Giles glanced at the women, both of them now gazing out at the gardens as if they never had an unkind thought. Then he said, “Fresh air will help your headache, Lady Yasmin,” and drew her down three steps to the garden walk.

“I never have headaches,” she informed him. “Besides, I thought I was feeling faint? You’re making me out to be a weakling.”

“You are no weakling,” Giles stated.

She glanced at him in some surprise, but he was looking about the garden, presumably searching for Lydia’s yellow topknot.

Lord Boodle’s gardens were laid out in the French manner, with shoulder-high walls enclosing small grassy quadrangles. In front of them one couple—married, of course—idly strolled down the straight walkway, and to the right, another path curved away and disappeared between stone walls. Lord Pepper would have guided Lydia to the right, out of the sight of those on the terrace.

Yasmin began to walk forward, trying to think of a subject for conversation. If Lydia heard her brother’s voice, she would surely head back to the house. “I am a great admirer of British cottage gardens,” she announced.

Giles threw her a glance that said, “So?”

“I should have known that Lord Boodle was an admirer of the French,” Yasmin improvised.

“Why?”

“He named his daughter Blanche.”

“And?”

Yasmin lowered her voice. “Blanche Boodle! The girl must be desperate to marry and change her name.”

Rather surprisingly, one side of Giles’s mouth twitched, as if he contemplated a smile. “I think that is a fair observation. She is my sister’s closest friend and spent time with us last summer. Miss Boodle was disappointed not to marry in her first Season.” He cleared his throat. “I saw her dancing with Gerald Boyle earlier this evening.”

“Why don’t you smile on occasion?” Yasmin asked. “Are earls constitutionally stern or are you the exception? Blanche Boyle would be unfortunate, but Blanche Booble would be worse!”

“Not a real name,” Giles said.

“I assure you that I met a Mr. Booble just the other day. Granted, he was a member of the Worshipful Company of Grocers, and Lord Boodle has higher aspiration for his daughter.”

“You ‘met’ a grocer?”

“I did,” Yasmin said. “I wanted to buy fresh strawberries, so I went to Covent Garden. It’s one of my favorite places in London.”

Giles’s brows drew together.

“You have visited the market, haven’t you?” Yasmin asked.

“Never. I hope you did not make this excursion unaccompanied?”

“For goodness’ sake, it’s a daily market, not a rookery! The worst that could happen is that I’d be pickpocketed. Since I am accompanied by a footman, I needn’t worry about someone cutting my reticule strings. I find it one of the most fascinating places in London. Truly, you must pay it a visit.”

She almost offered to accompany him to the market . . . and rethought it. Giles wouldn’t even dance with her twice; he certainly wouldn’t wish to be seen at an open-air market so far beneath him that he’d apparently never descended from his carriage to explore it.