“How...fortuitous?”

“It was that. However—” she gestured in an absent manner “—I have strayed from the matter at hand, which is your need for suitable clothing and my determination to purchase it for you.”

“And I don’t understand why you wish to do so.” India couldn’t quite hide the stubborn note in her voice.

“Any number of reasons. First of all—” she ticked the points off on her fingers “—you don’t wish to marry my son. Regardless of the questionable soundness of your reasoning, you do impress me as being honest. And I am an excellent judge of character. That wasn’t always true but one of the few benefits of growing older is that you do learn a few things along the way. And honesty, my dear, should always be rewarded.”

“Thank you,” India murmured.

“Secondly, one could say that my dear Aunt Guinevere is responsible for your search for the missing Lady Heloise in the first place. Which means it’s her fault your clothes—and your money—are missing. You deserve compensation for that.”

“Still—”

“Furthermore, my husband has a substantial fortune. Even more than I can ever possibly spend, although I do consider it my purpose in life to do my best.” She flashed India a satisfied grin. “Providing you with a new wardrobe is barely worth noting.”

“And it is most generous of you but—”

“And—” she pinned India with a no-nonsense look “—we are having a ball here in five days. As a guest in this house, your appearance will reflect on your hosts. Make no mistake, India, you are expected to attend. Percival and I would be deeply offended and highly insulted if you do not. We would consider it extremely rude. And you do strike me as the type of woman who would not wish to be impolite.”

“No of course not. But...I’ve never been to a ball,” India blurted.

Lady Westvale’s eyes widened. “Never?”

India shook her head. “I’m afraid not.”

“But you do know how to dance?” the marchioness asked cautiously, as if she was afraid of the answer.

“They did teach us at Miss Bicklesham’s.”

“Miss Bicklesham’s Academy for Accomplished Young Ladies?”

India nodded.

“Excellent institution.” She frowned. “But you do not strike me as a typical Miss Bicklesham’s graduate.”

India raised her chin. “Thank you.”

Lady Westvale laughed. “That’s one less thing to worry about. Now then, as for your new clothes, we should make a list of what is absolutely necessary, what would be wise to acquire and what is simply for fun.”

“Lady Westvale.” India drew a deep breath. “I do appreciate your kind offer but I cannot allow you to purchase clothing for me. I would feel obligated to reimburse you, and I’m afraid I will never be able to do so.”

“My dear young woman, I’m afraid you don’t understand. Allow me to explain.” Lady Westvale thought for a moment. “My mother died when I was quite young, my stepsisters were never especially fond of me, and, as my father was always notoriously short on funds, I did not have a season. It was not until I married that I had the financial resources to indulge in things like fine dresses and exquisite shoes and elaborate hats. I quite enjoy shopping now that I have the means to do so. It is a great deal of fun. Indeed, I consider it something of an art, and I am very good at it.

“However, I have two sons and, as much as I love them dearly, I have long regretted not having had a daughter. There is nothing to be done about it now, of course, but there you have it.” She smiled wistfully. “I have always been most envious of those friends of mine who have had the pleasure of shopping for or with a daughter. I would consider it a very great favor if you would allow me to do so with you. And I do promise not to be too extravagant.”

“I see.” India didn’t know what to say. On one hand, clothes had never been important to her before. On the other, Paris—or something—had changed her. She’d begun to wonder if perhaps being sensible and practical and efficient didn’t have to mean she always needed to look sensible and practical and efficient.

“You may give my proposal due consideration of course but I will warn you, I will not accept any answer other than yes.” Her eyes gleamed with excitement. “We shall start visiting my favorite dressmakers first thing in the morning.”

“I’m afraid that’s not possible,” India said, ignoring an unexpected stab of regret. “Derek and I need to continue to look for my cousin.”

“Derek is well capable of continuing the search on his own for a day or two,” Lady Westvale said firmly, then sipped her tea. “And it will do you good, as well, to think about something other than the missing Lady Heloise. I can’t imagine this has been easy for you.”

“I am worried. She is my only family, and I do miss her but...” India wasn’t sure why she was saying this, but Lady Westvale wasn’t nearly as intimidating as India had initially feared. She was really rather nice. “It has come to my attention that there may well be things about Heloise I didn’t know. Things I paid no attention to or things she didn’t wish me to know. It’s been something of a revelation, and I’m not sure how I feel about it all.”

“I understand completely.” The marchioness nodded in sympathy. “I doubt that anyone truly knows another person as well as we might think we do.”

“Probably not.”

“Furthermore, things don’t always turn out as we expect them to.”

“I never expected to be in Paris.”

“I would imagine you never expected to be friends with my son, either. You did say you consider yourself his friend?”

India nodded. “I do.”

“How very interesting,” she said thoughtfully. “That you are willing to be his friend, that is. When you’re not willing to consider marriage to him.”

“I thought you understood.” Why would no one leave this alone? India braced herself. “I’m not suitable for marriage to him, and under no stretch of the imagination would I be considered appropriate to be a countess.”

“I do apologize.” Lady Westvale shook her head in a mournful manner. “I had no idea you had, well, a criminal propensity.”

India could barely get out the words. “I most certainly do not! I have never broken any sort of law.”

“Your family then.” Lady Westvale broke off a piece of biscuit and popped it in her mouth.

“My family is most respectable.” Indignation raised India’s voice. “My parents were missionaries, and my cousin is the daughter of the previous Earl of Crenfield.”

“Good, decent people?”

“Without question!”

“Respectable, law-abiding and good is all anyone can ever ask, dear.” She paused. “Then, correct me if I’m wrong, but your only real objection to a match between you and my son is that such a match would not be correct as society sees such things?”

“Yes.” India nodded. “I am not a silly, foolish creature—” in spite of the evidence of her missing funds “—who believes in romantic nonsense. I understand the manner in which the world works.”

“I’ve never been overly fond of the way the world works. I think it’s frequently cruel and often absurd. Tell me, India, do you like Derek?”

“Yes, of course.”

“Why?”

“I don’t know. He’s quite nice.” She considered the question. “I didn’t think so at first, or perhaps I simply didn’t expect it, but I think so now. He’s very thoughtful of others and treats people with kindness. He helped the professor when he was under no obligation to do so. He’s quite clever. That, too, I did not expect, and saved me from an awkward situation.” At the risk of his own safety. “He has insisted on showing me the sights of Paris in spite of my reluctance. And I must admit, I am enjoying it.” And enjoying as well being with him. “He seems to make people feel, I don’t know, special perhaps. He is respectful toward the professor, engaging him in all sorts of academic discussions. Why, you can see the man practically preen under Derek’s attention. And he flirts outrageously with Mrs. Greer, which I found quite distasteful in the beginning, but she adores it. I’m not sure why, but it’s obvious that she does.

“He’s more, I don’t know, observant I think is the right word, than I anticipated. He sees things about me, notices things, that no one has ever seen or noticed before.” It was really rather remarkable now that she put it into words. “Not all of them nice, mind you, but all of them startlingly perceptive. Aside from a few instances, he’s quite candid. I’m not certain that I trust him, at least I didn’t in the beginning, but now...” she said more to herself than to the marchioness.

Now what?

Did she indeed at last trust him? She did have faith in him, confident that he would do what was right. Didn’t faith and trust go hand in hand?

Her breath caught at the revelation. Hadn’t she told him just this afternoon that she still didn’t trust him? Was that something she’d said because she was supposed to say it? Because she never expected to feel differently? But, if he was indeed a good man, a decent man, a man willing to reform, a man who was everything she’d just told his mother he was, why wouldn’t she trust him?

“Now?” Lady Westvale prompted.

“Now I...I like him.” Perhaps she more than liked him.

“I see.”

India shrugged helplessly.

“My, this is interesting,” the marchioness murmured, then drew a deep breath. “You should know something about my son, India. Derek has been in love any number of times that I know of and I suspect several more that I don’t. In each and every instance, the lady was eminently suitable to be the next Countess of Danby. They were all exactly the type of woman you say he is expected to marry. And yet, not one of those instances led to marriage or even an engagement.”

India couldn’t help herself. “Why not?”

“Because, even though they were right in terms of money and position and everything else you—and society for that matter—seem to think is appropriate, they were not right for him.”