She raised the lid and studied the contents, ignoring a twinge of disappointment. Not that she truly expected treasure but it would have been nice. Inside the trunk lay old silks and satins, ball gowns from another age. She pulled one free and held it out in front of her to examine. The colors, varying shades of blue, were still bright, but the style was one that hadn’t been in fashion for a good sixty years or more. It was charming, but it was not worthy of winning a wager.

“Very nice,” Grayson said behind her.

She glanced at him. “What was in yours?”

“Mostly papers, letters, that sort of thing. Nothing of any real interest.” He shrugged in an offhand fashion.

She brightened. “Well, my trunk is more interesting than yours. And I win.”

“This time.” He smiled. “Chocolates, then?”

“Swiss, if you please.” It struck her that it was sweet of him to remember that her winnings were always chocolate. But then, if she had lost, she would have owed him Turkish delight. She hadn’t thought about their penchant for silly wagers in years; yet she remembered the Turkish delight. And he remembered the chocolate.

“Who do you suppose might have worn that?” He gestured at the dress in her hands.

“Elizabeth Bennet,” she said without thinking.

“Correct me if I’m wrong, but wasn’t Elizabeth Bennet a literary figure? A figment from the imagination of Jane Austen?”

“Yes, but this dress is from that time.” She turned it this way and that. “It might have been worn to a grand ball once, possibly hosted by the Prince Regent.”

“At a royal palace, perhaps?”

She bit back a smile. “Where else?”

“Where else, indeed. The lady who wore that, no doubt, attended any number of grand balls at royal palaces, where she would dance every dance with a handsome prince. Much like those in the fairy stories you used to read. I can see it now.” He waved in a grand gesture. “She, and we, are in a massive ballroom lit with a thousand candles glittering in a hundred chandeliers of crystal and gold.”

“Or she, we, could be in a dim, dusty attic.” She folded the gown and put it back in the trunk.

“Not anymore. Over there”—he waved at a cluster of several pieces of tall, cloth-covered furniture—“is the orchestra. They’re quite good, don’t you think?” He winced. “Oh, dear. One of the violinists just hit a sour note.”

“I think you’re quite mad.” But, admittedly, amusing.

He ignored her. “There are urns filled to overflowing with hothouse blooms. The ladies are wearing their finest jewels and their gowns are as colorful as the rubies and emeralds and sapphires around their necks.”

“And the gentlemen?”

“Handsome and dashing.”

She arched a brow. “All of them?”