India had awoken this morning with renewed determination. She had again slept later than usual but woke earlier than the past two mornings, intending to join the rest of the household downstairs for breakfast. She’d surrendered to Suzette’s insistence on helping her dress and arranging her hair—even if the end result was decidedly more French than she would have preferred with her usual knot higher on her head and annoying tendrils of curls fringing her face. Suzette had declared it quite fetching, and India had wished to escape more than she’d wished to argue.

“Good morning,” she said brightly, entering the dining room. His lordship wasn’t present, no doubt this was entirely too early for him, but Derek and the Greers were engaged in animated conversation. Derek and the professor both stood at her arrival.

“Good morning, my dear.” Professor Greer smiled. “You look lovely today.”

“You do indeed, India.” Estelle nodded with enthusiasm. “Paris obviously agrees with you.”

“I wouldn’t wager on that.” Derek studied her curiously. “Is there something different about you today?”

“Nothing I can think of.” India resisted the urge to pat her hair back into its usual place. Her glance strayed to the sideboard. “Is that an English breakfast?”

“With a few French pastries thrown in for good measure.” Delight sounded in Estelle’s voice. “His lordship apparently appreciates the benefit of both French and English offerings at breakfast. Frederick and I think it’s a custom we might well adopt ourselves when we return home.”

“Lord Brookings has always believed in taking the best of both cultures,” Derek added. “There’s a specially blended coffee, as well.”

“How very...worldly of him.” India gestured to the others to take their seats, then hurried to the sideboard. It was a breakfast to rival even the heartiest offering to be found in England: eggs cooked three different ways, sausages, an assortment of cheeses, fish and fruit, as well as croissants and several other types of pastries. For a fleeting moment, she envied those whose wealth allowed them to indulge this way every morning. She filled her plate and took a seat at the table.

“Derek,” she began, “as much as I am eager to return to our search today, I’m afraid there will be an unavoidable delay.”

His brow rose. “A delay?”

She nodded. “I cannot continue to wear the same clothes day after day. As everyone has assured me my trunk must be here somewhere, I intend to take my maid and go through every room in this house until I find it.” India pulled apart a croissant and popped a bite in her mouth.

Derek and the professor traded glances.

“I do hope you intend to ask Lord Brookings before you go barging about his house, India,” Estelle said.

“I have every intention of doing so, but thank you for pointing that out to me.” India stabbed a piece of sausage. The sausages were particularly good.

“I hate to be the bearer of bad tidings, my dear,” the professor began, then glanced at Derek, who nodded in an encouraging manner. “But I was unaware your trunk was missing until this morning.”

Perhaps Heloise’s cook could learn to make French pastries.

“Frederick and Estelle had already left for the day when you awoke yesterday,” Derek said.

“Thank you for your concern, Professor,” India said and took a bite of eggs cooked with mushrooms and herbs. It was all she could do not to moan with delight.

“It’s more than concern really.” The professor cleared his throat. “I very much fear I am responsible.”

India froze, her fork halfway to her mouth. “Oh?”

“If I recall correctly, when I claimed our luggage the other night,” Professor Greer began, “it seemed more than sufficient for four people. There were a number of valises—I’m not sure exactly how many—and three trunks.”

“One of which was mine,” Derek said.

Estelle winced. “The others were ours.”

“I do apologize, but I had no idea we were missing your baggage.” Professor Greer shook his head. “I certainly would have said something at the time if I had realized we were one trunk short.”

“So my trunk is not in the house,” India said slowly.

“Apparently not.” Derek considered her with the same look one might give an unexploded bomb that could detonate at any moment. “However, the instant the professor informed me this morning, I personally returned to the station to see if your trunk was there with other lost bags.”

“And?” She held her breath.

“And...it wasn’t,” Derek said reluctantly. “It’s entirely possible it was somehow misdirected, and instead of coming to Paris it went off on its own travels.”

She set the fork down. “Where?”

Derek hesitated. “That does seem to be the question.”

She drew a deep breath and struggled to stay calm. “And do you have an answer?”

“Not yet.” Derek grimaced. “But I assure you, I am doing everything possible to recover your trunk. Val is lending his assistance, as well. I have no doubt it will turn up.” He paused. “Eventually.”

“Eventually?” She could barely choke out the word. “Eventually?”

“Sooner or later,” he said weakly.

“Yes, I know what eventually means,” she said sharply, her voice rising in spite of her best efforts.

“These things happen when one travels, my dear.” Estelle reached over and patted her hand. “I have never traveled myself, of course, but I understand this does happen on occasion. Why, one of the brochures from the Lady Travelers Society deals with this very subject and offers excellent advice on how to manage without one’s own things until one’s luggage is recovered.”

India had never experienced panic before, but what was surely panic rose within her now. “You belong to the Lady Travelers Society?”

“Oh my, yes.” Estelle dimpled. “I have from very nearly the beginning.”

And wasn’t that a revelation? Still, it scarcely mattered at the moment. Not when her stomach was twisting, and she could barely drag air into her lungs. Her vision narrowed, and the oddest black dots clouded the edge of her sight.

“If you will excuse me.” India got to her feet and braced her hands on the table, her knees unsteady as if they might fail her at any moment. Dear Lord, was this what it felt like to faint? She was not the type of woman who fainted. Indeed, she’d always had a certain contempt for women who fainted to avoid a pressing problem. In that, she might have been too harsh.

“Are you all right?” Derek jumped to his feet and circled the table toward her.

The professor frowned with alarm as he, too, stood. “You look extraordinarily pale.”

“No, I’m fine.” She pulled in a deep breath, then another.

“Are you sure?” Derek was beside her now, concern in his voice and his eyes. As well as a touch of what might well be guilt. “You don’t look well.”

Indeed, he should feel guilty. He was the one who had seen to the luggage at the beginning of their journey.

“No, really, I’m quite all right.” She straightened, her momentary distress swept aside by anger. Which would serve no one well. She needed to take her leave, at once, before she said something that would only make matters worse. “I think I shall retire to my room and consider all this.” She mustered a weak smile. “Thank you for your concern.” She quickly took her leave.

With every step, her ire eased. If one looked at this in a rational, sensible way, it probably wasn’t Derek’s fault, not completely. Oh certainly, he was responsible for the luggage, but as for the rest of it... It was simply easier to direct her fury at him than to place the blame where it belonged—squarely at her feet. But it had seemed such a clever idea at the time.

Martin had gone on and on about the dangers of travel. About thieves and pickpockets in cities like Paris. About the threats to women traveling even with companions. About how one could be knocked over the head and lose everything. It therefore didn’t seem at all wise to carry her funds in her traveling valise or on her person. Why, in her books of detection and mystery, where valuables were secreted in hidden places, no one ever found them until the final chapter. What could be safer than putting the bulk of her traveling funds in a hidden compartment in her trunk?

It had never been mentioned that the trunk itself could be lost!

She reached her room, closed the door behind her and collapsed against it. Good Lord, what was she going to do? She and Derek had agreed from the beginning that they would each pay their own expenses. The only money she had at the moment was what Martin had given her for telegraphs, and that would not last. At least as long as they remained in Paris, she did not have to pay for a hotel room. But when they left...she shuddered at the thought. She could not under any circumstances take money from Derek. That would be the same as taking it from ladies like Heloise herself.

She pushed away from the door and paced the room. There were few options. She could use what little money she had to return to England and abandon her search for Heloise—praying her cousin would at some point realize she had failed in her correspondence and write to her. Of course, that was assuming Heloise was indeed fine. It was also dependent upon prayer, and India was not confident in divine intervention. Surely God had other things to concern himself with than lost cousins and lost luggage. Besides, he’d never seemed to listen to her before.

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.”