she was, at least for the time being she was bedridden, unable to get them deeper in debt.
“So tell me about the lawyer, Nell,” Lydia said, calling her the pet name only she used. “Has our father left us some vast fortune to ease Maman’s final days? Or at least a minor pittance?”
“He’s left us something, though a vast fortune might be too optimistic,” Elinor said morosely. “His title and estates have been left to a Mr. Marcus Harriman, and another, undoubtedly smaller amount for us. He probably wouldn’t have left us anything if he could have helped it.” She carefully avoided the fact that whatever inheritance existed belonged, nominally, to her. Lydia’s parentage was cloudy, but most definitely had nothing to do with Elinor’s father, and everyone knew it. Though British law declared a child born within a marriage to be the legal offspring of the husband, her father had been infinitely inventive in denying either child or his ex-wife any kind of support.
Lydia sighed. “Perhaps M. Picot would be put off another week if I allowed him a few liberties. A kiss would hardly compromise my soul if it kept a roof over our heads.”
“No!” Elinor dropped another stitch, and tossed her knitting aside in frustration. She looked up at her sister. “The lawyer definitely said our father had left us something, though apparently there was some ridiculous stipulation that I would have to go to England to receive it. I just wish we’d known of his death sooner—we could have put this in motion months ago. I expect the death notice would have gone to our former residence, and since we left in the middle of the night with our bills unpaid they would have been unlikely to pass along any correspondence that might have showed up. I’m sure it won’t be too miserable an amount. He wouldn’t let his daughters starve.”
Lydia’s brief smile was wry. “Don’t try to sweeten things for me. He always said he wanted nothing to do with the spawn of the harlot he’d had the misfortune to marry. Why should he change his mind on his deathbed?”
“Well, he was still angry. It was only a few years after mother had left him, and he was the laughingstock of London. Sooner or later he must remember that we are his blood and he has some responsibility to us.”
“I thought he claimed we aren’t actually his children, didn’t he?”
Elinor could barely remember their father. He’d been a tall, singularly unpleasant man with little interest in anything but his horses and his women. It had always seemed patently unfair to Elinor that his wife had been denounced for following similar interests, but she’d learned fairness had little to do with reality. “Of course we’re his children,” she said. At least Lydia had never suspected the truth about her own parentage. “I’m as tall as most men, and I have his wretched nose.”
“It’s a very nice nose, Nell,” Lydia said gently. “It gives you character, whereas I’m just a pretty little nothing.”
“There are times when I would have given a great deal to be a pretty little nothing,” Elinor said morosely.
“No, you wouldn’t. I don’t really think you want to be anyone but yourself, if truth be told,” Lydia said.
Elinor forced a laugh. “You’re probably right. I always was wretchedly strong-minded. I’d like to be exactly as I am, only fabulously wealthy. That’s a reasonable enough request, isn’t it? Unfortunately the only way to obtain a fortune is to marry one, and The Nose precludes that.”
“A very good man would appreciate you, elegant nose and all,” Lydia said firmly. “And I have every intention of marrying someone fabulously wealthy, so you don’t need to worry about it. You will be free to marry for love.”
Elinor snorted in disbelief, a very unladylike reaction. “A lovely thought, dear. But how are you going to meet this very rich man when we’re living on the edge of the Paris slums? The next move will put us in the heart of them. It’s going to come to that, eventually, and I’m not quite sure we’ll survive.”
“I have faith,” Lydia said simply. “The answer will be provided when we need it.” On top of everything else Lydia was a devout Christian, whereas Elinor had lost her faith years ago, when she’d met Sir Christopher Spatts, and now she accompanied Lydia to church only as a matter of form.
“I think the answer is long overdue,” she grumbled. “If you could make it