“There is one thing left in the basket.”

“Another letter? I thought your summary of the Corn Laws was very learned, Giles, but I am tired.”

He held up the basket.

Yasmin reached her hand into the basket but instead of a folded paper, she pulled out a box. It held a ring with an exquisite pink jewel surrounded by a halo of diamonds. “Oh, Giles,” she breathed. “I . . . I had hoped to have an engagement ring someday.” She managed a watery smile. “I love it. I’ve never seen anything so beautiful.”

“I wanted to put one on your finger the day after we met,” Giles said. “It took time for the jeweler, Rumfeld, to find me just the right pink sapphire.”

She touched the stone wonderingly. “It’s the most beautiful sapphire I’ve ever seen, Giles. I thought sapphires were blue or green.”

“A few, a very few, are pink, giddy, and exquisite,” he said, sliding it on her finger. “They are rare and beyond price, just like you, Mina.”

“I never cry!” Yasmin said, her voice wavering.

But every time she looked at her hand, her eyes flooded with tears.

Giles’s arms wrapped around her. “Next week, a wedding ring?”

“Yes,” Yasmin said happily. She leaned back against his shoulder and held up her hand so the pink sapphire caught the light.

“You see?” Giles asked.

“See what?”

“The stone laughs. It twinkles.”

She pulled his head down to hers. The evidence was incontrovertible: her grumpy earl was the most romantic man she’d ever known.

Epilogue

The Queen’s Drawing Rooms, St. James’s Palace

On the Occasion of the visit of the French Ambassador

October 14, 1816

René-Eustache, Marquis d’Osmond, had been appointed French ambassador to England last November, yet this was his first visit to the country. He had lived in Switzerland during Napoleon’s shameful ascendancy.

Waiting to be presented to the Queen by the former ambassador, he was surprised to find that he felt slightly intimated by the grandeur of the English court. Who would have imagined it?

As he watched, a group of ladies caused Her Majesty to dissolve into gusts of laughter. Entranced, the Queen paid no attention to the fact that such an august personage as himself was waiting.

René spun the corners of his waxed mustaches, considering the dynamics of the court. Given His Majesty’s indisposition, the English queen was powerful. He only recognized one of the women, the Duchess of Trent, famous for being originally from America. The ladies clearly had the Queen’s ear.

“Pay attention!” the man next to him hissed.

René frowned at the Comte de Ségur, the former ambassador. Ségur would introduce him to the queen and then make his way back to the court of King Louis XVIII.

An exquisite woman had entered from a side door, thus avoiding the throngs of peers waiting behind René. She had the face of a naughty angel, albeit with such dignity as befit royalty. At least six ostrich plumes nodded on her head, yet she carried herself with such grace that she made the style—antiquated to French eyes but required by the English queen—positively elegant.