No, the only real choice was to stretch what little she had and—should it be absolutely necessary—wire Martin for funds. He wouldn’t be at all averse to assisting her, but she hated the very thought of admitting her stupidity and asking for rescue. She was not a helpless female and did not want to be seen as one. Nor did she wish to be further indebted to Martin. She was already in his debt for her employment. She would send a final telegram, make up some sort of excuse as to why she wouldn’t be telegraphing him further and then make that money last as long as possible. And she would repay him every bit of it when she returned home.

A knock sounded at her door.

“Yes?”

The door opened, and Estelle poked her head in. “My dear girl, are you all right? Everyone is worried about you.”

“That’s very kind of you.” India forced a smile. “But you needn’t worry, I’m fine.”

“Oh, well, then, I’ll leave you be.” Disappointment flickered through the older woman’s eyes, and she turned to go. It really was quite nice of her—of all of them really—to worry about her. Especially given that she might not be the most congenial traveling companion.

“Don’t go,” India said without thinking. “That wasn’t entirely true.”

“Oh?”

“I’m not the least bit fine, I’m afraid.” India brushed an annoying tendril of hair away from her face. “Please, come in.”

“Of course.” Estelle’s face brightened, and she fairly bounced into the room. “You poor child. What can I do to help?”

“I don’t know.” India indicated an upholstered chair. “Do sit down.” Estelle settled in the chair and waited expectantly. India resumed pacing. “I’ve never not known what to do, at least not as far as I can remember. My life is usually well ordered and controlled. Things are not generally out of my hands.”

“This is an awkward situation.” Sympathy sounded in Estelle’s voice. “Although we are in Paris, so it’s not as bad as it could be.”

India paused in midstep. “I don’t see how it could be worse.”

“Nonsense. This is the fashion capital of the world, you know. I can’t imagine anything more fun than replenishing one’s wardrobe in Paris, even if one has limited means. It’s an opportunity that does not often come along, at least for most of us. And you have the perfect excuse.”

India stared. “I hadn’t even thought about clothes.”

“Well, you simply can’t continue to wear the same thing day after day.” Estelle’s gaze traveled over the gray dress from bodice to hem and back. “It’s beginning to look a bit—” she winced “—sad.”

“It is being cleaned every night.”

“Clean is one thing, dear. Worn is something else altogether.”

India glanced down at the dependable garment. “I think it’s holding up well.”

“Come now, India.” Estelle’s tone was gentle, as if she were trying to make a small child see reason. “Do you really?”

“Yes,” she said staunchly. “I do.”

Estelle’s brow arched upward.

“I’ve never been particularly concerned with fashion.”

“I’ve noticed, dear.”

“I prefer to choose my clothes for practical reasons—appropriateness and reliability, that sort of thing.”

“Not for appearance then?”

“No.” India shrugged.

“Never?”

“I’ve never seen the need.”

“I see.” Estelle considered her thoughtfully. “Have you never put on a new gown or a dress and enjoyed how it not only made you look but how it made you feel?”

“No.” India had never even considered such a thing.

“Goodness, even I have that experience very nearly every time I don a new frock. Admittedly, it’s been some time since the view in the mirror was as fetching as it once was...” A wistful smile curved Estelle’s lips. “But enough of that. It’s past time you had that same experience, too. Come along, India.” She rose to her feet. “We have shopping to do.”

“I can’t.”

“Of course you can.” Estelle waved off India’s objection. “As we shall certainly be here for some time, we shall order you some new clothes at once. Until then, there are a few shops here where clothes are sold ready-to-wear. I have already, out of mild curiosity, stopped at a few, and their charges are quite reasonable. Purchasing ready-made clothing is not something I would normally endorse, you understand, but necessity dictates a modicum of sacrifice. Although the purchase of Paris fashions, even those not made to order, is scarcely—”

“I can’t purchase any clothes.” India’s voice rose.

“Not only can you but you must,” Estelle said firmly.

“No, you don’t understand—I can’t.” India drew a deep breath. “Most of my money is hidden in my trunk.”

Estelle’s mouth dropped open, and her eyes widened.

“Is there a Lady Travelers Society pamphlet for that?” The panic India had thought laid to rest threatened to return in full force.

“I don’t know.” Estelle stared. “But there certainly should be a pamphlet. ‘What to Do When One Is in a Foreign Country with No Money.’ I shall suggest it when we return.” She hesitated. “But I suspect the first thing it might say is don’t put your money in luggage that could go astray.”

“Yes, well, that would be good advice.” India continued to pace. “I realize it sounds, oh, unwise—”

Estelle snorted, then coughed.

“But it did seem like such a clever idea at the time.” Still, what had she been thinking? Why, she’d been so caught up in worry about Heloise and preparing for a trip she’d never previously considered, with a man she didn’t trust, and Martin was going on and on about rogues and gypsies, and obviously she wasn’t thinking at all. India prided herself on her intelligence but, apparently, when one’s intellect failed, it did so in a spectacular manner. “I see now it was a stupid mistake. Why, if anyone else had done something this absurd—”

“You’d call them an idiot.” Estelle nodded. “And in no uncertain terms, I’d wager.”

India stared at the older woman. She’d never worried about what other people thought of her; it simply wasn’t important. She lived her life as she pleased. Of course, she’d never had a season, never been officially out in society, never even been to a ball. And never particularly cared about what she considered foolish nonsense. Was it even remotely possible that all those things she’d never done—never wanted to do—had made her into the kind of shrew who was so unyielding she couldn’t forgive fault in other people? Who saw nothing wrong in pointing out the flaws of others? Who spoke her mind regardless of what insult she might cause? Who belittled a man’s sincere desire not to disappoint?

Estelle was right. India would be the first to call someone who had made as ridiculous a mistake as she had an idiot. That was exactly what she would do. And she’d do so with a great deal of disdain and superiority.

“You’re right.” India sank down on the bed. “I probably would. How terribly...awful of me.”

“I’m not sure awful is the right word,” Estelle said.

India shot her a skeptical look.

“Although I suspect it’s fairly close. However...” Estelle adopted a no-nonsense attitude. “One cannot change if one doesn’t recognize there’s a problem, dear. You are an intelligent, outspoken, independent woman, and I see nothing wrong with that.” She smiled. “But you might consider accepting that the rest of us are flawed, mortal creatures who might not live up to your standards of perfection.”

India nodded slowly. “I could consider that.”

“And that’s all we can hope for. Now then, there’s little I can do about your finances, although I’m sure I can scrape together a bit of a loan. For now...” Estelle studied her closely. “Stand up for a moment so that I may get a good look at you.”

“Why?” India asked but stood nonetheless.

“Turn around please.” Estelle twirled her finger. “Slowly.”

“All right but why am I doing this?”

“So I can best determine which of the articles of clothing I brought with me would be suitable for you.”

“Oh, I couldn’t—”

“But you will. I insist, and I will not take no for an answer.” Estelle stood and circled India. “My things will need a few alterations here and there but nothing significant I wouldn’t think. We are of a similar height and while our bosoms are comparable, I’m afraid the rest of me is a bit more curved than you are.”

Stout was a more appropriate word. India cringed to herself. If she was to be less judgmental and, well, nicer, she needed to start now. If Estelle wanted to call herself curved, then curved she should be.

“I’m not unskilled with a needle and thread myself, but I would imagine one of the maids here is probably more adept than I am.” Estelle’s brow furrowed with thought. “I brought far more than I can possibly ever wear, but one never knows what one might encounter when traveling.”

“Is that advice from a Lady Travelers Society pamphlet?”

“Yes, I believe it is,” Estelle said absently, gathering some of the gray wool between her fingers and pulling it tighter. “You’re not quite as plump as I thought you were. It’s simply that your clothes are a bit ill fitting.”

“They are quite comfortable.”

“I imagine they are,” the older woman murmured. “I have several things that will do for you. At least one will take no more than a stitch here and there. I’ll fetch it at once and find a maid, as well.”

“Thank you, Estelle.” Wearing Estelle’s clothes would not have been her choice, but the offer was very kind. And the older woman was right—the gray wool was looking tired. While India was only of moderate means and had never given a second thought to fashion, she did prefer to look neat and precise.

Estelle turned to go.

“One more thing.” India hesitated. “I would appreciate it if you would not mention my financial difficulty to Mr. Saunders.”

“I think he will notice eventually.”