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Lydia joined them. “I’m so tired of listening to people squeal about how handsome the duke is,” she said. “Are they ignoring his nose?”

“It is rather large,” Stella admitted.

“I prefer a less authoritarian nose. A quieter nose. Like Lord Pettigrew’s.”

“A fine nose,” Stella agreed. “I had an interesting talk with Lord Pettigrew about his dogs.”

“Yes, one does,” Lydia agreed.

“Hopefully you like dogs?”

“I do.”

“A good nose and a shared love of canines. That’s enough for marriage,” Stella said cheerfully.

“You are so odd,” Blanche said.

Chapter Twelve

Four days later

March 29, 1816

The Dowager Duchess of Huntington’s

Bucolic Supper with Riparian Entertainments

Green Park, London

Dressing for the Dowager Duchess of Huntington’s bucolic supper was challenging, because Stella’s aunt insisted on overseeing the process. “Perhaps the blue costume would have been better,” Mrs. Thyme said now, biting her lip.

Stella was wearing a high-waisted green gown with a spray of white ruffles around her neck. Unfortunately, high waistlines were designed for ladies with long necks and stork legs.

The modiste had claimed that the ruffles on top and bottom would make Stella look taller, which was not the case.

Her aunt had approved of the excessive ruffling around the neck because it hid Stella’s cleavage. Mrs. Thyme considered exposed breasts to be tantamount to a red cloak before a bull: any hint of breasts would make lustful men leap from the shrubbery.

In Stella’s opinion, the gown made her look like a thimble with a head on top.

“You were worried that I couldn’t sit on the ground due to the blue dress’s narrow skirt, and my red pelisse looks best with a green gown,” she reminded her aunt. “We mustn’t be late for Her Grace’s ‘entertainments,’ whatever they are.”

She turned from the mirror. “Specs! Where are you?”

Specs bounced out from under the bed and trotted toward her.

“She looks like a dust ball,” her aunt observed. “A fluffy one. Are you putting on a leash? Julia Fitzwilliams carries her dog in a reticule, but she changes its leash to match her gown.”

Stella knelt down and fitted a halter made of pink ribbon around the kitten’s fat tummy, much to Specs’s dismay. The kitty hissed, but didn’t claw her, the way she had the day before. They were making progress.

“Doesn’t she like it?” Mrs. Thyme asked.

“Not yet. But she does like being taken about. Yesterday she was in my pocket throughout my visit to the Pantheon Bazaar. She likes to look around.” She pulled open the slit in her gown, and eased Specs into her pocket. The kitten immediately hooked her claws into Stella’s dress from the inside and popped her head out.

“I must say, she is quite adorable,” Stella’s aunt said.

“She’ll likely sleep during the afternoon. She’s been dashing about all morning, jumping to the bed and back to the floor.”

“I still feel animals shouldn’t be allowed on a bed,” Mrs. Thyme said, in the fretful way of someone who knows an argument is lost. “We must go. Tweed complains so much if the horses stand about in the street.”