She nodded to her kindly butler and strode out from the home she’d lived in for as long as she could remember…straight into a solid wall of women.
“W-what,” she stammered.
“It’s Thursday,” Florentia said.
Sybil took Tiglet from Philippa. “It’s time for our reading circle.”
“When Chloe didn’t send out invitations, we assumed we were to come here,” said Lady Eunice.
Gracie alighted from a hackney and raced up the path. “Am I late?”
“No,” Philippa said in wonder. “For once, you are not. But I’m afraid I don’t live here any longer. I am happy to keep hosting the reading circle, but it will need to take place at the Wynchester residence in Islington.”
“Mother willneverlet me go there,” Gracie said. “I’ll say I’m with Sybil.”
“I’ll say I’m with Florentia,” said Sybil.
Florentia nodded. “I’ll say I’m with Lady Eunice.”
“I do as I please,” said Lady Eunice. “That is the single greatest advantage of being a spinster.”
“Mayhap not thesinglegreatest,” Tommy murmured.
Damaris curtseyed. “I shall be honored to attend, wherever we find ourselves.”
“I thought…” Philippa stammered. She turned to Lady Eunice. “But…your parents?”
“Have forbidden further interaction,” Lady Eunice acknowledged. “However, I am eight and twenty years old and in possession of a significant inheritance. Icouldleave home over this, which would cause far more gossip than they desire. I shall be allowed to continue attending a reading circle.”
“I won’t be allowed to,” said Florentia. “I think most of us will find a way anyway.”
“Ooh,” said Gracie. “We can all ride together!”
“We won’t all fit in one carriage,” Sybil pointed out. “I’ll make a schedule.”
Philippa’s heart overflowed. It was the happiest of endings. She had everything she wanted! A happy future with the person she loved, the life she wanted to live, and the best group of bluestockings London had ever seen.
“Meet me next Thursday,” she told the ladies. “By then, I’ll have had a chance to organize a space for all of us and—”
“Ow, no!” Tiglet leapt from Sybil’s chest and sprinted down the Brook Street pavement in the direction of Islington.
“Tiglet! Tig-let!” Philippa called out, though it was no use. “Tig—”
The kitten paused, his calico ears flicking as he glanced over his shoulder at Philippa. Then he turned with his tail in the air and pranced back to herwithout complaint.
Philippa scooped him up and cuddled him to her chest in disbelief. “But—he’s a homing kitten.”
“And you’re taking him home,” Elizabeth said.
Philippa touched her cheek to the kitten’s fur and smiled. From now on, there would be no more running away.
Not even for Tiglet.
Epilogue
April 1818
Wynchester Residence
