" In flawless and very aristocratic French, Jane said, “Tell Monsieur le Comte de Brillac that he has a guest.”
“Er . . .” It was clear the guard didn’t know what to make of her. “Do you have papers?”
Yes. In a trunk somewhere on the road to Santarém.
Jane drew herself up, doing her best imitation of the Dowager Duchess of Dovedale in a snit. “Take me to the comte. At once.”
“But—”
“You may tell him,” said Jane, flicking at a smudge of dirt on her sleeve, “that his fiancée is here to see him. "

― Lauren Willig , The Lure of the Moonflower (Pink Carnation, #12)