Her parents might have prohibited making bluestockingacquisitions, but that didn’t prevent one from sending a few inquiries, did it? She could find out which collectors owned the highest-quality items, and plan for—
The door to her dressing room burst open.
“What are you doing?” demanded her mother. “We must depart for our promenade within the hour!”
Philippa leapt to her feet to block the manuscript from view. “It’s not a promenade if we’re in a carriage.”
“We won’t be in a carriage,” Mother answered. “I want everyone to have an unobstructed view of Baron Vanderbean singling you out for conversation.”
Philippa had been tryingso hardnot to think about him, in itself a new occurrence. When had she ever obsessed about a man? Yet here she was. What if Vanderbean didn’t come? What if he did, and this time their conversation was as disastrous as all of her previous interactions with other men? What if he regretted having singled her out, and the entire ton had an unobstructed view of dapper Baron Vanderbean fleeing from Philippa at speed?
“Where is your maid?” fretted her mother. “We simply do not have time for—”
“I’m already ready,” Philippa replied. She’d been ready for hours. “I offered Octavia a well-deserved respite.”
“Arespite?” Mother flapped her hands in agitation. “When you’re…you’re…” Her voice trailed off and her arms dropped back to her sides.
Philippa was indeed presentable.
Not because of any eagerness to travel in slow, mind-deadening circles for three excruciating hours, but because shelikedto be presentable. And…just in case Baron Vanderbeandidmake good on his promise to speak with her again.
“Well…good,” said Mother. “You are indeed lovely, darling. Any man should be lucky to make you his bride. Come. We should be on our way.”
“We wouldn’t wish to seem desperate and overeager,” Philippa said.
“How about this,” said Mother. “I will select the five most eligible titled lords, and you can choose the one with the best library.”
It was comments such as these that made it difficult to stay vexed with her parents. They wanted the best for Philippa, if limited to their narrow definition of “best.” They believed proximity to a sufficiently grand library would make up for misery in every other aspect of her life.
Philippa hoped they were right.
“What I would like, even more than a well-appointed library,” she said softly, “is a husband I can tolerate.”
“Humph,” said her mother. “One needn’t tolerate one’s husband. With luck, you’ll rarely see him. It’s one’smarriageone must tolerate. A lofty title and a large library will serve just fine.”
Mother might be mercenary, but she wasn’twrong. To Philippa’s future husband, a young bride and a large dowry in exchange for a few books would be an excellent transaction. They saw such matches made every week at Almack’s, when the season was in swing.
“I have an idea,” Mother announced.
“Heaven save me,” Philippa muttered under her breath.
“It involves that Baron Vanderbean,” Mother continued.
Philippa’s eyebrows rose. She was surprised a Wynchester would figure into her mother’s plans.
“It’s not ideal,” Mother said. “He’sforeign, and in possession of the lowest possible title.”
Philippa nodded. “True. If one discounts knights and baronets and military officers and—”
“He’s young,” Mother interrupted, “and a bit raffish. But…after failing to marry the Duke of Faircliffe last season as expected,yourimage is also tarnished.”
“Have the offers from fortune hunters dried up?” Philippa asked in surprise.
“Those will never dry up,” Mother said. “They also don’t count. Fortune hunters are not real people.”
“The Duke of Faircliffe was a fortune hunter,” Philippa reminded her.
“The Duke of Faircliffe is aduke,” Mother retorted, as though a dukedom cured everything.
