“I’ve met the most wonderful man, my darlings,” she’d said, and Elinor had preened under the random endearment. “He’s older, so he’s more settled, and he’s fabulously wealthy. Solange told me he’d been asking about me, and she arranged for him to be at her house this afternoon, and oh, my dears, sparks flew! I’m going to his house tonight, and if our luck holds, we’ll all move in there, away from this wretched, bourgeois place.”

The wretched, bourgeois place was a palace compared to their current house, but for Lady Caroline it had been a shameful comedown.

“Is he very handsome, Mama?” Lydia had asked.

“Handsome doesn’t matter,” she’d said lightly. “It’s inner beauty that matters.” And Elinor had preened once more. For all her mother’s harshness, she really did love her. She really must strive to do better, to make her mother proud of her plain child as much as her pretty one.

“Who is he, Mama?” she’d asked.

“He’s titled, and fabulously wealthy. Did I mention that? Sir Christopher Spatts. Isn’t that a lovely name? So very English. He lives there, of course, and I’m thinking that enough time has passed that I might return. We wouldn’t be accepted by some of the worst high-sticklers, but I would think more people would have forgotten. There’s always a new scandal. And wouldn’t it be glorious to see England again? You could ride once more, Elinor. Christopher doesn’t keep a stable when he’s visiting Paris, but perhaps when we move in he might consider hiring a mount for you.” She did a little dance around the room, her silk skirts swinging over her hoops, her beautiful face alight with joy. “I wonder if marriage is too much to hope for? He’s only a knight, not even a baronet or a viscount, so it might be possible. I wouldn’t mind being a bride.”

“You’re putting the cart before the horse,” Nanny Maude had said darkly, the one person who ever dared tell Lady Caroline the truth.

“Oh, pooh!” she’d said with her light, silvery laugh. “It’s all going to be glorious.”

She’d been wrong, as she so often was. Looking back on that day, it seemed to Elinor that that was the last time she’d ever seen her mother truly happy. It was one of her wild fantasies, with little connection to real life, but it had filled the house with light anyway.

Caroline had gone out that night, wearing the Harriman emeralds that she’d taken with her, the ones that were to be Elinor’s, and hadn’t returned for more than a fortnight. It was Elinor’s first taste of real responsibility, and she managed relatively well. There’d been money, and credit, and the hope of a splendid future. Until Lady Caroline returned home.

Her skin was sallow. She wore new clothes, made of rich, expensive fabrics, and a dashing new hat, but her jewelry was missing, and she waltzed in and collapsed on a chair, declaring herself exhausted.

“Where are the emeralds, Mama?” she’d blurted out. Not only were they supposed to end up with her, they were the most valuable thing their little family owned, their something against dark times.

“What a little miser you are, Elinor,” she’d said with what seemed like profound dislike. “If you must know, they’re temporarily in other hands.”

Relief flooded her. “They’re being cleaned? Repaired?”

“I lost them in a wager. I fully expect to win them back in a new few days, so there’s nothing to worry about. You’re such a greedy creature, Elinor. Even if you can’t be pretty like your sister you should try to acquire at least a few social graces.” Her gaze was withering. “And where did you get that hideous dress?”

It was one of the two dresses she’d been wearing for the last year. It was true, she’d grown too tall and curvy for it, but there hadn’t been much money for new clothes, and it was much more important that Lady Caroline look prosperous, since she was their public face to the world.

Before she could think of something to say, Lady Caroline turned her attention to Lydia. “There you are, sweetness. How I’ve missed you! Give your mama a kiss.”

Lydia had thrown herself into her arms. “Are we going to move, Mama?”

“I don’t think so, dearest,” she said in a distracted voice. “I’ve decided Sir Christopher is not the man for me. For one thing, he’s too old. For another…” She shrugged, an affectation she’d picked up since coming to Paris, one she did very well. “He’ll be coming to tea this afternoon. I want both of you on your best behavior. And, Elinor, do try to look a little prettier. Don’t we have anything better for her to wear?”

“No,” Nanny Maude said in her uncompromising voice.

“I know what we’ll do. Our neighbors have that absolute horse of a daughter. You know the one I mean—she’s Lydia’s age but absolutely enormous. I’m certain I can convince them to lend me one of her dresses for Elinor.”

“Clothilde de Bonneau is thirteen years old, Mama,” Elinor had protested. “And she’s much wider than I am.”

“We can fix that. Nanny Maude is a genius with a needle. Now, someone bring me my notepaper—we haven’t time to waste. Vite, vite!” Her eyes were bright, feverishly so, and she had two dark patches on her already rouged cheeks.

No one was immune to Lady Caroline’s charm, and the dress had been produced almost immediately. It had been an insipid shade of pink, with nowhere for her chest to go in the fortunately high bodice. To this day she couldn’t abide the color pink.

But her mother had fussed over her, directing her maid on how to arrange Elinor’s hair to her satisfaction. Never in her life had Elinor received so much of her mother’s attention. It was dizzying.

When she was done she looked in the mirror. The dress was expensive, better than anything she’d worn in years, and the maid’s ministrations had been expert. She’d almost looked pretty.

Her mother had clucked her tongue. “Too bad you’re such a plain child, but we’ve done the best we can. We’ll simply have to hope it works.”

“What works, Mama?”

But Lady Caroline hadn’t answered, moving away to focus on Lydia.

For the first time Lydia wasn’t the favored one. She was instructed to wear her oldest dress, her lovely golden ringlets were plaited into such tight braids that they pulled at her skin, and Lady Caroline ordered her to sit quietly in the corner and say nothing. There was no disguising Lydia’s gorgeous blue eyes, pretty mouth and perfect little nose, but she’d done as her mother asked, keeping her head downturned when Sir Christopher Spatts graced them with his presence.

He creaked when he walked. He was old, much older than their mother, and quite fat. His wig was long and elaborately styled, his complexion florid, his lips the color of liver. He had fingers like fat sausages, covered with rings, and a beauty patch rested on one sagging cheek.

She knew better than to call attention to herself in public, but in this case she had no choice, with Sir Christopher barking questions at her, all the time he was sneaking glances at Lydia as she tried to disappear into the furniture.

It seemed to go on forever. He sprinkled biscuit crumbs all over his expansive front, and he drank his tea noisily, like a bourgeois. The thought of her mama in his bed was horrifying. She was not so naive that she didn’t realize exactly what her mother did with her gentlemen friends, even though the details were mercifully unclear at that point.

Finally he rose. “She’ll do,” he said with a brisk nod. “I’ll meet your price.” His rheumy gaze swept the room. “I’d still rather have the younger one. I’d pay double.”

“No, Sir Christopher,” her mother said with what Elinor considered to be great dignity. “You’ve had my response to your offer.”

He’d nodded, and his wig had shifted slightly. No decent valet would have allowed his gentleman to go out with his periwig improperly applied, and Sir Christopher struck her as a vain man. She hid her grin.

“I expect you to hold to the terms of our agreement,” he’d said, clearly unwilling to have the last word.

“But of course, Sir Christopher. I am a woman of my word. Have your man of business call on me at his convenience.”

He took a last, hard look at Elinor, harrumphed and departed in a wave of overpowering scent.

“Go into the other room, Lydia darling,” her mother had said once their guest was gone. “I need to talk to your sister. You, too, old woman,” she added to Nanny Maude.

A rare occurrence, but Elinor was no fool. She understood what was going on but hadn’t been said. Her mother had arranged a marriage for her.

She’d known it would have to happen, sooner or later. She’d already known that the chance of finding someone young and handsome was unlikely. Lydia’s young music tutor had never looked her way, while Elinor died of longing every time he was in the room. He was poor enough that it might have been a possibility, but he’d only had eyes for Lydia.

She should be grateful. She had never thought she’d end up with a title, and it was clear Sir Christopher possessed great wealth. With luck he’d be unfaithful, and she wouldn’t have to put up with his affections very often.

Once they were alone, her mother turned to look at her, and for the first time she looked uncertain, almost guilty, and Elinor took pity on her.

“Don’t worry, Mama,” she said. “I understand what’s going on.”

“You do?”

“Of course. You’ve arranged a marriage for me with Sir Christopher. I understand that it’s my duty. I probably won’t have many choices, and I should be very grateful.”

“Not exactly,” her mother had said, moving away and refusing to meet her eye.

Elinor tried not to show the rush of relief that ran through her body. In truth, she would much rather die an old maid than be married to someone like Sir Christopher, but she would have done it, for Lydia. “Then what was he talking about?”