.
       "Not that one," The Widow said. "Keep her in blue." She sounded annoyed and as though she were in pain. A surgeon had come to tend her at Sir Northrop's, but she had refused to take any pain medication for fear it would put her to sleep. She claimed it was her duty to assist Sarah with these final preparations.
       She apparently also felt it her duty to threaten and cajole until she got her way. Two days ago, when Sarah had refused to participate in this… scheme, The Widow told Sir Northrop to fire her, and he had promptly done so. Sarah could see why he had been such a successful naval officer. He was ruthless. He gave Sarah two choices: leave her position and be tossed out on the street with nary a reference nor an opportunity for another position—or spy for the Foreign Office.
       Sarah had no illusions about life on the streets of London. She doubted she would make it through the night with her chastity intact. And Sir Northrop said he would make sure the Academy would not take her back. He threatened to write a letter saying she was a disgrace to their good name. As an institution that relied on charity, the Academy considered reputation everything. Even if the teachers wanted to help Sarah, they could not assist her without risking the future of all the other girls.
       It was not fair, and it was not right, but life had never been fair to Sarah. She pushed her anger down and agreed to spy. The Widow had promised it would be only for a few days—perhaps a week at most. But Sarah was expected at the duc's residence today—this very afternoon. All of the dresses The Widow had had made up would have to be altered to fit Sarah. As far as Sarah could see, that meant all the gowns would have to be taken in at the hips and the bosom.
       How depressing.
       "What's going on in there?" Sir Northrop called from outside the dressing room.
       "We're fitting her in the blue dress," The Widow answered. "She'll wear that today, and we'll send the others later." She looked at Sarah. "You may tell the Valères your luggage went missing."
        Another lie. Wonderful.
       The past two days and nights she had done nothing but lie. She prepared hour after hour to play the role of Mademoiselle Serafina Artois, daughter of the comte and comtesse de Guyenne. She had been primped and poked, prodded and pushed. She had been drilled in etiquette, dancing, languages, deportment, and Mademoiselle Serafina's life history.
       Sarah's brain felt as though it would explode, and her head was still throbbing. She eyed The Widow. "Are you sure you're not feeling any better?" Sarah asked her. "If you're well enough to direct all this"— she indicated the modiste and two seamstresses busily measuring and sewing. Sir Northrop had assured her they all worked for the Foreign Office and could be trusted—"then perhaps you could go yourself."
       "Yes, I'm sure there will be no small commotion when I faint on the ballroom floor from loss of blood."
       "Ballroom? You don't really expect me to dance?"
       The Widow frowned at her. "You'll be moving in Society, and as this is the Season, there will be balls. We practiced all afternoon yesterday."
       And still she felt uncertain. There were so many dances and so many steps to remember. Sarah swallowed, wishing she had practiced with the other girls when attending the