“No.” Captain Northrup scowled. “I meant her title. She’s the Duchess of—”
“Faircliffe,” Chloe said smoothly, materializing from nowhere to slip her hand around Northrup’s arm. She winked at Tommy. “I believe this is my dance?”
“So it is.” Northrup puffed up his chest again and strutted out onto the dance floor with exaggerated slowness, so that everyone could see him with a duchess on his arm.
“Oh, he’s bon ton,” Philippa muttered darkly. “Overflowing withje ne sais quoi.”
“It’s ‘shite,’” Tommy whispered. “He’s overflowing with shite.”
“If only my parents had felt this passionately about marrying me off to Baron Vanderbean,” Philippa said with a sigh.
Tommy shook her head. The ton’s opinions of Baron Vanderbean were irrelevant. He wouldn’t be marrying anyone. She didn’t want to have to pose as her father’s namesake to earn her lover’s acceptance. She wanted to live asTommy. Chosen for herself, and nothing else.
“It’s been almost a full minute,” Tommy said. “Chloe’s done by now. It’s my turn.”
“What?” Philippa spun to face the dancers. “How?”
“I’ll return posthaste,” Tommy said. “I have to bump into my niece.”
She placed her spectacles in her wig and bumbled onto the parquet, hunched and squinting. She narrowly avoided the other dancing couples then collided with Chloe.
“There you are,” she barked. “I can’t find my spectacles.”
Northrup’s face turned so purple, Tommy hoped he might explode.
“Aunt…” Chloe said gently. “They’re on your head. Please go wait for me elsewhere. I’m dancing with Captain Northrup.”
Tommy patted the spectacles on her head, harrumphed, and tottered away without another word. She adjusted the fichu covering her bodice. The key was now inside her false bosom.
Hurrying, Philippa caught up with her halfway to the door.
“What are you doing?” Tommy motioned for her to stay in the ballroom, where it was safe. “Chloe will ensure he doesn’t notice anything amiss until he’s at least finished his set with her, but that gives me barely thirty minutes. Wait here.”
“No.” Philippa did not slow her pace. “I’m coming with you.”
32
You’renotcoming with me.” Tommy staggered backward in obvious horror. “You don’t have an excuse to be wandering the corridors—”
“I do,” Philippa said, keeping her voice low but firm. “Northrup gave me the excuse. He told me where to find his bedchamber and heavily intimated our second set of the night could take place upstairs.”
Tommy’s mouth fell open. “What?That may be an excuse, but it’s still scandalous. If I am caught, no one will think anything of it. But ifyouare caught, you won’t have the life that you want.”
“I don’t have the life I want now.” Philippa’s voice shook from three and twenty interminable years of being excluded from what she wanted most. “Please do not make my choices for me.”
“I’m not trying to,” Tommy said. “I just don’t see—”
“Once I am wed, I won’t have opportunities like this, to do something important and to help my friends. I may not be allowed tohavemy friends. Agnes and Katherine had no one to stand up for them. I want to be that person, whilst I can.”
Tommy nodded slowly. “I understand wanting to decide your future and the desire to be useful.”
Philippa’s shoulders relaxed. Even their disagreements were tolerable. Tommy listened to Philippa’s viewpoint and believed her feelings to be relevant and important. It was heady and empowering.
She seized her chance. “Like you said, no one will think twice if Great-Aunt Wynchester is seen wandering the halls. Northrup already thinks you’re my chaperone. If I notice your absence, it’s the most natural thing in the world for me to go and find you.”
“Your logic holds,” Tommy admitted. She drew in a visible breath. “You are your own person, making your own decision.”
“No,” Philippa said softly. “We are a team, making decisions together. Two brains are better than one.”
