“Well…Tommy,” she said slowly. “If we’re to be friends, I suppose you may call me Philippa. Is it a Balcovian custom or a Wynchester custom to be intimate so quickly?”
“Both,” Tommy croaked. “I mean neither. That is…I’m not Baron Vanderbean. I’m Tommy Wynchester.”
Philippa stared at her, then cackled with glee. “Not Baron Vanderbean! A different Wynchester brother! I hadn’t known I could be more delighted with you, and here you are, delighting me beyond all measure. Mother thinks she’s pulling the wool over your eyes, and you’re not even the man she thinks you are!”
“Er,” said Tommy.
Philippa was delighted with her?ShouldTommy correct her? Did it matter?
“You aren’t upset I’m not a baron?” Tommy asked.
“Since we are never to have a courtship, you could be a chimneysweep for all I mind,” Philippa pointed out reasonably.
Tommy didn’t feel reasonable. There might only be a hand’s width of space between her hip and Philippa’s, but that was as close as they would ever be.
If Baron Vanderbean wasn’t a good enough catch, common Tommy Wynchester was an even more laughable match. To Philippa, it was all a grand jest.
“I feel as though most peoplewouldmind,” Tommy said. “If a baron turned out to be a chimneysweep.”
“Then I am honored not to be most people,” Philippa answered. “You are certainly unique. Might I inquirewhyyou’re pretending to be a baron?”
“It’s complicated,” Tommy hedged.
Philippa nodded. “I figured as much. My life has never been complicated. This is the most exciting turn it has ever taken.”
Well, ifthatwas all she wanted, then Tommy was an endless store of surprising twists. She could confess her true sex. She could take Philippa’s hands in hers and lift them to her lips to kiss them. She could take Philippa into her lap and kissher. She could…
Not do any of those things. Not here in Hyde Park.
Not ever.
A carriage pulled alongside the Wynchester phaeton, revealing the Earl and Countess of Southwell. They made twin expectant expressions at Philippa.
“How do you do, Lady Southwell, Lord Southwell?” she greeted them obediently.
“How do you do, Miss York?” said the countess. “Who is your gentleman?”
“Er,” said Tommy.
“Oh, he’s notmygentleman,” Philippa said. “This is Baron Vanderbean.”
Tommy coughed into her gloved hand.
“I’ve already begun,” Philippa whispered. “Why stop now?”
“Baron Vanderbean!” The countess sent a look of shock to her husband and drew herself up taller. “I suppose you’ve informed him of our little soirée tomorrow night?”
“Oh no, Lady Southwell,” said Philippa. “I would never be so presumptuous.”
“I suppose you wouldn’t,” said the countess. “I can scarcely credit my eyes at the sight of you with— But none of that is important. Baron Vanderbean, it would be our honor if you were to avail yourself of our hospitality. I’ll have a proper invitation sent round this evening.”
Before Tommy could reply, the wheels of the Southwell carriage sped up and whisked them forward to the next encounter.
Tommy snorted. “Why would it be her honor? Not one person has sent Baron Vanderbean an invitation or dropped off a calling card.”
Philippa’s eyes sparkled. “It would be her honor because you’re here withme. By accepting your escort this afternoon, I’ve inadvertently bested the most celebrated society hostesses. Reclusive Baron Vanderbean! Out in public with a wallflower! They will fight like cockerels to be the first to host you at a private gathering.”
“But I’m not Baron Vanderbean,” Tommy pointed out.
