The Making of a Duchess by Shana Galen Read Free Book Online Page B

stepped back, holding Sarah at arm's length. "Let me look at you. I cannot believe how you have grown up."
       "Duchesse?" Sarah squeaked.
       " Oui! Do you remember me?"
       As they had never met before, Sarah had no trouble answering, "No, Your Grace."
       "Oh!" The duchesse's eyebrows rose. "Do you speak English then?" The duchesse had switched to English, her accent that of a native.
       Sarah flinched, hoping she had not already made a mistake. She wished she were a better actress, but she must proceed onward now. "Yes. I speak English and French."
       "And Italian?"
       Sarah clenched her teeth, remembering the tidbit The Widow had dropped on her at the modiste's this morning. "Of course."
       "Please, do sit. You must be exhausted after your long journey. Would you care for tea?"
       "No. Thank you." She was not yet ready to play her role and attempt nonchalantly to sip tea at the same time. She took a seat on a bright yellow chintz sofa while the duchesse sat across from her in a dainty chair upholstered in cream satin.
       The duchesse was everything Sarah had expected. She was regal and poised and beautiful. Small and trim with thick black hair, she had an effortless beauty Sarah would have died for.
       The duchesse was smiling, but there was something sad in her face.
       For a long moment, the duchesse just stared at her, and Sarah began to worry that she had been found out. She gave her a wobbly smile, trying not to think about the fact that she was sitting in a town house in Berkeley Square. No one but the wealthiest, most prestigious families lived in Berkeley Square. Half of the ton would be impressed were they to be invited to tea in this drawing room.
       The duchesse was frowning now, and Sarah curled her hands into the fabric on the sofa. Something was wrong. Perhaps she should be talking? But what did a comte's daughter say to a duchesse?
       She glanced about the room. Above her was a crystal chandelier; below her was an Aubusson carpet in red, blue, and green; around her was furniture of the best quality. The intricately carved wood shone. Paintings lined the walls, and the cornices were expertly crafted. Behind her was a small pianoforte, and across from her stood a huge fireplace with gold trim and heavy porcelain urns flanking the mantel.
       "Th-this is a lovely room," she stuttered. "So—" Luxurious? Huge? Terrifying? "Pretty."
       Sarah clutched the sofa tighter. Oh, how stupid she sounded! Her stomach clenched again, and she bit her lip to keep the bile down.
       "Thank you." The duchesse smiled. "I am trying to decide whether you resemble your mother or your father more. I think your father, but I see you have your mother's cheeks."
       Sarah nodded. "Yes, that's what everyone says." She smiled. Perhaps playing Serafina would not be as bad as she had feared. She need only smile and nod and agree.
       "And how are your dear parents? I cannot tell you how overjoyed I was to hear from Delphine and to find out that you and your family had settled in Italy and were doing well. When she suggested you might be open to a visit to London, Julien and I couldn't wait to see you. It's too bad your parents could not come as well. How are they?"
       Sarah nodded, keenly aware her instructions had been to avoid the subject of her so-called parents. "They're fine. Thank you for asking."
       The duchesse was frowning at her. "But if they are well, why could they not make the trip? Your mother said your father was on his death bed."
       Sarah blinked and swallowed. Her stomach gave a threatening heave. "Yes, well, other than that, they are fine."
       She wanted to sink into the sofa and hide underneath it. She was such an idiot! The Widow and Sir Northrop had told her that her father was supposedly on his deathbed. How could she have forgotten? She had to take a deep breath and calm down. She had to think.
       There was a tap on the door,