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“More than a fool, he’s cruel,” Blanche snapped.

“He’s not cruel,” Stella said, her voice choked. “He can’t help himself.”

“A grown man can’t help himself?” Blanche said, at the same moment the duchess snorted loudly.

A huge lump was lodged in Stella’s chest. She took a deep breath, telling herself again that dignity was everything. “I suppose I can’t call for my carriage?”

“Absolutely not,” the dowager said. “You will dance the night away. My nephew Harold is a worthless fellow, but tonight his penchant for you is useful.”

Blanche was painting Stella’s lips dark crimson; Stella caught sight of it in the mirror and shuddered, thinking of Mrs. Thyme. If she were in London, she would be horrified by Stella’s new wardrobe, let alone this bold lip color.

Her aunt’s weekly letters were thick with advice drawn from ancient books of etiquette. Surprisingly, Mrs. Thyme’s weekly letters never mentioned a wish to return to London; mostly she wrote about her kitten, Sparks. But Stella could read between the lines.

In her own way, Mrs. Thyme loved her.

Unfortunately, “in her own way” was the only way anyone ever loved Stella: as second choice, second best. Not that Silvester loved her even second best, because if he did, surely he wouldn’t blithely humiliate her. Stella felt like an orphaned girl once again, her throat so raw with tears that she couldn’t speak.

“All right,” Blanche said. She stepped back. “Did you know those Frenchmen out there refer to you as a Vénus de poche, a pocket Venus?”

Her accent was perfect. Stella cleared her throat. “Didn’t you tell me that you could scarcely remember how to say hello in French?”

“Of course I can speak French; I’ve had years of lessons. But I refuse to admit it. My father is maddened that I can’t speak the language. He loves everything about the country, including, obviously, the women.”

“Stop shaking, Stella,” the dowager ordered. “I’ve had a life full of humiliations, and while this is embarrassing, my son will not return home with Yasmin. As I informed him long ago, she doesn’t share his absurd adoration.”

“Obviously, since she chose a man of lower rank,” Blanche agreed.

Stella took a deep breath. She’d made a fool of herself, thinking that shared pleasure in the bedchamber would make a difference to Silvester’s feelings. Love wasn’t like that. It wasn’t logical.

“He has never lied to me about his feelings for her,” she said, her voice cracking despite herself.

“My father has never hidden his conviction that French women are the most delightful creatures to walk the earth,” Blanche said. “But at least he doesn’t flaunt those women in front of my mother. He gives her that much.”

The dowager nodded. “Order my son to be a better actor. Or I will tell him.”

“If you’ll excuse me, Stella needs to lay down the rules of their marriage, not you,” Blanche said. “My mother has kept her head high because in the first week of their marriage she directed my father to keep his Frenchwomen in the outskirts of London, or she would scratch their eyes out.”

She met Stella’s and the dowager’s eyes with a shrug. “I’ve known my whole life that marriage requires backbone.”

“You have backbone,” the dowager said, looking rather fascinated.

“Not really, but I am learning to have one,” Blanche replied. “I am trying to change my ways.”

“All right,” Stella said. “I will inform Silvester that he can’t show his emotions so plainly now that he’s married.”

She felt as if her heart was cracking. Her husband was a consummate actor, capable of hiding every emotion. The fact he didn’t manage to, in this particular case, was evidence of the strength of his feelings for Yasmin.

She refused to think that it was due to disrespect for her, for his wife. Silvester did respect her. She was certain of it.

He just loved Yasmin . . . that much.

Stella squared her shoulders.

Blanche finished painting her own mouth and nodded at her. “You are a duchess. Be a duchess.”

“Thank you,” Stella said. She hesitated. “I really mean it. I was close to tears out there, thinking I was a useless button.”

“I’ve been a pouffiasse to you in the past,” Blanche said. “But if you’ll give me a second chance, Stella, I can be a true friend. I promise.”