Free The Making of a Duchess by Shana Galen Page B

inquired as to whether Katarina would be offended if Serafina had her hair done by Madame Leroix. She was the most fashionable hairdresser in London at the moment, and everyone knew the French had superior talents when it came to coiffure.
       "Oh, please don't go to so much trouble on my behalf," Sarah urged, though she knew her protests would be to no avail. But she was beginning to feel guilty at all of the attention being paid to her. Who was she to deserve to sleep on silk sheets, have a maid unpack her things, and a housekeeper bring her breakfast in bed? She was no one—her parents unknown and most likely disreputable. If the duchesse knew who she really was—
       Sarah swallowed. No, the duchesse would never know. More importantly, the duc would never know.
       "You make use of Madame Leroix, Your Grace. I assure you, Katarina will do well enough for me."
       The duchesse smiled benevolently. "You don't want to offend your sweet little maid. I understand. Give me the words, and I'll give her the bad news."
       Sarah's gaze darted to Katarina, who was across the room, humming to herself and carefully placing folded garments in the clothespress.
       "The words?"
       "The Italian. Scusi, signorina?"
       Katarina turned sharply, her face lighting at the sound of the duchesse's Italian. Sarah wanted to groan in frustration. It was too early for so many complications!
        "Un momento, per favore." The duchesse turned back to Sarah. "Serafina, how do I tell her that her services won't be required this evening?"
       Sarah gritted her teeth. At the moment, she remembered exactly three words in Italian: bravo, arrivederci , and grazie . None of those would help in this situation. She was tired, she was irritable, and she was hungry. For a moment, she was tempted to tell the duchesse the truth and end this whole charade.
       But then she had a quick image of herself on the streets, huddled in a doorway, fending off a leering, gap-toothed ruffian.
       Sir Northrop wouldn't really put her out on the streets, would he?
       Oh, yes, he would. Especially if she made a muddle of this assignment. If she compromised national security by informing the mother of a traitor that the Foreign Office was spying on them.
       Sarah glanced at the duchesse and wondered how she was going to get out of this muddle. "Your Grace?"
       The duchesse frowned.
       Sarah gave herself a mental kick. The duchesse had asked to be called by her Christian name. "Rowena," she managed, though it went against all of her training to be so informal. "My maid and I have a…" She glanced at the ceiling, hoping she looked thoughtful, her mind racing for some plausible excuse. "A complicated relationship."
       It was vague, but vague was good.
       "Would you mind if I spoke with her privately?" Sarah lowered her voice. "I don't want to hurt her feelings."
       The duchesse nodded in understanding. "Of course. I leave you to it. I'll have that bath sent up for you right away, and Madame Leroix will be here this afternoon." She turned toward the door, then back again. Her eyes were soft and shining. "Oh, Serafina, I cannot tell you how excited I am. I've been waiting for this day for so, so long!"
       And with a quick dab at her eyes, she was gone.
       Sarah leaned back on the pillows and closed her eyes. She hated this. She absolutely hated this. After her conversation with the duc the night before, now she knew why his mother was so intent on making her welcome: she thought she would soon acquire a daughter-in-law.
       Instead, Sarah was going to be the cause of her losing a son to prison or worse. The penalty for treason was drawing and quartering.
       Sarah shook her head. She did not want to think of that, did not want to think of the handsome duc on trial at the Old Bailey, the leering crowd of spectators, each paying a farthing for admittance to the show.
       Would she have to testify? She