Page 24

“Yes, I can imagine the comparison must be galling,” Stella agreed.

Silvester’s jaw clenched. It was true that Giles was a mainstay in the government, a man whom the prime minister often consulted.

The PM didn’t ignore Silvester, but almost no one outside those interested in currency markets had any knowledge of their conversations.

Harold walked up, towing Blanche Boodle, who sported a bird’s nest of yellow spun sugar atop her head. “Good afternoon, Lady Stella, Duke.”

Blanche gave them a smile. “Lady Stella, may I say how much I like your new hairstyle?”

“Lady Stella’s hair is a flame, like laburnum blossoms in spring,” Harold said.

Silvester groaned silently. Harold had obviously discovered the lady whom he wished to transport to Paris. Stella deserved better. Harold was handsome, of course. He had the slim figure that showed to best advantage in pantaloons. And he wasn’t unkind.

But he wasn’t right for Stella.

“You are both too generous,” Stella said, dropping a curtsy. “Since laburnum is golden, I suggest that Miss Boodle’s hair deserves the compliment, not mine.”

Silvester had the sudden conviction that Stella had been made to feel inferior by Blanche Boodle and her like.

He stole a quick glance at both ladies, keeping in mind his sisters’ endless discussions of female beauty. “Lady Stella is remarkably fortunate to have such thick eyelashes. Hair can, of course, be embellished with woolen pads, but thick lashes cannot be falsified.”

“Of course they can,” Stella contradicted, looking entirely unimpressed by his compliment. “Ladies regularly glue strips of mink fur to their eyelids.”

By now, virtually all of the guests had left the room. He was prickingly aware of his mother, tucked on a couch with Yasmin’s grandfather, undoubtedly wondering whether he would fall madly in love with Stella’s eyelashes.

He was tempted to switch partners with Harold just to irritate his mother, but he didn’t want to spend two hours with Blanche. Stella may have taken against him, but even so, she was better company than Blanche. In fact, better company than most of London.

“Shall we begin the hunt?” he asked her, nodding toward the door.

“You may have noticed that many pairs have exchanged partners,” Harold said. He waved the scroll he held. “I would be happy to take the opportunity to escort Lady Stella to a print store where we can buy the sheet music listed here: ‘A composition by Beethoven.’”

“My mother considers Beethoven’s music too invigorating for young ladies,” Blanche remarked.

Stella’s eyes widened.

Before Blanche could offer more absurdities, Silvester said, “I never trade partners. My mother wouldn’t countenance it. Good afternoon.” He caught Stella’s arm and marched away without further ado.

“Invigorating?” Stella repeated. “What on earth is she talking about?”

“Young ladies are restricted to girlish melodies,” Silvester said. “Naturally, my mother insisted my sisters learn Beethoven’s later work by heart.”

“But ‘invigorating’ implies . . .”

“Music that rouses the wrong sort of emotion,” Silvester said. “Passion is, after all, supposedly a dangerous emotion for women.”

He glanced to the side and found that Stella had a disquieting smile playing around her lips.

“I shall make a point of investigating Beethoven’s work,” she said, laughter in her voice.

“Do you play the piano as well as you sing, Lady Stella?”

Typically, he was coming to realize, she didn’t bother with maidenly modesty. “Yes, I do.”

They passed through the door of the drawing room. Thankfully, Harold and Blanche weren’t nipping at their heels.

“I believe my mother’s brother can be found at Lambeth Palace,” Silvester said. “According to the paper, the bishop took part in a special liturgy given by the Archbishop of Canterbury this morning. He may refuse to return to my mother’s house—he is often disconcerted by the pleasure she takes in vigorous debate—but I can pull the favorite nephew card. Actually, I am his only nephew.”

He saw a shadow of distaste in Stella’s eyes.