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Chapter Twenty-Five

The Marquess of Chichester’s Ball in honor of the betrothal of his son, Lord Pettigrew, to Lady Lydia Renwick, sister of the Earl of Lilford

As Yasmin and her grandfather walked into the Chichester ball, she was aware of a thrumming excitement deep inside, based entirely on the fact she was desperate to see Giles. True, he would not dance with her, given that the ball was in honor of his sister.

But hopefully they could steal time in a corner.

The moment her grandfather walked over to join one of his friends, Yasmin was surrounded by a flock of suitors.

“A new style,” the Honorable Algernon Dunlap said, trying to look knowledgeable about women’s fashion. Despite his mother’s fierce disapproval, he continued to trail after Yasmin, rattling off ill-conceived compliments. “The collar flatters your swanlike neck.”

Lord Hulsey elbowed him to the side. “Lady Yasmin, may I have the first waltz?” He didn’t notice her gown.

Yasmin smiled and held out her dance card, which was pounced on by two gentlemen and ended up losing its little attached pencil.

“They’re all talking about her,” Lydia hissed at Giles sometime later.

“Who?” Giles asked. Usually he would have spent some time inconspicuously watching his fiancée, but this evening he was focused on saving his sister’s betrothal. Lord Pettigrew was slow to anger, but after being forced to notice Lydia’s discourteousness to Yasmin, he had become visibly guarded.

Giles was grimly determined to make sure the wedding went through, because not only would a broken engagement be crushing for his sister, but in the event that it was cancelled, she and Yasmin would have to live together.

By dint of carefully steering Lydia away from dangerous topics of conversation, Giles felt the breach was almost healed. His sister wasn’t a terrible person. She was impulsive and quick-tempered, but she had a genuine affection for Lord Pettigrew. Perhaps even more important for the success of that particular marriage, she loved dogs. Several days in the country, spending virtually all their time in the stables with the new puppies, had gone a long way toward settling Lord Pettigrew’s nerves.

“You know who,” Lydia said crossly. “Lady Yasmin, of course. Did you see what she’s wearing?”

“I wasn’t aware she had arrived.”

Lydia gave him a sharp look. “She’s mocking all of us. Wearing the most absurd gown. Her sleeves resemble bulbous purple caterpillars.”

The wallflower wardrobe was making its debut, apparently. “How can that reflect on you?” Giles inquired.

“No one wears sleeves in this weather! We dress to entice,” Lydia said with the long-suffering sigh of a younger sister. “The truth is that Lady Yasmin could wear a grain sack, and men would all ask her to dance before any of us.”

“You have made an excellent match,” he pointed out. “You have no need for other admirers, Lydia.”

“It’s just the principle of the thing,” Lydia grumbled.

“The principle of what?” Lord Pettigrew said, appearing at their shoulders.

“I was saying that Lady Yasmin put on that wretched purple gown in order to make fun of the rest of us,” Lydia said. She put a hand on her fiancé’s arm. “I am so glad that you have never succumbed to her charms, Lord Pettigrew. I cannot bear the fact her grandfather thrust her upon us, with all her bedraggled charms.”

Her fiancé’s brows puckered. “I say, Lydia, that seems quite harsh. As I told you, my mother thinks quite well of Lady Yasmin. Did you know that she—”

“I don’t care what she does,” Lydia interrupted.

Pettigrew studied her face and then turned his eyes to Giles. “I don’t understand what Lady Yasmin is doing to mock other ladies.”

“It’s what she’s wearing,” Lydia explained again. “She’s bundled herself up from the chin to toes, and managed to gather all the men around her anyway.” She brightened. “Except for you two. I haven’t allowed her to bewitch every man in London.”

Pettigrew opened his mouth, but Giles shook his head, and the man subsided.

“Shall we dance?” Lydia said, giving her fiancé a glowing smile. “One good thing is that she looks a true fright in that ghastly gown. She’s just gone into the ballroom with Viscount Templeton, so we might as well enjoy the full spectacle.”

Toward the end of the evening, Yasmin finally stopped dancing long enough to drop onto a couch beside Silvester. “I haven’t seen you in ages,” she cried. “Why didn’t you ask me to dance?”

“Your dance card was full by the time I arrived.” The duke raised an eyebrow. “Let me guess. A modiste thumped you on the head and forced you into her creation? I’m surprised there’s room on this sofa for both of us, given the size of your skirts, not to mention your arms.”

“You don’t care for my ruffles?” Yasmin asked. “These bulges are the very latest style.” She patted her sleeves.