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“In France, hunting takes place on horseback.”

“A scavenger hunt sends people off to find useless items.”

“Why?”

“For the fun of it,” her grandfather said. “There’s usually a trumpery prize, but the real game is beating the competition. Takes a couple of hours at least.”

Giles emerged from the crowd, bowing before Yasmin and then before the duke. “Good afternoon, Lady Yasmin. Your Grace.”

“I’d better get over to the urn,” Yasmin’s grandfather said, eyeing Giles with dislike. “I needn’t tell you to keep a civil tongue in your head, Lilford. No working off your excess bile on my granddaughter.”

Giles bowed again. “I apologize again to you and to Her Ladyship for any offense.”

“Humph,” the duke said. “Well, I’ll be off, dear.” He nodded to Yasmin, gave Giles a final scowl, and headed across the room.

Yasmin felt unaccountably awkward. Not shy: she was never shy. It was just those stupid kisses in the garden that she couldn’t get out of her head. “How is Lady Lydia?” she asked when Giles looked at her without speaking.

“Thriving.” He cleared his throat. “She—we—would be very grateful if you could forget what you saw at the ball last night, and not mention it to anyone.”

Yasmin felt a stab of hurt. For all his assurances, her reputation as a malicious gossiper was apparently alive and well.

He took a step closer. “I know you wouldn’t tell anyone, but Lydia made me promise to bring it up.”

“Of course,” she said woodenly. “I gather Lady Lydia has resolved not to accept Mr. Turing’s proposal.”

“He dutifully appeared to request her hand. I never saw a man more grateful for his reprieve,” Giles said. “I have spent considerable time since trying to hire a chaperone, but it isn’t as easy as it sounds. There are no respectable women to be found at this point in the Season.”

“It’s a conundrum, isn’t it?” Yasmin said. “A chaperone who is not a relative must be of the right lineage with an impeccable reputation and endless patience. I had a chaperone last Season, a dear friend of my grandfather’s, and we both found it extremely challenging.”

A footman paused before them. “My lord and lady, have you a scroll?” When Giles shook his head, he handed one to Yasmin.

“Hear ye, hear ye!” the dowager bellowed. “Has everyone looked at the list?”

The scroll turned out to include around fifty items. Yasmin took a quick look. Number fourteen was a footman’s wig, which couldn’t be terribly hard to find. A yellow chamber pot was perhaps more rare. An ostrich egg? A whisker from the beard of a bishop?

“The winning pair will receive two marvelous prizes, one for each.” The dowager held up something Yasmin couldn’t see over the heads of the men around her.

“What is it?” she asked Giles, breaking the silence between them.

“Looks like a lady’s hair band. A tiara, perhaps,” Giles remarked. He showed no inclination to read the list. Everyone around them was debating the best strategy to tackle the hunt.

She let the list roll back up. Couples were chortling with laughter as they made their plans, but clearly, her partner was not interested.

“A vulture crown!” the dowager cried, twirling it over her head. “Quite likely worn by a female pharaoh.”

“Only if that pharaoh was born a couple of years ago,” said a deep voice beside them. Yasmin turned with some relief to meet Silvester’s smiling eyes. “My mother is taking the opportunity to get rid of some ill-advised jewelry acquired during her craze for Egyptian art.”

No one in the crowd seemed particularly excited by the vulture crown, perhaps because most of the people had weathered the fashion in Egyptian culture and art and still had a pair of gold-painted china jackals poised incongruously on either side of the chintz sofa in their drawing room.

“The next prize!” The dowager held up a wooden box, about the size of a large breadbox. A hum of curious commentary rose, but she merely grinned. “I’m not saying what’s inside. I’ll just say that you want it. Every man in this room would be happy to own the contents of this box.”

“Diamond cufflinks?” someone called.

“Perhaps,” the dowager said, looking distinctly mischievous. But that was all she would say. Instead, she began reeling off rules for the scavenger hunt.

Silvester ignored her, embarking into a flurry of introductions. Yasmin curtsied before Lady Stella, thinking that her grandfather had been quite unkind. The spray of freckles over Stella’s nose was darling, and her spectacles suited her.

“I thought perhaps we should join forces. Four heads are better than one, after all,” Silvester said when greetings were over.