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Stella remained awkwardly at his side, accepting resentful compliments and fervently wishing that her aunt would arrive to escort her home, especially after the dowager duchess blithely bid her guests farewell and disappeared with her brother.

Lydia sidled over. “May I see the crown?”

“Of course,” Stella said, turning to her. To her relief, Silvester drifted away.

“It’s ugly. Still, that wasn’t a fair hunt,” Lydia said broodily.

“I completely agree,” Stella said, which seemed to assuage her.

“Of course, you had nothing to do with it. It’s not as if His Grace chose you as his partner. It’s just that Lord Pettigrew and I found quite a few things on the list and may well have won.”

“His Grace certainly did not choose me,” Stella stated. Blanche was heading toward them, so she was glad that Silvester had moved to the other side of the room. He might snarl at Blanche for eavesdropping.

“Oh, there you are, Blanche,” Lydia said. “Did you and Mr. Rowson have an enjoyable afternoon?”

“We drank a great many cups of tea while the dowager duchess told us about a chimney she designed. We couldn’t attend the scavenger hunt, since there were no maids to serve as chaperones.”

“We had the same problem,” Stella said idly. The circlet of the vulture crown was etched with Egyptian hieroglyphs. Perhaps if she brought it to a museum, they could decipher them.

“Did you venture outside without a chaperone?” Blanche asked.

“In an open vehicle,” Stella clarified. “His Grace wanted to be certain that no one would consider either of us compromised.”

“That would explain what happened to your hair,” Lydia said acidly. “Better you than me.”

There was a moment of silence as Stella and Blanche silently registered that Lydia would kill to go anywhere alone with the Duke of Huntington, and what’s more, she would have arranged to be compromised. Probably she would have thrown herself into his arms in the open street.

Lydia laughed into the silence. “Of course, the duke had to be prudent. Stella as a duchess? I don’t think so.” She stepped closer and whispered, “Have you seen how angry he is? Or perhaps the right word is ‘heartbroken’?”

Stella blinked at her. “What do you mean?”

“You’re frightfully unobservant, even with the spectacles,” Lydia said disapprovingly. “I expect that’s why you took a tumble in the ballroom. He’s over there.”

Stella turned. Silvester was glaring out the window. His shoulders were rigid, and he looked perilously close to an eruption of anger.

“Could he be cross because his mother forced him to accompany you?” Lydia asked.

Stella shook her head. “He didn’t seem to care.”

“You are the unobservant one,” Blanche said to her friend, shaking her head. “Do you see your brother anywhere, Lydia?”

Lydia turned pale. “No!” She wheeled and stared around the room.

“At this very moment, the earl is shaking the sheets with Yasmin Régnier,” Blanche said. “Stole the duke’s mistress from under his very eyes. No wonder the man looks so enraged.”

Stella looked at her with exasperation. “Lydia looks quite sick with nerves. Was that necessary?”

Blanche blinked. “No.” Rather surprisingly, she turned to Lydia. “I’m sorry. That was a vulgar remark, and I apologize.”

“What is vulgar,” Lydia snapped, “is Yasmin running off with my brother!”

Stella excused herself and walked over to Silvester, who was gazing at the street, jaw clenched. “You mustn’t stand around looking bleak. Everyone’s talking about you.”

In the carriage, he had smiled at her like a friend, but now his eyes were chilly. “May I be of assistance, Lady Stella?”

That was the Duke of Huntington speaking, rather than Silvester.

Stella ignored it. “They will return,” she said, meeting his eyes. “Stop watching for their carriage. I told you: Lady Yasmin is punctiliously virtuous.”