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voice—"use your other charms to distract him."
       Sarah stared at her. "I'm not going to—"
       "Of course not." The Widow waved a hand. "You'll be in the house several days. The duc will undoubtedly be out or otherwise occupied for some portion of that time. Our sources tell us he works long hours. You should have no problem finding an hour here or there to snoop. Very well?"
       "Very well."
       The Widow made it sound easy, and perhaps it was—for her. But Sarah could easily see herself making a mistake and botching everything.
       "Don't worry about contacting us," Sir Northrop called. "We'll contact you."
       "Not so much rouge," The Widow instructed the woman with the cosmetics; then she glanced back at Sarah. "Stay in character at all times. You are Mademoiselle Serafina Artois, daughter of the comte and comtesse de Guyenne. You are nobility. The Valères are old family friends, so don't talk too much of your mother and father, lest you say something that contradicts what the duchesse remembers. Talk about your interests, your hobbies."
       Sarah frowned. "And what if I encounter a situation for which I'm not prepared? What then?"
       The Widow gave her an annoyed look. "Be creative, Serafina."
       But she was not creative, and she was not Serafina. Who, upon seeing her, would ever believe she possessed a name like Serafina?
       "All done!" the hairdresser announced.
       "Let me see." The Widow tried to rise, winced, and lay back again. "Stand up, Serafina."
       Sarah obeyed, and The Widow nodded her approval. "Sir Northrop, come see our Serafina."
       The curtains separating the two rooms parted, and Sir Northrop stood in the opening. He gazed at her for a long moment, and then folded his arms and nodded, looking quite satisfied with himself. "Just as I thought. She'll do very well."
       Curious now, Sarah turned to glance in the cheval mirror behind her. She searched the reflection for herself. There was The Widow, the seamstress, the hairdresser and…
       Was that her in the sapphire blue gown? The woman's jaw dropped, shock and surprise on her face.
       Sarah closed her mouth, and the woman did as well.
       It was her! No, it was Serafina, and she was tall and elegant and—beautiful. Sarah touched her face and her hair in awe. Somehow they had made her look beautiful. Was it the rouge? The coiffure? The diamonds about her neck? Undoubtedly, they contributed to the illusion, but the face that looked back at her was still familiar. It had the same plain eyes, only now they seemed dark and mysterious. It had the same brown hair, only now it looked thick and glossy. And she had the same full lips. Those had not really improved. They still looked too big for her face.
       But her body… it looked almost as though it belonged in this gown. She could feel heat rise to her face at the amount of flesh on display. Somehow it did not seem like her own. Was her skin really so white? Were her curves really so pleasing? The afternoon dress looked as though it had been made for her, and she supposed it had. It was in the latest style, and the robe was fashioned out of sky blue crepe. The petticoat underneath was of the whitest muslin and trimmed with lace. The bodice was cut low, but a tucker provided some modesty. Sarah turned to see the train, marveling that she should wear a gown with a train. It looked so elegant, so regal—so impractical.
       But she did not have to be practical anymore. Mademoiselle Serafina hired others to be practical for her.
       Sarah turned to The Widow and Sir Northrop, and they both smiled at her. "You see?" The Widow said. "I told you that you could do it. Now, one last small, very small, issue."
       Sarah raised a skeptical brow. "Yes?"
       "How is your Italian?"
    ***
    Julien didn't like surprises, so the instant the carriage carrying the comte de Guyenne's daughter arrived, he knew it. It was rather later than his mother had