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It confirmed Stella’s decision.

She wanted what Merry had, what Yasmin had. She’d spent her entire life playing second fiddle to perfection. She’d spent her life never being loved for being herself.

She’d be damned if she accepted a lifetime of the same.

Now that Silvester recognized his mother’s manipulation, he would drop his unlikely courtship, if you could call it that. No man wanted to marry the woman his mother shoved in his direction. Especially once he realized that the dowager had chosen Stella on the basis of bad eyesight and height.

Back at home, Stella dabbed her face with the cream Blanche had given her, disguising her renewed freckles before going down to supper.

Mrs. Thyme greeted her cheerfully. After spending the afternoon with friends, she was feeling more sanguine about the Earl of Lilford’s defection. Apparently, rumors suggested that Lady Yasmin might be carrying a child.

“Reprehensible,” her aunt said. “But the truth is, dearest, now everyone will know that he wanted you to be his countess, although he had to marry the woman with whom he had consorted. Lady Yasmin is not just his mistress, after all. She is a lady, albeit a scandalous one.”

“A possible child is not why the earl asked Lady Yasmin to marry him,” Stella said. “He is in love with her, Aunt. You said so yourself, after the picnic by the river.”

“That will make their marriage pleasant, if unusual,” Mrs. Thyme agreed. “My point is that your reputation will be untouched, in fact, somewhat enhanced since he bedded Lady Yasmin and then didn’t ask her to marry him until a child was on the way. I shall send a letter to your uncle immediately. He will be so relieved.”

Mr. Thyme was still in the country, overseeing the all-important work of gardeners as they turned his gourds toward the sun, morning and afternoon. In Stella’s opinion, he didn’t give a fig for his niece’s reputation or even her marital prospects.

Three days later, Stella and her aunt were at breakfast when their butler entered and announced, “The Duke of Huntington has sent in his card, Madame.” The butler would never be so gauche as to raise an eyebrow, especially where nobility was concerned, but his tone made it clear that he disapproved of a call paid far too early.

Mrs. Thyme looked up from her plate, puzzled. “Why on earth? Might he have left something here?”

“I doubt it,” Stella said slowly. She had an unpleasant feeling in her stomach.

Silvester did not like to lose. Ever. No matter how important or unimportant the matter at hand was.

She put down her teacup. “Why don’t I greet him in the drawing room, Aunt? You might—”

“I hope you don’t mind if I barge in like this,” a deep, urbane voice said. Silvester strolled into the room, exquisitely dressed in gray silk with black embroidery at the cuffs, his pantaloons cut close and worn with shining boots.

Without tassels, Stella noted.

He was up to something, a conclusion she reached not merely because he was wearing full dress, but because he was wearing his “Duke of Huntington” expression, radiating charm and dominance. As well as wealth, she noted sourly, seeing an emerald shaped like an insect pinned to his cravat.

Presumably, one of his mother’s lucky scarabs.

Their butler drew himself up with an affronted air upon realizing that the duke had entered the house without invitation, but he visibly relaxed when Silvester gave him one of those beaming smiles he held in reserve, full of charm and a touch of mischief.

“I consider myself a friend of the family, but even so, I know that I am in breach of decorum,” he admitted.

“Your Grace, we are not prepared for callers at this hour,” Mrs. Thyme said, waving her hand to send the butler out of the room. “May we assist you with something?”

“I wish you good morning, Mrs. Thyme, Lady Stella. No, please don’t rise.” His bow was a masterful display of masculine elegance.

Stella took a deep breath. “My life is not a game for your amusement.”

“What did you say, Stella?” her aunt asked.

“I could wait no longer,” he said soulfully.

Stella started to her feet, rage filling her body. “Don’t you dare!”

“Dare what?” her aunt said confusedly. “Are you here to play chess, Your Grace? While I know how much you and my niece enjoy a game now and then, we have calls of our own to make this morning.”

“I am here because I have found the woman with whom I wish to spend my life in happy union and felicity, and for whom I possess the particular affection and esteem requisite for conjugal happiness.”

Mrs. Thyme’s mouth fell open.