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Silence held in the room as Lydia walked through the door and down the corridor, snapping something at the butler, her voice fading.

“Well,” the dowager duchess said briskly, “there’s a woman who is incapable of kindness, even at knifepoint.”

Stella drew in a deep breath.

Her fingers were trembling. She had finally stood up for herself. Or rather, stood up for the dowager, but most importantly, she had fought back.

One of the reasons she had decided to refuse Giles’s proposal, if he had made it, was because she could not bear Lydia. Would she have had the courage to fight back without the shadow of a dukedom at her shoulder?

As if she heard that thought, her aunt spoke up. “You are already a duchess, Stella. I’ve always scolded you for being blunt, but on this occasion I applaud it. My sister would be so proud.”

All she had to do to gain Mrs. Thyme’s approval was force a bully to a standstill?

Lady Boodle and Blanche had been frozen before the door, but now Lady Boodle stepped forward and dropped a curtsy. “Good morning.”

“Lady Boodle, I apologize for the fact you witnessed such an unpleasant encounter,” the dowager said briskly. “I shall ring for tea. Vitriol always makes me thirsty.”

Blanche caught Stella’s hand before she could turn away.

“I want to apologize. And not because you’re going to be a duchess.”

“You didn’t say anything; Lydia did.”

“I have in the past, and I’m ashamed,” Blanche said bluntly. “I should have stood up to her the way you did. Instead, I joined in. I ought to have been brave, like you.”

Stella gave her a wavering smile. “I don’t feel brave. Actually, I feel rather sick.”

“Many times I didn’t like something Lydia said or did, but I never had the courage to tell her so. I made it worse by imitating her. I am afraid that we made your Season intolerable.”

“You tried to help when you gave me the face paint,” Stella pointed out. She took a deep breath. “Why should I care if people think I don’t deserve the rank? Or the husband? Lydia will say what she wishes.”

“Miss Boodle, Stella, come join us,” the dowager called from the couches.

“The dowager duchess addresses you by your first name,” Blanche said. “I wouldn’t have thought . . . She’s so brusque.”

“Her Grace is very nice if you chat with her,” Stella said.

“I wouldn’t dare chat with a duchess.”

Stella blinked. “She’s just another person, like you and me.”

“No, she’s a duchess.”

“I’m going to be a duchess too. Yet I’m the same person I was: freckled, and bespectacled, and prone to dropping wineglasses and saying the wrong thing. Lydia is right: I don’t have style, taste, or beauty.”

“Yes, you do,” Blanche said. “Lydia was wrong, and so was I.”

When they joined the others, Mrs. Thyme was fretting about Lydia. “That young woman will say unpleasant things about my niece. We have to stop her somehow.”

“That would be difficult,” Lady Boodle said, sipping her tea.

“I shall ignore her,” Stella said. “I don’t care what she says.”

“She’s right,” the dowager put in. “Unkind blather has force only if the person affected listens. You can’t imagine all the things that have been said about me over the years. I don’t give a damn, and I suggest you follow my lead, Stella. When you walk down the aisle, they’ll all be whispering nasty tidbits, no doubt.”

Stella groaned silently. A wonderful prospect for her wedding day.

“Everyone is naked under their clothes,” Blanche said, unexpectedly.