“You’re not smiling,” her grandfather said now, revealing a rarely attempted ability to assess another person’s emotional state.

“’Twas a long night,” Yasmin said, accepting a plate containing a preparation of eggs done four ways.

“You could eschew the Duke of Trent’s ball tonight. Inspired by A Midsummer Night’s Dream indeed! Only an American would think that amusing,” His Grace said. He raised a finger, and a footman sprang from the wall. “Bring my granddaughter a portion of haddock. Your grandmother believed that young women,” he said to Yasmin, “require fish on a regular basis.” He raised the finger again. “And a small mug of beer. Good for a nursing woman.”

“I’m not nursing!” Yasmin was startled into saying.

The duke would never be so inelegant as to shrug, but he ignored her. “Beer,” he commanded. A footman scurried out the door.

“I am looking forward to the Trent ball tonight. I have a new gown, and moreover, I am very fond of Merry. She and Cleo are my closest friends,” Yasmin said, poking at the haddock that appeared before her.

“‘The American Duchess’,” her grandfather said with an air of disapproval.

She frowned at him.

“Although one must admit that Her Grace is an admirable mother who seems to have largely overcome her unfortunate ancestry,” he amended. “I would also note that she is an excellent influence on you, being older and mature.”

The last time Yasmin saw Merry, they had drunk a lot of brandy and reeled around the room practicing the Danse Écossoise, one of Yasmin’s favorite quadrilles, often danced in France, but not yet accepted in England.

If the august leaders of British society had seen Merry, Cleo, and Yasmin laughing and stumbling over each other, they might have retracted their conditional approval of the American Duchess. Merry’s claims to being “mature” were dubious; if Yasmin remembered correctly, Merry was still prancing around the room in fits of laughter after she and Cleo had collapsed under the influence of four glasses of brandy.

“My morning correspondence indicates that last night you waltzed with the Duke of Huntington, as well as the Earl of Lilford,” her grandfather said. “A duke and an earl. I must offer my congratulations. Lord Ferble described you as shining like a diamond of the first water.”

Yasmin sighed. Every morning, His Grace received a bevy of letters from his cronies, assessing her activities. During her first Season, his elderly friends had watched for signs of scandalous behavior—to no avail because she loved flirting but had no interest in further intimacies.

“What does that mean?” she inquired.

“Diamonds are judged by their brilliance, or ‘water,’” her grandfather replied. “Which reminds me that I must give you your grandmother’s diamonds. They were her personal possession and not entailed with the estate.” He turned to his butler, waiting by the sideboard. “Take the diamonds from the safe, Carson, and give them to Lady Yasmin’s maid.”

“Certainly, Your Grace,” Carson said, bowing.

“I have no need for diamonds!” Yasmin said, startled.