Oh, Claudia could wish. But she firmly believed that Martine Chareut would be giving orders on her damned deathbed. Granted, Claudia held to her own goals these days, but it was still a chore to keep the old woman at arm's length.

"Thank you." Dropping into a chair, she rubbed the bridge of her nose briefly. "I doubt it matters what rank I'll eventually attain; Martine believes herself to be Mistress of All I Do, so I'm more or less obliged to endure it until she finally drops dead." A firm gulp of whiskey. "Of painful and sudden heart failure, I do devoutly hope."