“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.

“In what country are they fashionable?” Silvester asked. “Mongolia? Why do they stand out in that fashion?” He pinched one of the bulges and thoughtfully wiggled it back and forth. “You could hide jewelry in here.”

“Why would I do such a thing?”

“Jewelry heist,” Silvester suggested. “Snatch a diamond bracelet and store it in your sleeves.”

“Each bunch is padded with tulle, so I have no room for ill-gotten gains. During the bouncy parts of the cotillion, I feared they might bonk someone on the shoulder.”

“How many strings of pearls are you wearing?”

“Four,” she said, dimpling at him. “Mine and my grandmother’s.”

“You have a distinct resemblance to a winning racehorse decked out in a wreath of white flowers,” Silvester said thoughtfully. “I would hazard a guess that you are offering a corrective to a grumpy peer.”

“Something like that.” Yasmin hesitated.

“No need to warn me of your pending nuptials,” he said with a sigh. “I saw it coming. Though I will point out, darling, that at least I realize your charm is intrinsic and cannot be dimmed by the yards of fabric covering your admittedly glorious bosom.”

Yasmin gave him a stern look.

“Before you moralize, I assure you that I am also looking for generosity of spirit and spiritual virtue in a wife.”

“Are you actually telling me that the size of a lady’s breasts will come into play when you decide whom to marry?”

“Do you want to know the answer if you won’t care for it?”

Yasmin sighed. “No.”

“Look, here comes your earl, looking like a thundercloud. Are you sure that you don’t want to kiss my cheek?” Silvester tapped his face. “Right here would do the trick.”