“Nichole! Nichole, wake up!” A panicked voice broke through the darkness that had closed in around Nichole’s consciousness. Someone was violently shaking her, slapping her face and finally tearing away the last shreds of the vision of the Parisian Square. Nichole’s eyes shot open to be greeted, not by the sight of Louis Lynette, but by the worried face of her ladies’ maid Miriam, illuminated by the light of a single candle.

Flooded with relief, Nichole let out a cry and grabbed Miriam’s shoulders, clutching her maid’s nightdress desperately as her body was wracked with violent, shuddering sobs.

Miriam angled herself so that she could sit down next to the hysterical young woman and set the candleholder down on the small table next to Nichole’s bed. Wrapping her waif thin arms around her mistress and running her hands comfortingly down her back, Miriam did her best to soothe the weeping woman in her embrace. She murmured softly, words that made no real sense but were the sorts of things her mother would say when she herself woke from a particularly violent nightmare, and eventually Nichole stopped shaking quite so fiercely.

“It was horrible, Miriam,” Nichole whispered into the linen of her maid’s dressing gown. “So horrible. I was…I was a prisoner…yet not a prisoner…and I loved someone and watched him die! Oh, Miriam! I can still see his face!”

Miriam grasped Nichole by the shoulders and stared directly at her. “It was just a nightmare, nothing more.”

“No! No it wasn’t! I…I can’t explain it, Miriam. It was like…stepping into the future.” Nichole buried her face in her hands. “Or the past. I don’t know! It’s muddled! But it was real! All of it!” With pleading in her tone, Nichole stared at her confidant and traveling companion. “It was like foresight…what the gypsy women at Carnival spoke of!”

Miriam pulled away from Nichole as though she’d been burned and fumbled inside her gown for the small silver cross that hung on a chain around her neck, clasping it tightly in her fingers. “You should not say such things! They will say you‘re a heretic or mad!”

“But Miriam--”

“No!” Miriam shook her head, still keeping the cross firmly in hand. “It was a nightmare and that’s all it was. You’ve been out of sorts since we boarded the boat--”

“Miriam, visions are not caused by sea sickness!” Nichole exclaimed, slamming her fist on the bed in her vehemence.

Within moments, Miriam’s hands were placed on her hips as though she were dealing with a disobedient child. “No, you twit, not sea sickness. Home sickness.”

The woman on her bed looked at the maid with such shock one would think she’d just been slapped.

“I could have you dismissed for that, Miriam,” Nichole said huffily, crossing her arms over her chest, the very picture of a spoiled brat. “No self respecting ladies maid would ever talk back to her mistress.”

“Which is exactly why you shouldn’t be talking back to me, Nichole.” Miriam smiled in spite of herself and Nichole had no choice but to mirror her action.

“Now that isn’t fair, Miriam,” Nichole scolded, “You promised me on this trip I would get to play the role of well bred aristocratic lady.”

Miriam rolled her eyes and sat back down on the feather mattress next to her friend. “You’re playing the role too well.”

“Would you have me play it shoddily and risk discovery?” Nichole asked knowingly. “Your neck is on the line just as much as mine is, Miriam.”

“There’s where you’re wrong,” the other woman corrected. “For a nobleman’s daughter to exchange places with a servant is a disgrace, for a servant to exchange places with a nobleman’s daughter is a scandal and against the law. I‘ll get a severe scolding but you‘ll get the lash. If not worse.”

All the gaiety drained away from Nichole at the reminder of just what her ‘dream’ had foretold and just how real a possibility her own life being ended due to this charade was. “Please, Miriam, don’t remind me.” With one hand she twisted the bed sheet as she spoke. “I know this wasn’t the best idea we’ve ever had. If I’m to get through this scheme, I can’t focus on the possible consequences if we’re found out. I‘ll go insane if I do!”

“We’ll be fine. Aunt Louise and I have never met and the woman is so old that I doubt she’ll even notice you hold less than a passing resemblance to Mama.” Miriam nodded, more to herself than anyone else. “Mama won’t give you away either.”

“I still don’t understand why your mother is going along with this,” Nichole muttered. “This is supposed to be your grand entrance into Paris society. Your chance to catch a wealthy husband.”

“Silly goose,” Miriam said teasingly. “Mama already has my husband picked out. An Earl, no less. One that I’ve already met and am quite fond of, thank you very much. To parade me around Paris in fancy gowns would be a waste of time.” The false maid shrugged her shoulders. “But since someone from the house of Covington is expected to make an appearance…well, you are ‘Of The House Of Covington’ you’re just ‘Of The Housekeeping Staff’.”

“Leave it to you to find the only available loophole.”

“Don’t be like that. I know you want fancy dress balls and dance cards full to bursting with the names of handsome men.” Miriam placed both her hands over her heart dramatically and fluttered her eyelashes. “You’ll fall in love with some dashing duke who only has eyes for you and he’ll whisk you away and kiss you at twilight in a secluded grotto--” She sighed for effect. “Then you’ll be wed and live out the rest of your life in a haze of love and devotion to each other.”

“I think you’ve been reading too many of those lurid books that have been making the rounds in France.”

“And I think you haven’t been reading enough of them.” Miriam plopped down on the mattress next to Nichole once more. “Just wait until we get to Paris. You’ll see.”