“Perhaps notjustlike you,” Tommy said.
“Well, you’re more daring, that’s obvious. I’m glad to have got to know the real you. Knowing you’re not a man makes the situation all the more fun.”
Tommy’s warm brown eyes met hers. “Does it?”
“Of course,” Philippa said. “If youhadbeen a Thomas, part of me would have always wondered if you really had given up hope of a courtship, or if you were actually biding your time in the hopes of seducing me.”
Tommy’s cheeks flushed, and she turned to the horses. “Yes. That is definitely a wise and relevant concern to have. Which gentleman do you thinkistrying to seduce you?”
Philippa gazed across the park at all of the riders, pedestrians, and carriages in their relentless circular parade. “None, at the moment. My parents have given me until the end of the season to select a husband, or they’ll marry me off to the man of their choice. Frankly, I don’t think my mother will last that long. Especially now that her plan to use you to increase my popularity appears to be working.”
“How long do you think you have?”
“Mother will decide as soon as everyone ‘important’ has arrived for the season. I imagine the betrothal contract will come shortly after the Regent’s season-opening celebration. It has already been deemed An Event Not To Be Missed.”
“Three months,” Tommy said.
“Ninety-one days.” Philippa rubbed her aching temples. “If Mother holds out that long.”
It was just as well that there was no Baron Vanderbean. Philippa didn’t need one. She had spent a lifetime being proper and making do with “good enough.” Baron Vanderbean would have beenimproper and unpredictable. Philippa knew what to expect from a marriage of convenience. She’d been training for it her entire life.
She picked at the lace of her bodice. Her cold, dead heart was an advantage. Grand passions were messy and illogical. Philippa liked to understand things. Her choice in husband would affect every aspect of her life. Starting with whether she’d be free to be her bluestocking self…or forced to play the role of society hostess for the rest of her life. Based on her observations, the latter was the most likely.
It wouldn’t be a Grand Passion, but these next three months might be her last chance to be herself. To bebetterthan herself. To have fun outside of her home. It might be the closest to adventure Philippa could ever get.
She cleared her throat. “I have a proposition. I’m not asking you to play Baron Vanderbean indefinitely—”
“I’ll do it,” Tommy said. “If I can help you, I will.”
A sudden doubt crossed Philippa’s mind. “You said no one has ever sent your family an invitation?”
“I said no one from Polite Society has ever sent an invitation to Baron Vanderbean.” Tommy paused, then added, “Or to any of us but Chloe.”
“Do you know how to mingle with Polite Society?” Philippa asked. Tommy’s clothes and accent were impeccable, but if she wasn’t used to the beau monde…
“I didn’t say I neverattendsociety events.” Tommy cocked an eyebrow, her brown eyes glinting roguishly. “I said we weren’tinvited.”
“Until now.” Philippa’s chest lightened. The plan was going to work. “Baron Vanderbean will receive a personal invitation from Lord and Lady Southwell this very day.”
In fact, it didn’t matter how lordly Baron Vanderbean appeared. He was a Balcovian nobleman, not an English one, which would explain away almost any idiosyncrasy. He was also infamously reclusive, and could not be expected to have kept up with the latest changes in fashion or decorum. Any slip would be greeted with delight, as it would provide fodder for the gossips and put the hostess’s party on everyone’s tongues. It was all good news for Philippa, but…
“Would you prefer to attend a society event as Miss Thomasina?” she asked.
“Blech.” Tommy gave a theatrical shudder. “I can think of no worse torture than suffering through society disguised as a proper young lady.”
“You’re an extraordinary fake baron. Anyone should be charmed,” Philippa said. Tommy was fascinating and daring. The quintessential heroine ofherstory, no doubt. “I suppose we’ll all find out tomorrow.”
Tommy’s eyes shone. “You want me to meet you at the party?”
“Meet me?” Philippa smiled. “I’d like to enter on your arm.”
13
Tommy held perfectly still as her sister Elizabeth curled Tommy’s naturally straight short brown hair into an artfully arranged mess known as the Cherubin. Graham leaned against the doorframe of Tommy’s dressing chamber, shaking his head with sham sympathy.
“Not everyone can have natural black curls,” Elizabeth said without turning around. “It is rude to brag about handsomeness you were born with.”
“I didn’t say a word,” Graham protested, but the sparkle in his brown eyes betrayed him. “How dreadful it must be to have to burn yourself in pursuit of beauty.”
