And the Miss Ran Away With the Rake(42)

“I am hardly scowling,” she whispered back, doing her best to smile and not look at Lord Henry. “Do you know what all this is about, Tabitha?”

“Preston will explain,” the future duchess said, nodding toward her soon-to-be husband.

The duke leapt onto a mounting block and held up his hands. “Here is the challenge for today. A treasure hunt.”

There were cheers and some bits of muttering. Gentlemen cast mischievous glances at the ladies, while fans fluttered over the prospect of such a task.

The duke continued, “Each pair will be provided a map and instructions for where their treasure is hidden, and all you have to do is find it and return before anyone else.”

“However are the teams to be decided?” Fieldgate asked, sending a wink over at Harriet.

“By lots,” he told them.

This took everyone aback, and this time the muttering grew louder.

“Yes, but—” Roxley objected.

“No objections or you will not be eligible for the prize,” Preston told his friend.

“A prize?” whispered Daphne.

“Yes, just listen,” Tabitha told her.

“The winning team will have the first choice of dancing partner for the unmasking waltz at the ball.”

Daphne took a deep breath. How utterly romantic. If she were to win or Dishforth did, they could be together for the unmasking.

She saw it so perfectly in her imagination.

“Miss Spooner,” he would whisper, his fingers gently tugging at the laces of her mask, and when it fell away, they would see each other for the first time.

But much to her chagrin, as she imagined the moment, it wasn’t just any handsome features staring down at her but Lord Henry’s.

She wrenched her eyes open and shuddered.

“Whatever is the matter?” Harriet asked.

“A chill,” Daphne replied.

“I am beginning to think you do need Lady Essex’s smelling salts,” Harriet muttered back.

“I daresay it is going to rain,” Tabitha added. They both looked at her. “Well, Daphne always shivers just before it starts to rain.”

“There’s nary a cloud in the sky,” Harriet said, crossing her arms over her chest and giving Daphne a searching glance.

“It might rain,” Daphne said, not wanting to reveal the true cause of her trembling.

And this time, she didn’t look in his direction. Rather she scanned the rest of the crowd and noticed ladies off to one side near Lord Astbury. One of them wore a fine apple green silk that Daphne had seen in a draper’s shop in London. She’d nearly died over the cost—it had been prohibitively expensive—and now here was a young woman who not only could afford it but could also wear it done up in an ordinary day gown.

“Tabitha,” Daphne whispered. “Who is that lady—” She nodded toward Lord Astbury. “The one in the apple green silk?”

Sparing a quick glance in that direction, Tabitha’s nose wrinkled. “Miss Nashe. And of course, Lady Alicia Lovell with her.”

“Miss Nashe? The heiress?” Harriet said, gaping unfashionably at the lady.

“The one and the same,” Tabitha replied, but it was clear she did not like the girl. Though Tabitha was an heiress herself, she hardly played the part as Miss Nashe apparently did, from the French ribbons in her bonnet down to the fine calfskin of her boots. “Lady Juniper insisted she be invited. And you can’t ask Miss Nashe without including Lady Alicia.”

And they all knew why. Wherever Miss Nashe went, glowing reports in the columns were sure to follow—as they had all Season. Where Miss Nashe shopped. Who she danced with. At what times she rode in the park. To be snubbed by Miss Nashe was as good as being ruined.

And of course, there was always her dearest friend, Lady Alicia, right there, with her impeccable bloodlines and connections, though sadly none of Miss Nashe’s blunt.

Meanwhile, Preston was holding up two velvet purses. “I have the names of all the ladies in this pouch”—he held the first one up high and then hefted the other—“and the men in this one. I shall pull the name of a lady and then she will pull the name of her partner. Then the team is free to choose the carriage of their choice and be on their way.” Preston handed the pouch with the men’s names to Tabitha, then reached inside the sack with the ladies’ names. “Miss Hathaway,” he called out.

Harriet shrugged and walked forward. After a moment of trepidation, she shoved her hand in the sack and pulled out a name, holding it up for Preston.