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He’d noticed her voracious love of language, extending from American slang to the Book of Common Prayer. Before he could respond, he heard a rustle.

Like a jack-in-the-box, his sister popped up on the other side of the sofa.

“Lydia!” he exclaimed.

She pointed imperiously at Giles, for all the world like a furious Lady Macbeth.

“You lied to me!” she screeched.

During the stunned silence that followed, a young man got to his feet, hastily adjusting his coat. Somewhat to Giles’s surprise, it was Edwin Turing. He had been under the impression that Turing was one of Lady Yasmin’s most devoted suitors. Certainly, he played that role in public with a good deal of poetic vigor.

“Good evening, Mr. Turing,” Lady Yasmin said evenly.

He winced. “Good evening, Lady Yasmin. Lord Lilford.”

“What are you doing here, Giles?” Lydia demanded, ignoring this exchange. She scowled, apparently not realizing or caring that her topknot was falling halfway down her back, and she was thoroughly disheveled. “You promised that you would have nothing to do with Lady Yasmin!”

“You promised to avoid improprieties.” Giles folded his arms over his chest.

“With Lord Pepper,” Lydia retorted.

She rounded the sofa. More curls sprang free of her topknot, making her resemble a furious turkey-cock.

Lady Yasmin backed out of her way as Lydia walked straight to Giles and gave him a shove with both hands. “You’re a liar!”

“We will return home now, Lydia,” he said with icy precision. “Please compose yourself and make yourself presentable. Your hair is untidy.”

He turned to face Edwin Turing. The light was dim, but Giles thought the young man had turned rather pale. As well he might.

“Given the sonnets addressed to Lady Yasmin that you have been publicly reciting, I assume that you had no intention of offering marriage to my sister. Unfortunately, that decision is now out of your hands.”

“I understand,” Turing said, bowing.

“As if I would accept such a nincompoop!” Lydia snapped, curling her lip.

Turing dropped his air of civility and glared at her. “I don’t care to marry someone with hair that looks like a hedgehog.”

“That’s enough!” Giles barked.

“At least I’m not as stupid as a post!” Lydia cried.

“You’re meaner than one,” Turing said.

Lydia raised her hand into the air, but Giles caught her wrist before she could strike her erstwhile suitor. The reticule she wore tied around her arm ripped down one side, its contents scattering on the carpet.

Giles kept his eyes on his sister’s face. “Lydia, I must ask you to remain silent before you further disgrace yourself.”

“I am not disgraced!” She twisted her hand free and glared at Lady Yasmin, who had bent over to gather up her cosmetics. “I’m not compromised unless she tells the world.”

“I shall tell no one.”

“Then you needn’t bother with a proposal, Turing,” Lydia said.

“You have been compromised, Lydia,” Giles said, feeling an errant thread of sympathy for his little sister, even in the midst of his anger. “The butler knew where we could find you and presumably who you were with. Mr. Turing must marry you.”

“Oh, a butler! Who cares for that!” Lydia cried.

As Lady Yasmin placed a comb and several hairpins on the chair, Lydia kicked a tiny bottle of scent so that it rolled under the sofa. “Don’t touch my things!”