plants beside her.
"There you are, Serafina."
Sarah glanced up and saw the duchesse leading a man and woman toward her. Not now! She glanced at the clock again. Twelve minutes until ten.
The duchesse stood before her. "Mademoiselle Serafina Artois," she said in French, "may I present the comte and comtesse Poitou."
Sarah curtseyed and glanced at the clock again. " Enchantè, " she answered.
"The comte and comtesse knew your parents," the duchesse continued in French.
"Really?" Sarah's French was fluent, but between pretending to be Mademoiselle Serafina, worrying about the time, and wondering what Sir Northrop wanted, she could hardly remember her English much less concentrate on this conversation.
"We were so relieved to learn that you and your family made it out of France alive," the comtesse said. "As I recall, your father vexed the king mightily. If we'd only listened to Guyenne, we might have been spared that so-called revolution."
Sarah frowned in confusion. Had Serafina's father said something that could have prevented the revolution? Something bold enough that the king would exile him? Since it seemed she was expected to say something, she smiled and gave a vague, "Oui, bien sûr."
It was eight minutes to ten. Surely, Sir Northrop would wait for her.
"How did you manage to get out?" the comte asked.
The duchesse nodded. "Oh, yes. Do tell the story."
"The story?" Sarah took a quick breath. Now she had to make up a story?
"Delphine gave me a scattering of details in her letters," the duchesse told the comte, "but I'm certain Serafina will tell it better."
Sarah gritted her teeth to keep from screaming in frustration. Could nothing go right tonight? How was she supposed to tell a story she didn't know?—she glanced at the clock—in five minutes and in French, no less!
She was going to murder Sir Northrop.
But the duchesse and her friends were looking at her, their faces rapt with attention. She had to say something. "It began in"—she watched the duchesse—"Paris."
The duchesse furrowed her brow.
"I mean, the country outside Paris."
The duchesse continued to frown. "I thought you were in Marseilles."
"Oh." Sarah nodded. If the duchesse knew the story so well, why didn't she just tell it! "Is that where Mama began the story?"
"Yes. She said you were in Marseilles, all three of you riding in the carriage. It was Sunday, and you were on the way home from—"
"Mass," Sarah interjected with a smile. "That's right."
The duchesse frowned again. "I thought the king sent the news in the evening."
"Um—it was vespers," Sarah said as though this should be obvious.
"Ah!" The duchesse nodded. "I see. Go on."
Go on? She glanced at the ceiling and tried to conjure something else to say. If this story was not believable, it might cast doubt on who she was and alert the duc that he was being spied upon. The consequences would be dire. She had to be clever now…
Had not Mademoiselle Serafina been only a toddler at the time of the Guyenne's flight? Yes!
"I fear my memory of the event is somewhat unreliable," she said with a smile. "I was so young."
"Of course you were." The duchesse patted her arm.
"But I believe that after my parents received the king's letter—"
"Mademoiselle Serafina? Is that you?"
Sarah whirled to see Sir Northrop coming across the room, a huge smile on his face. The duchesse, comte, and comtesse turned as well. Sir Northrop's eyes bore into her, and she forced herself to speak. "Sir Northrop, I didn't know you would be here."
He joined their small group, and Sarah introduced him.
"And how do you know one another?" the duchesse asked her.
Sir Northrop looked at Sarah, and Sarah looked back. Apparently, he had not come to save her after all. "We met… in
"There you are, Serafina."
Sarah glanced up and saw the duchesse leading a man and woman toward her. Not now! She glanced at the clock again. Twelve minutes until ten.
The duchesse stood before her. "Mademoiselle Serafina Artois," she said in French, "may I present the comte and comtesse Poitou."
Sarah curtseyed and glanced at the clock again. " Enchantè, " she answered.
"The comte and comtesse knew your parents," the duchesse continued in French.
"Really?" Sarah's French was fluent, but between pretending to be Mademoiselle Serafina, worrying about the time, and wondering what Sir Northrop wanted, she could hardly remember her English much less concentrate on this conversation.
"We were so relieved to learn that you and your family made it out of France alive," the comtesse said. "As I recall, your father vexed the king mightily. If we'd only listened to Guyenne, we might have been spared that so-called revolution."
Sarah frowned in confusion. Had Serafina's father said something that could have prevented the revolution? Something bold enough that the king would exile him? Since it seemed she was expected to say something, she smiled and gave a vague, "Oui, bien sûr."
It was eight minutes to ten. Surely, Sir Northrop would wait for her.
"How did you manage to get out?" the comte asked.
The duchesse nodded. "Oh, yes. Do tell the story."
"The story?" Sarah took a quick breath. Now she had to make up a story?
"Delphine gave me a scattering of details in her letters," the duchesse told the comte, "but I'm certain Serafina will tell it better."
Sarah gritted her teeth to keep from screaming in frustration. Could nothing go right tonight? How was she supposed to tell a story she didn't know?—she glanced at the clock—in five minutes and in French, no less!
She was going to murder Sir Northrop.
But the duchesse and her friends were looking at her, their faces rapt with attention. She had to say something. "It began in"—she watched the duchesse—"Paris."
The duchesse furrowed her brow.
"I mean, the country outside Paris."
The duchesse continued to frown. "I thought you were in Marseilles."
"Oh." Sarah nodded. If the duchesse knew the story so well, why didn't she just tell it! "Is that where Mama began the story?"
"Yes. She said you were in Marseilles, all three of you riding in the carriage. It was Sunday, and you were on the way home from—"
"Mass," Sarah interjected with a smile. "That's right."
The duchesse frowned again. "I thought the king sent the news in the evening."
"Um—it was vespers," Sarah said as though this should be obvious.
"Ah!" The duchesse nodded. "I see. Go on."
Go on? She glanced at the ceiling and tried to conjure something else to say. If this story was not believable, it might cast doubt on who she was and alert the duc that he was being spied upon. The consequences would be dire. She had to be clever now…
Had not Mademoiselle Serafina been only a toddler at the time of the Guyenne's flight? Yes!
"I fear my memory of the event is somewhat unreliable," she said with a smile. "I was so young."
"Of course you were." The duchesse patted her arm.
"But I believe that after my parents received the king's letter—"
"Mademoiselle Serafina? Is that you?"
Sarah whirled to see Sir Northrop coming across the room, a huge smile on his face. The duchesse, comte, and comtesse turned as well. Sir Northrop's eyes bore into her, and she forced herself to speak. "Sir Northrop, I didn't know you would be here."
He joined their small group, and Sarah introduced him.
"And how do you know one another?" the duchesse asked her.
Sir Northrop looked at Sarah, and Sarah looked back. Apparently, he had not come to save her after all. "We met… in
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