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“I could make her a halter from ribbons,” Stella suggested.

“Keep her out of the kitchens,” Mrs. Thyme ordered. “Not because she’s unclean, because just look how fluffy she is now. But what if someone tripped and spilled hot broth on her? You stay here with us,” she crooned, lifting the kitten up in cupped hands.

Specs licked her nose.

Just like that, Specs was no longer a rat who belonged in the stables.

She was a member of the family.

Chapter Eight

Afternoon

The Dowager Duchess of Huntington’s Scavenger Hunt

The Dowager Duchess of Huntington’s annual Scavenger Hunt was one of the most anticipated entertainments of the Season, sending aristocrats charging through London to find absurdities like a button depicting a ship or a green chamber pot.

After a decade of such hunts, Silvester was heartily tired of the event, but its saving grace was that competitors broke into pairs, albeit with a maid in attendance if chaperonage was needed. He intended to claim Yasmin as his partner and discard the maid.

The drawing room was already crowded with giddy aristocrats by the time Yasmin and her grandfather were announced.

He had just started toward Yasmin when his mother climbed onto a low table with the support of a footman. She was wearing her monocle and looked like a stout dictator from a hapless country.

“Hear ye!” she bellowed.

He caught his baby sister’s eyes. “I couldn’t stop her,” she mouthed.

His brows drew together as his mother began dictating the couples who would compete together, even though she had never before bothered to pair off her guests. Sure enough, Silvester and Lady Stella were the first partners announced by the dowager.

Pushing away the irritation that surged through his body, he made his way to Stella and bowed. It wasn’t Stella’s fault that his mother had identified her as a future duchess on the basis of mutual blindness and shared eccentricity.

On the other hand, Stella’s singing definitely set her apart from his mother, who tunelessly bellowed hymns on Sundays, considering melody something attended to by tradesmen and their wives.

Stella’s voice was everything she wasn’t. She seemed practical, without a sensual bone in her body. Her clothes were utilitarian and prim, generally ruffled up to her chin. But when she sang, her voice stroked a man’s skin like deep velvet.

For some reason, she didn’t look quite as serviceable today.

Perhaps his knowledge of her singing voice made her look more sensual. Or perhaps it was the fact that she had smuggled a singing kitten into a tea party. He frowned, realizing that she had painted out her freckles, which was unfortunate. Unpainted, her skin was lovely.

Not that his opinion of her allure mattered one way or the other.

Lady Stella bobbed a curtsy. “Good afternoon, Your Grace.”

“Did your kitten accompany you this afternoon?” he asked, eyeing the line of her skirts. Though it was manifestly ungentlemanly to notice, her hips were delightfully ample. He didn’t see any indication of a surreptitious guest.

“I left her at home.”

He grinned at her. “Tea parties would be a good deal more tolerable if everyone brought a dog or cat.”

He saw a reluctant smile in her eyes, though she didn’t seem to be in a good mood.

“Do you have a dog?” she asked.

He shook his head. “As a boy, I had pet rats, but they are not a long-lived species. I secretly brought my favorite rat, Pete, to the drawing room for tea several times. So we have more in common than I had imagined, Lady Stella.”

Stella didn’t seem enthusiastic about that revelation. “Did Pete live in the mews?”

“Certainly not. In the stables, he might have been lured away by his wilder brethren. He lived in the nursery. Is your kitten residing in the stables?”