Jane grinned. “We can use the money Lucas has been stuffing away in his toy soldier box."

Lucas, the only boy in the Hotchkiss clan, yelped. "What were you doing in my things?" He turned to Elizabeth with an expression that might have been termed "glowering" had it not been gracing the face of an eight-year-old. "Is there no privacy in this household?"

"Apparently not," Elizabeth said absently, staring down at the numbers before her. She made a few marks with her pencil as she tried to devise new methods of economy.

"Sisters," Lucas granted, looking excessively put out. "I am plagued with them."

Susan peered at Elizabeth's ledger. "Can't we shuffle some of the money about? Do something to stretch it a bit further?"

"There's nothing to stretch. Thank goodness the rent on the cottage is paid, or we'd be out on our ears."

"Is it really as bad as that?" Susan whispered.

Elizabeth nodded. "We've enough to last the rest of the month, and then a bit more when I receive my wages from Lady Danbury, but then…" Her words trailed off, and she looked away, not wanting Jane and Lucas to see the tears pricking her eyes. She'd been caring for these three for five years, ever since she'd been eighteen. They depended on her for food, shelter, and, most importantly, stability.

Jane nudged Lucas, and then, when he didn't respond, jabbed him in the soft spot between his shoulder and collarbone.

"What?" he snapped. "That hurt."

" 'What' is impolite," Elizabeth said automatically. " 'Pardon' is preferable."

Lucas's little mouth fell open in outrage. "It wasn't polite of her to poke me like that. And I'm certainly not going to beg her pardon."

Jane rolled her eyes and sighed. "You must remember that he is only eight."

Lucas smirked back. "You're only nine."

"I shall always be older than you."