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“They are real,” Ann says, clasping the jewels around her own neck. “I am the remarkable forgery.”

“Why, Ann Bradshaw!” Felicity exclaims. “You are brilliant!”

Ann beams. “Thank you.”

We hold hands, relishing the moment as one. At last, Ann has bested the hideous Cecily Temple. The air feels lighter, as it does after a rain, and I am certain we are on our way to a happier future.

Mademoiselle LeFarge lets us know that the carriage has arrived. We introduce “Nan” to her and hold our breath, waiting for her response. Will she see through the illusion?

“How do you do, Miss Washbrad?”

“V-v-very well, thank you,” Ann answers in a faltering voice. I hold her hand tightly, for I fear that any lack of confidence might weaken the illusion she’s created. She must believe it wholeheartedly.

“It’s odd, but I can’t help feeling we’ve met before. There is something so familiar about you, though I cannot put my finger on it,” Mademoiselle LeFarge says.

I squeeze Ann’s hand, strengthening our bond. You are Nan Washbrad. Nan Washbrad. Nan Washbrad.

“I am often m-mistaken for others. Once I was even taken for a poor mouse of a girl at a boarding school,” Ann answers, and Felicity bursts out laughing.

“Forgive me,” Fee says, collecting herself. “I’ve only just gotten a joke told me last week.”

“Well, I am happy to make your acquaintance, Miss Washbrad,” LeFarge says. “Shall we? The carriage awaits.”

I let out the breath I’ve been holding. “That was a bit thick at the end, wasn’t it?” I whisper as the coachman opens the carriage door.

Ann grins. “But she believed it! She didn’t sense anything amiss. Our plan is working, Gemma.”

“That it is,” I say, patting her arm. “And it’s only the beginning. But let’s keep our heads about us.”

“My, what a beautiful necklace,” Mademoiselle LeFarge remarks. “Such exquisite pearls.”

“Thank you,” Ann says. “They were given to me by someone who did not properly appreciate their worth.”

“What a pity,” our teacher clucks.

The train ride to London is the most exciting yet. It is exhilarating to have such a powerful secret. I do feel a touch of remorse for tricking LeFarge, whom I like, but it was necessary. And I cannot deny that there is a thrill in knowing how easy it is to secure our freedom. Freedom—we’ll have more of that. Curiously, I find that as I make use of the magic, I feel better—more alive and awake. Nearly giddy.

“What shall you do in London today, Mademoiselle LeFarge?” I ask.

“I’ve arrangements to make. For the wedding,” she says with a happy sigh.

“You must tell us simply everything,” Felicity insists, and we badger her with questions. Will she carry a fan? Will there be lace? A veil? Will she have orange blossoms embroidered on her dress for luck as Queen Victoria did?

“Oh, no, nothing so grand.” She demurs, glancing down at her plump hands resting in her ample lap. “It will be a simple country wedding in the Spence chapel.”

“Will you stay on at Spence?” Ann asks. “After you’re married?”

“That rather depends on Mr. Kent,” she answers, as if that settles it.

“Would you want to stay on?” Felicity presses.

“I should like a new life once I am married. In fact, the inspector has begun to ask my thoughts on his cases, to have a woman’s perspective. I know it’s out of the ordinary for a wife’s duties, but I confess I find it quite thrilling.”

“That is lovely,” Ann says. She’s smiling in that romantic way of hers, and I know that in her head she’s conjured images of herself bustling about a kitchen, sending her husband off to work with a kiss. I try to imagine myself in such a life. Would I like it? Would I grow bored? Would it be a comfort or a curse?

My thoughts turn to Kartik—his lips, his hands, the way he once kissed me. In my mind I see myself running my fingers across those lips, feeling his hands at the nape of my neck. A warm ache settles below my belly. It ignites something deep inside me that I cannot name, and suddenly, it’s as if I am inside a vision. Kartik and I stand in a garden. My hands are tattooed with henna, like an Indian bride’s. He takes me into his arms and kisses me under a steady rain of falling petals. He gently lowers the edges of my sari, baring my shoulders, his lips trailing down my bare skin, and I sense that everything between us is about to change.

I come back to myself suddenly. My breathing is labored and I feel flushed from head to toe. No one seems to notice my discomfort, and I do my best to regain my composure.

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