“The hat is over here,” Yasmin said, heading toward one corner.

Giles followed her, threading his way among tables.

The skeleton in question wore a battered Napoleonic cocked hat, raffishly tilted over one eye. His only other garment was a British military coat; the gold epaulets on the shoulders suggested that the original owner was a major general.

“Is that coat from the King’s Dragoon Guards?”

“I have no idea. One of my grandfather’s many nephews was a lieutenant-colonel during the Battle of Waterloo,” Yasmin told him. “This gentleman wears Napoleon’s hat because my grandfather is certain that a just god will ensure Napoleon’s passing in the near future.”

“How will that make you feel?”

She glanced at him, looking surprised. “The emperor is an odious little man, and I won’t mourn him any more than will most French people. He didn’t destroy my parents’ marriage, but it wasn’t for want of trying. Hold my reticule, won’t you?”

Yasmin handed him a little purse. It was as frivolous and lovely as she was, woven of silk and metal thread in a Cupid-and-heart design, with green silk trimming.

“Pretty,” he said, turning it over. “I believe I saw you carrying this once before.”

“Isn’t it? I love that begonia silk. It’s old, and the clasp is not reliable, but I still carry it with me everywhere.”

“I thought begonias were flowers.” He turned it over again.

“I meant the color,” Yasmin explained. “Begonia is a special shade of pink. That purse is over one hundred years old.”

He glanced up to find her on her tiptoes, reaching for the hat. “I’ll get that for you.”

“No need. I have it.” She plucked it from the skull. “Here, why don’t you wear it while we have tea?”

“Certainly not.”

“So stuffy,” Yasmin said, pouting laughingly as she stuck the hat on her head.

To his shock, Giles actually had to stop himself from snatching her into his arms and kissing her. “Which table do you prefer?” he said, looking away from her before he betrayed his ungentlemanly inclination.

“My grandfather is a pack rat, so most of his furniture is old and spindly.” Yasmin headed off toward the other side of the room, where a daybed aligned with the wall. She sat down and patted the cushion beside her. “A man of your size might knock my grandfather’s chairs into splinters.”

Giles was still holding her reticule. “Did this purse belong to one of your father’s female ancestors?”

“Oh, no! My father may be a duc now, but his grandparents were people of modest means.” Yasmin reached out for her purse. “Napoleon gave this to my mother.”

Giles blinked. “Had it belonged to Joséphine?”

“Certainly not! The former emperor bought it for Maman in a small shop near the Louvre, during the first week of their courtship, if you can call it that. She gave it to me, because she is not fond of antiques.” She started fiddling with the purse. “Of course, my mother did accept other gifts from the emperor.”