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Stella bit her lip before she blurted out that her aunt and uncle had deliberately created that situation by doubling her dowry.

Mrs. Thyme dropped her handkerchief. “Oh, Stella, what are we going to do?” she wailed. “The house is overrun by mice. Overrun! The housekeeper tells me that flour is no sooner brought into the house than holes are chewed in the sacks.”

“Luckily, we have Specs,” Stella pointed out.

“She caught one. She can hardly catch five, or ten, or one hundred!” Mrs. Thyme’s voice rose.

“Yes, she can,” Stella said. “She has caught three this week alone.”

Mrs. Thyme turned a pale shade of green. “I wish you hadn’t told me that.”

“If you would allow her into the kitchens, she will catch them all,” Stella said. “I believe Specs would quite like to earn her keep.”

“Do you really think so?” Mrs. Thyme sat up. “I’ve been sitting here, thinking the most dreadful thoughts. How can I ever be at home to callers, Stella? What if a mouse ran across a lady’s foot?”

“A night spent in the kitchen would be a treat for Specs.”

“I will order the chef to make her chicken and giblets every day,” Mrs. Thyme said. “With gravy!”

Chapter Eighteen

Specs caught seventeen mice.

Stella waltzed with Silvester six times, Giles seven times, and Harold Rowson eleven times. Harold buzzed around her every night, still trying to persuade her that her voice would make his salon the toast of all Paris.

Mrs. Thyme ruthlessly encouraged him. “Perhaps the Earl of Lilford needs competition to bring him to the point,” she said one evening. “I cannot understand why he’s so slow to propose.”

One night, Merry pulled her into the ladies’ retiring room at a musicale and demanded if she was secretly betrothed to Giles.

“No,” Stella said. “I don’t think I shall be, Merry. The Earl of Lilford may appear to be courting me, but he doesn’t care if I dance with other men.”

Merry knit her brow. “Isn’t that a good thing? I would find it most uncomfortable if my husband glowered at me as I hopped my way through a quadrille.”

“I meant it metaphorically. If we married, I don’t think that the earl would care if I found my way to other men’s beds,” Stella said flatly. “I mean, of course, after I provided him with an heir.”

“I’m sure you’re mistaken.”

“Have you seen the way he looks at Yasmin?” Stella asked.

“Desirously? Everyone looks that way at Yasmin. Except my husband, thank goodness,” Merry added with a twinkle.

“No,” Stella said, shaking her head. “He looks at Yasmin the way your husband looks at you.”

Dismay flashed through Merry’s eyes. “Oh, dear.”

“Remember that I told you gentlemen are looking for someone to adore? Giles has found that person. He is in love.”

“He can’t be. He’s taking you into supper regularly,” Merry said indignantly. “Also, everyone says Yasmin refused his hand. They don’t even speak to each other.”

Stella shrugged. “He’s never shown the faintest propensity to kiss me. I believe I could lure him into my bedchamber, and he wouldn’t be tempted to an indiscretion. In fact, he would be offended. He doesn’t want me, Merry.”

“Then he’s a fool, and he shan’t have you!”

“Life isn’t that simple. Do you think it’s better to marry a man in love with another woman or a fortune hunter?”

“Neither,” Merry said promptly. “Did I ever tell you that I was betrothed numerous times? All fortune hunters, and in fact, one of them sued me for breach of promise.”

Stella gaped at her. “Truly?”