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“You must give me her name, if I remain in this country long enough to need new garments,” Yasmin said. They were seated beside each other on the settee while the others caught up on gossip.
“Do you plan to return to France?”
“Actually, I hope to stay here. But alas, my grandfather finds me quite unlikable.”
“Surely not!”
She laughed. “Surely yes. Your grandfather seems to be a dear, but mine is oh so fierce. He was never inclined to care for me due to my mother’s naughty behavior.”
Cleo let out a startled exclamation. “My mother created a scandal as well!”
Yasmin raised an eyebrow. “If you’ll forgive me, you look the essence of a British gentlewoman.”
Just so might Queen Marie Antoinette have described the hoi polloi. Though Yasmin wasn’t being insulting, merely curious.
“My mother fled this house to marry the blacksmith’s son,” Cleo said. “I am an heiress due to sales of commodes, which is even more scandalous, though my grandfather is nurturing fond hopes that I might still find a husband during the Season.”
“Commodes?” Yasmin asked, with a puzzled look.
“Water closets,” Cleo said cheerfully. “Lord Falconer did just inform me that I oughtn’t to speak of financial matters.”
“And my grandfather has given me a similar warning!” Yasmin said with a delighted smile. “I too am an heiress. My disreputable dowry was bestowed upon me by my mother, who was one of Emperor Napoleon’s mistresses during his marriage to poor Josephine. The emperor was very, very generous to her. My grandfather, the duke, is mortified, and has forbidden me to mention my misbegotten fortune.”
“Goodness.”
“He doesn’t seem to understand that I needn’t obey him in any respect, which has confirmed his worst fears.” She added with a naughty twinkle, “I am not unlike my mother.”
“Whereas I am my mother’s opposite, which may explain my grandfather’s current good cheer,” Cleo said.
“The duke suffered an attack of vapors upon seeing my gown this evening,” Yasmin confided. “His dearest hope is that Madame Dubois will find me a stern husband who will lock me in a tower.” Lady Yasmin’s disposition was clearly as dramatic as her appearance.
“That’s not very kind. I’m sorry,” Cleo said.
Yasmin wrinkled her nose. “It’s no wonder that my mother fled. Does your grandfather also hope to marry you off?”
“I’m afraid so.”
“Bah! Being one who grew up in the court, you understand, I cannot pretend to excitement at the idea of an English husband. Or the English Season, for that matter.”
“My mother described the Season as a savage assault on one’s senses,” Cleo said.
“More tedious than savage, so far,” Yasmin said. “Young English ladies, coddled to a high shine like ponies off to auction, who curtsy if someone even squints at them. I feel as if I am bobbing up and down like a cork on the waters. They are poorly educated, what’s more.”
“So am I,” Cleo admitted. “I’ve hired tutors because I’m appallingly ignorant.”
Byng leaned over. “There’s nothing unladylike about ignorance.”
“Your mother loathed her governesses and spent most of her time escaping lessons,” Viscount Falconer added.
“She and I are—were—patently unalike,” Cleo said.
“How lucky you are in your granddaughter, Lord Falconer,” Yasmin said. “My grandfather finds me a sad trial.”
“Don’t reveal your faults with such relish, ma poupée,” Madame Dubois put in.
Cleo made a mental note to inquire about the meaning of that French phrase.
“What are you studying?” Falconer asked Cleo.
