The fleshy woman, wearing only a loose caftan, reclined on her chaise-longue in the Paris apartment. In her hand, a glass of sherry dipped and waved with every expostulation. Her boozy husband leaned against the mantel, above which a bright square of wallpaper was exposed.

"I'll miss the Gainsborough," he said to his wife, Lady Sarah, in a lazy drawl made worse by his French accent.

"Well, the money from its sale will keep you in brandy for another month or two." Her tone was arch. She eyed Marcel La Flambeur with a healthy amount of disgust and took another sip of sherry.

Lady Sarah, Comtesse de LaFlambeur watched as two workmen built the crate to house the framed painting, cringing with each strike of their hammers. She might have put her hands over her ears, but relinquishing the sherry was the greater annoyance.

The doorman knocked. "A letter for you, Madame," he called through the door.
Marcel bestirred himself from the fireplace and opened the door. He took the missive, neglecting to give the man a tip, before closing the door again. "It's addressed to you," he said. "An admirer, my love?"

He held the letter just out of her reach.

"Give it to me," she demanded. As she reached for the letter, the sherry spilled, and she cursed loudly.

"Tsk. Tsk." Marcel muttered as he dropped the letter on her lap, tittering as he resumed his stance by the fireplace to watch as she read.


My Dear Lady Sarah,

I hope this letter finds you well. By the time you read it, I shall have passed. I hope
you'll remember me with great fondness as I remember you.

I have a favor to ask. My widow, Catherine will be traveling to Paris upon my death. It is
my fervent wish that you may find the time to introduce her to Parisian society and see
that she is accepted into the great houses. I will, of course, see to all of the expenses this
might entail. You may rely upon Simmons; you do remember Simmons, to make sure that
the monies are made available for your use. I realize that this may come at an
inconvenient time, and Simmons will be prepared to pay you an additional sum of 10,000
livres when Catherine successfully leaves Paris for the Season in London. Simmons will
see to any costs you deem necessary for Catherine's debut.

I wish you and the Comte de LaFlambeur great happiness and thank you in advance for
this kindness to my wife.

Sincerely,
St. George, Duke of Alamuir


Lady Sarah crushed the missive in her hand and threw it across the room. "That bastard!" she shouted.

Both men looked up from crating the Gainsborough, their mouths forming perfect O's.

"Dearest, language," he scolded. "What has he said that has upset you so?" asked Marcel.

"He wants me to sponsor his widow. To give her entree into society."

"I rather doubt we can afford it. I see why you're upset." Marcel tipped his glass back and wiped his mouth with his sleeve.

"Oh, he will pay for it and then a nice bonus." She slowly began to grin from ear to ear.

"Certainly we could use the entertainment funds. What could you possibly have to be upset about?"

Sarah lifted her heft from the chaise and pulled the caftan close around her swollen body. "Put the Gainsborough back," she ordered the workmen. "Tell Mssr. Picaud I won't be selling it."

She turned to Marcel and viewed him with a gimlet eye. "We may not have much time before she arrives. You'll want to dry yourself out. Perhaps a new coat. She is a duchess. We'll have to pull ourselves together." She sucked in her stomach and stretched her mouth into something resembling a smile. I'll need a new wardrobe as well. There will be balls and morning visits."

She walked to the small desk where she kept her stationery. "I'll have to call in some favors. A few well-placed hints about a wealthy duchess should garner some invitations." She put her index finger to her pursed lips. "I believe there may be some old friends of Alamuir's still in Paris. I'm sure we can count on them to help launch her." She stood a little straighter. "Yes, this might be just the thing."