She froze as one of the rabbits hopped closer, raising itself on its haunches to peer up at her inquisitively, its nose twitching as it sniffed the frosted air. Its eyes shone brightly in the candlelight and its pale ears were very long, decorated in intricate twists of flowers. Slowly Rosa withdrew one of her hands from the muff and reached carefully down towards the nearest rabbit, thinking it would probably flee. Instead it hopped right up onto her palm.

Its body was icy against her bare skin and, for a handful of seconds, Rosa and the rabbit simply stared at one another. There was something in the rabbit’s gaze that was unmistakeably friendly and intelligent, as if it had deliberately sought Rosa out and picked her from among all the guests in the garden.

Yet Rosa barely had time to take the animal in before it changed, its body moving and shifting so suddenly that it was hard to follow what was happening. All Rosa knew was that, in the space of a few heartbeats, she no longer held a rabbit in her hand at all, but a perfectly beautiful teacup. It sported the same willow pattern, with an intricate design of flowers and vines, minuscule petals painted along the arched handle. The only sign of the rabbit was in the form of a painted one, right at the bottom of the cup. Rosa stared at it, momentarily unsure whether she had done something she shouldn’t have. But then a voice behind her said, ‘Congratulations, your grace. You’ve been invited to the supper booths.’

She straightened up and turned round, the teacup still carefully clasped in her hand. The apple tree had moved out of the way and another liveried footman stood on the path behind her, with several curious guests peering over his shoulder.

‘I beg your pardon?’ she asked.

‘There is not enough space for all the guests to attend the midnight tea,’ the footman explained. ‘The teacup rabbits therefore choose who is invited to stay on in the gardens after closing time. There is more information on page three of your guide. You will need to keep hold of the teacup and present it at the supper booths.’

‘Thank you,’ Rosa said.

The footman moved on and Rosa immediately found herself surrounded by the guests who had been behind him, all exclaiming enviously over the teacup, with one gentleman even offering to pay Rosa a handsome sum for it.

‘It would do you no good,’ a lady in a crimson cloak said, peering down at the guidebook. ‘It says here that the teacup can only be used by its chosen recipient, whose name will be painted on the base.’

Everyone peered over Rosa’s shoulder as she turned the cup over. Her name was indeed stencilled there in curling teal letters: Her Grace, Rosa Hamilton, Duchess of Chalkley.