This was no Parisian palace. The crude, wrought iron window frameworks looked peasant-made, and not at all like the fine artistry at Tuileries. Cracks and chips marred the walls in every hallway. The place wasn’t lined with guards and servants. She tossed her hair, pushing at another wooden doorway. This hacienda was bigger than even the richest homes in Santa Monica, but it wasn’t built for royalty. It wouldn’t take long to go through the entire home and find the kind of clothes they needed. “Bingo,” Julia said as she looked into a doorway. Kaitlyn abandoned the room she had just begun to enter—it only had a desk and some high-backed leather chairs—and followed Julia. ‘Bingo’ was right. A bed. A vanity. Loads and loads of lace. “It’s dress up time,” she murmured, brushing past Julia and going straight for the wardrobe. Clothes. Kaitlyn felt her scar pull as a smile crept up her cheeks. She ran her hands down the smooth, soft fabric of a long gown. Satin…. Silk… The detail didn’t compare with the gowns they had worn in Paris.
