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The Duke of Huntington’s townhouse

The Dowager Duchess’s Scavenger Hunt

Yasmin strolled into Silvester’s townhouse the day after the Trent ball with her feelings in a jumble. Her grandfather was prancing beside her, beaming with satisfaction. He had decided that the Dowager Duchess of Huntington’s invitation to a scavenger hunt was a thinly disguised attempt to get to know Yasmin better before her son proposed marriage.

The house was brimming with members of the ton, all chattering in high voices. At first glance, Yasmin caught sight of two ladies who disliked her and—

Lydia.

Make that three ladies who disliked her.

“Dear me,” her grandfather said after the butler announced them. Scarcely a head turned in their direction; people were too busy peering at scrolls being handed out by footmen.

The dowager duchess, a stout lady with a monocle fixed in her eye, clambered up on top of a low table with the help of a footman. “Hear ye, hear ye!” she bellowed. She looked around, people quieting as soon as her eyes fell on them. “Oh, there you are,” she called to Yasmin’s grandfather. “Better late than never, I suppose. You and I are the judges. I’m not haring about London.”

“I can partner my granddaughter,” the duke replied. “Unless you intend to match her with your son.”

Her Grace scanned the list she held. “My son is with Lady Stella.”

Either Silvester hadn’t told his mother that he was courting Yasmin, or the dowager hadn’t welcomed the news.

“Lady Fester and Mr. Coke,” the dowager bawled. “Lady Caroline Gage and Lord Elton.” Mr. and Mrs. Addison were listed, but when Yasmin looked about, Cleo and Jake were nowhere to be seen.

Across the room, Silvester was bowing before Lady Stella, a cheerful smile on his face. Perhaps his mother had informed him that she had no intention of welcoming a French trollop into the family.

“She won’t offer you any competition,” her grandfather commented. “Bespectacled, poor girl, and has spots on top of it.”

The dowager was still shouting out pairings, so Yasmin whispered, “Lady Stella’s skin looks clear to me.”

“Not that sort of spots,” he said impatiently. “Freckles. The permanent kind of spots. Would have to be painted out in a portrait, along with those spectacles, of course.”

“That is taking portraiture altogether too seriously,” Yasmin stated.

Her grandfather snorted. “Have you taken a look at your grandmother’s portrait?”

“Not closely.”

“Look again. You can see where the artist painted out her double chin. We had to have that fellow back three times before he came up with a decent likeness.”

Apparently, “likeness” was a malleable term.

The dowager swiveled in their direction. “Your Grace, go over there and stand next to the urn so I can find you. Or sit, if your corns are hurting you.”

“I don’t have corns,” her grandfather said indignantly.

“Must be some other duke,” she said unapologetically. “All right.” She peered at her paper. “Lady Yammer, your granddaughter, is on this list somewhere.”

“Lady Yasmin,” her grandfather said sharply. “I introduced you myself, weeks ago.”

“Lady Yasmin and the Earl of Lilford,” the dowager announced, blithely ignoring that comment. “Lady Lydia and Patrick deGrey.”

“Damn it, I’ll have to speak to her,” Yasmin’s grandfather muttered. “She’s trying to throw you into the arms of that sullen earl. I’ll straighten her out. She’ll never fix a match between her son and the spotted girl.”

He patted Yasmin on the arm. “I can see Lilford headed in this direction. If he gives you a headache, send a footman for me, and we’ll leave immediately.”

“I’m certain that Lord Lilford and I can be pleasant to each other for the length of a game,” Yasmin said. “I’ll join you again in an hour or so.”

Her grandfather snorted. “An hour? Is this your first scavenger hunt?”