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“What an exquisite gown you are wearing, Lady Lydia,” Yasmin said.

“My mother has noted that my fiancée’s elegance sets an example for her sex,” Lord Pettigrew said, beaming.

Lydia looked Yasmin over, her eyes lingering on her bodice. “Thank you, Lord Pettigrew,” she said to her fiancé. “Of course, not everyone can be a good example; some must serve as a warning.”

“Quite so,” Lord Pettigrew said heartily, turning to the duke, who was seating himself. “I understand that you’d like one of my hounds, Your Grace. Were you looking for one with scenting ability alone, or would you care for one that loves water as well?”

“I’ve actually thought about cold-hardiness,” the duke said. “Some of my happiest memories involve hunting roe deer after a snowfall.”

“Of course,” Lord Pettigrew said, his face brightening. “Now . . .”

Lydia caught Yasmin’s eye. Would it be unkind to label it a “beady eye”? Yes, it would. But there was something about the fixed way Lydia was staring that made her blue eyes seem small.

“Lady Yasmin, would you mind if I were blunt?”

Yasmin did mind. Her grandfather and Lord Pettigrew were deep into a lively discussion of hunting after a heavy snowfall, so there was no help to be found there. As it happened, Lydia didn’t wait for her response.

“You can be at no loss to understand what I wish to say,” Lydia proclaimed in a low voice.

Yasmin practiced her countess glare while raising an eyebrow.

Lydia flinched, so it must have been effective.

“I was very glad to hear that you declined my brother’s offer of marriage. That alliance would have been—” Lydia broke off.

“A disgrace?” Yasmin suggested.

“I did not say that,” Lydia retorted. She took in a deep breath. “Your arts and allurements are such that my brother has been drawn in, yet the alliance would be most imprudent. The infamous aspects of your . . . your background would forever mar the family name.”

A bolt of fury went straight up Yasmin’s spine. “But your imprudent actions would not?”

“They are hardly in the same category,” Lydia asserted, her voice rising. “I love my brother. He deserves better. You would never be welcome in my family!”

The duke’s head whipped around. “I am most displeased by your impertinence,” His Grace barked.

Lydia paled.

“My fiancée misspoke,” Lord Pettigrew said, his voice even. “We would both welcome Lady Yasmin to the family, should that be the outcome of Lord Lilford’s proposal.”

“Lady Yasmin has refused his proposal!” Lydia retorted.

Yasmin lost her head. “I must tell you, Lady Lydia, that I make no promises about what I shall do, should he ask again. I am resolved to act in accordance with my happiness, rather than the honor of an ancient title or concern for your family’s reputation.”

“Ask again?” Lydia squeaked. “My brother hasn’t come near you in days, in case you didn’t notice!”

“But my arts and allurement . . .” Yasmin said sweetly. “I feel certain that I could curl a finger and bring him back to me.”

The Duke of Portbellow broke into a chuckle. “I never imagined it would be so interesting to live with a granddaughter,” he said to Lord Pettigrew. “That’s why I want a dog, you know. I’ll miss Yasmin when she flies the coop.”

Lord Pettigrew was a man who was not quick on the uptake, but now he was visibly perturbed. He rose from his chair, a firm hand bringing his future wife with him. “If you will excuse us, I’m afraid that my fiancée has offered some opinions that are as untrue as they are ill-judged. I would be grateful to both of you if you would forgive her rashness on the grounds of her youth.”

“Lady Lydia’s impulsive comments will not cause me a moment’s concern,” Yasmin said.

Lydia’s eyes flashed, and a flush replaced her pallor.

“We are grateful,” Lord Pettigrew replied. “My fiancée has much to learn. I assure you that her instincts, no matter how impolite, stem from deep love of her brother.”

“Your protectiveness is ill placed,” the duke said to Lydia. “The earl can take care of himself.”