Quickly, she sorted through the mail. One made her eyes narrow as fury turned her cheeks hot. The woman was writing to her brother. Lady Yasmin hadn’t given up. It wasn’t enough that she had distracted Giles from making a decent match for the second Season in a row.

Yasmin must be desperately keeping Giles on a string, tied to her immoral petticoats. She was probably inviting him to the country; Lydia had heard a rumor that she had joined the Duke and Duchess of Trent.

The duke’s guests would go from his country house to Mrs. Addison’s, then on to another estate, perhaps the Duke of Portbellow’s. Yasmin would spend the summer traipsing from one house to another, likely enjoying any number of dalliances.

Giles would be destroyed if he married a woman with such light morals. Destroyed. He didn’t understand what infidelity did to a man. Lydia was certain that her father’s suicide stemmed not from his theft—committed years before, after all—but from their mother’s flagrant disloyalty.

She crushed the letter into her pocket. “Your correspondence!” she cried, tripping into the study where Giles was working.

She watched as he looked rapidly through the mail and then set the bundle to the side. He was looking for a letter from Yasmin, she realized, with a sick feeling. Her brother turned back to his work without saying a word.

“Did you hear about the house party being thrown by the Duke and Duchess of Trent?” Lydia asked gaily, leaning against his desk.

“We cannot leave London, Lydia. I am needed here. Moreover, your wedding rapidly approaches.”

“Oh, I didn’t mean that! For one thing, I haven’t been invited.”

“I have,” her brother remarked, still not looking up from the letter he was writing.

Lydia leaned over suspiciously, but saw it was addressed to some lord or other.

“I wouldn’t want to go,” she said, keeping her voice sprightly. “I hear that all sorts of scandalous activities are going on. Birds of Paradise and opera singers.”

Giles carefully put his quill back in the stand. “Lydia, you are a grown woman who is going to be married. You have to stop lying.” His eyes were hard as stones.

Heat surged into Lydia’s cheeks. “I’m not lying! People are chattering about the party.”

“Whether Blanche is chattering or not, you know what she is saying isn’t true, so do not repeat it.”

Lydia straightened abruptly. “It’s nice to know that my elder brother has no faith in me!”

Giles looked up again. “Faith has to be earned, Lydia. I gather that you dislike the duchess, but repeating unpleasant gossip about one of the leaders of society only harms you. If she learns of it, she will never invite you or Lord Pettigrew to future events, let alone one of her house parties.”

“I don’t dislike the American duchess.” Lydia was conscious of a queasy feeling in the pit of her stomach. Perhaps a touch of guilt. “In fact, Lord Pettigrew offered her husband one of his puppies.”