But for one glorious second…
“All right,” she scolded herself under her breath. “Tommy is a coward around Philippa, butyouare Baron Vanderbean. Baron Vanderbean doesn’t give a fig what the Yorks think of him. He’s Baron Vanderbean. He outranks them! Just ride over. Everyoneelseis mingling. It’s the reason they came. Baron Vanderbean would not be afraid of a simple ‘How do you do.’”
Before she lost her nerve, Tommy gripped the reins and spurred her horse alongside the Yorks’ barouche.
Andthenshe lost her nerve.
Philippa looked at her again, really looked at her, and it was that night in Chloe’s ballroom all over, when Tommy had tried to talk to Philippa at the Faircliffe end-of-season gala, and only succeeded in blushing hot enough to melt the cosmetics from her face and then running away.
It had not been her finest moment.
And she’d just repeated it.
Tommy had ceased all forward progress altogether. In a matter of minutes, her horse was no longer beside the Yorks’ barouche, but fifty yards behind.
She couldn’t do it. Sheshouldn’tdo it. They hadn’t been formally presented to each other, and greeting Philippa without an introduction was an appalling breach of etiquette.
What’s more, Tommy wasn’t a lord any more than she was Miss Thomasina. Flirting as “Horace” would be easier from society’s perspective, but she still wouldn’t be courting Philippa asTommy. So what was the use?
Perhaps she should just go home.
She—
Would never hear the end of it from her siblings if she gave up now. Graham’s infinite associates were doubtlessly watching every angle of the promenade.
Tommy let out a shaky breath. She was being foolish.
Philippa was not afraid to be Philippa. She wore more lace on her person than most people owned in their entire wardrobe. Philippa was the bluestockingest ringleader of the bluestockingest reading circle in existence. Philippa was proud to be Philippa.
Tommy could give fake Baron Vanderbean alittlebit of mettle.
One conversation. She straightened her spine and set her hat at a rakish angle. Twenty minutes.
7
Philippa gripped her lace overdress in her fists and tried not to go slowly mad at the glacial pace of her mother’s carriage.
“What is the point of driving around and around the park, purposefully never going anywhere?” she burst out.
“To see and be seen,” came her mother’s clipped voice. “I’ve told you a thousand times.”
“I could stand in the middle of the grass,” Philippa said. “Give everyone a nice long gander and then go home and do something reasonable with my time.”
“See and be seen andconverse,” her mother amended.
“There’s the Kimball carriage up ahead.” Philippa leaned forward. “Gracie must be inside. I could talk to her.”
“See and be seen and converse withmen,” Mother said in vexation. “Marriageable,titledmen. You almost landed a duke, darling, so I shan’t accept anything less than a lord. You know you can manage it. You’re just being lazy.”
Philippadidknow she could do it. Rather, her dowry would accomplish it for her. It didn’t really matter what sort of woman was going round in circles in Hyde Park.
She wasn’t delaying her fate out of laziness. She avoided it because she didn’twantit. Why must she choose a husband based on rank? Could not intelligence and character be relevant qualities as well? Should she not bearsomemodicum of affection for the man who would beget heirs upon her for the next untold number of years?
“Don’t make that expression,” chided her mother.
“I’m not making any expression,” Philippa answered. Indeed, she was often accused of displaying no emotion at all, regardless of the circumstance.
“I know what your lack of expressionmeans,” said her mother. “It means you are displeased with your parents’ guidance.”
