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“No, he was not respectful,” Mrs. Thyme said vehemently. “He used you as a ploy to distract society from his enduring infatuation with Lady Yasmin. I wouldn’t even have known the truth if I hadn’t overheard him instructing his butler to make sure his carriage was brought around as soon as his guests were gone. I waited until he returned to the reception, and then I insisted the butler tell me where he was going.”

“The butler told you?”

“After I gave him a sovereign,” her aunt admitted. “He had heard it from the earl’s valet. Valets always know everything.”

“It would have been kinder had Giles informed me,” Stella agreed. “But he never implied that he might wed me.”

“That wicked varmint!” her aunt said, sniffing. “A true gentleman would never have paid you such marked attention. Now you will be known for being rejected by an earl. They’ll say that he couldn’t bring himself to the point because of your spectacles!”

Stella winced. “No normal woman can be expected to compete with Lady Yasmin.”

“She! It’s the fault of that wicked, evil woman!” Her aunt’s voice spiraled even higher. “Must she have every man? She’s caught them in her coils, all of them, as if she could marry more than one nobleman. Nay, she wants two!”

“Actually, I believe that Lady Yasmin will accept the earl’s hand,” Stella said. “She loves him, Aunt. I saw it at the picnic.”

“But the paper said yesterday that she was betrothed to the Duke of Huntington. It was there in black and white.”

Stella shook her head. “If the report was factual, she’ll break her engagement when the earl offers to marry her.”

Mrs. Thyme pleated and unpleated her handkerchief. “Should we go to Paris? Or retire to the country? Stay at home and refuse all calls?”

Embarrassment ignited in Stella’s stomach at the idea of meeting Lydia’s mocking gaze—but she’d be damned if she would run away. And thankfully, Lydia had left on her wedding trip.

“We will proceed exactly as we meant to before this occurred,” Stella said. “We will not betray in the slightest that we were not the earl’s confidantes. After all, the newspapers assumed that he and I would marry: we certainly didn’t inform anyone otherwise.”

Mrs. Thyme choked. “I might have . . .”

“We must act as if his actions are irrelevant.”

“But—”

“Because they don’t matter,” Stella continued. “I don’t like the Earl of Lilford much, to be honest. He’s grumpy. There’s something cold and impenetrable about his manner. It would have been like marrying a block of ice.”

“That wouldn’t matter if you were a countess,” her aunt said.

“Yes, it would, because I’d have to live with him,” Stella pointed out. “For the rest of our lives. Be intimate with him. I know you dislike frank conversation, Aunt, but you have to admit that’s a challenging thought.”

“He’s quite good-looking,” Mrs. Thyme said. But her tone was uncertain. Then she sighed. “We cannot rejoin society until people learn of the earl’s flight to the country, and that will take a day or two. I can’t do it. It’s too humiliating. Just imagine how people will stare when his lordship doesn’t appear at the Haverford ball tomorrow night to escort you to the supper dance.”

Stella gave her a reassuring smile. “Perhaps we could visit the theater tomorrow instead? If we arrive on time and appear cheerful, people will notice that we are quite unperturbed.”

“I suppose I could bear that,” her aunt conceded.

“The Duchess of Trent’s Ancient Roman Fête is coming up. The gathering will be small, and yet everything the American Duchess does is reported in the papers. Our attendance will demonstrate that I am not heartbrokenly cowering under the covers.”

“I’d forgotten about that,” her aunt said fretfully. “I’m not sure . . . she is so eccentric. What if she lures you into the river? The Trent townhouse runs by the Thames.”

“The party has nothing to do with the riverbank. It’s a garden battle with her children, in togas.”

“Yes, but why?”

Stella gave her aunt another squeeze and moved back to sit opposite her. “What do you mean?”

“Why so eccentric? Why ducks with hats and children in togas? Why can’t we simply have tea and play croquet if one insists on exerting oneself?”

“People are tired of croquet?” Stella ventured.

“You do know what the connection is, don’t you?” Mrs. Thyme asked. “They’re both duchesses. The American Duchess and the Dowager Duchess of Huntington. I suppose the dowager duchess will attend as well, giving me withering glances and saying things that I don’t understand.” More tears rolled down her cheeks.