“You brought her back before your set was over?” Mrs. York hissed. “The least you could do was dance with her, not just parade her about.”
Tommy’s limbs turned leaden.
Dancewith her?
“You wanted Baron Vanderbean to parade me about,” Philippa reminded her mother.
“It doesn’t matter,” her mother said. “Lord Charsdale asked for a dance. I dislike the gossip I’ve heard about him, but one cannot cut the heir to an earldom. I shall flag him down. He ought to be happy with half a set. Where did that scoundrel go…”
Philippa looked at Tommy. Her face was blank. Did she want Tommy to ask her to dance?
Tommy wanted to intervene. To say,Halt! This is my minuet and I mean to have it!but her throat had gone dry and her lips were stuck together.
It was like Chloe’s end-of-season gala, only worse. This was Tommy’s “end-of-Philippa” gala, and shestillcouldn’t force herself to take the plunge.
“There he is!” Mrs. York gave the least subtle wave Tommy had ever witnessed. “Come, come, lad, look this way, I’ve—Yes! Here! I’ve decided to grant you a turn with Philippa, my lord. No, no, she’s unoccupied.”
Lord Charsdale smirked in Tommy’s direction before whisking Philippa onto the dance floor.
Tommy curled her fingers into fists. That smug Lord Charsdale thought Tommy had just been snubbed by Mrs. York and her daughter, when in fact Tommy had managed to cut herself from a set already in progress without any outside assistance, thank you very much.
She stalked from the dance floor, away from the sight of Philippa and Charsdale. If Philippadidn’twish to spend much time with Charsdale, then giving him half a set was the lesser evil. Tommy had rescued her by failing to act.
Yes. Exactly. That was what happened.
Tommy should have brought her flask of gin.
She was a good flirt. An excellent flirt. A well-practiced rake. With women who welcomed the sensual attentions of other women.
With Philippa, everything was upside down. Tommy was topretendto be attracted, without letting on that she actuallywasattracted. How could she hide her ardent admiration when they were inches away from each other on a dance floor?
She paused a few yards away from an open doorway. This salon was filled with gentlemen playing whist around square tables or drinking port in comfortable chairs next to the fireplace. She started to enter, then heard her name and stopped before reaching the doorway to step just out of sight.
She’d heard Baron Vanderbean’s name, rather.
“…the only acceptable Wynchester.”
“If one is willing to acceptanyof them. One cannot comprehend the Duke of Faircliffe’s choice in bride.”
“He’s so indulgent and…andsweetto her. They look at each other as though no one else exists. Bad ton, I say.”
“I’venothing against the duchess—or the baron. Vanderbean inherited his living situation from his father, and we all know what that can be like. Nor have I any complaint against his sister Miss Honoria. My question is why they bother sharing their home with social-climbing orphans.”
“Wasn’t there some sort of legal trust requiring it?”
“Who do you think is in charge of that trust now? Vanderbean could shoo them out of his house if he wished to.”
“Have you jackanapes never heard of honor? A good son follows his sire’s wishes.”
“Bah. There’s a time and a place for honor, and it never requires opening one’s home to parasites. If Vanderbean wants a shot at one of the better debutantes, he’d do best to sever those ties.”
“It looks like he’s after Miss York. Ha! Can you imagine?”
“York ought to exert some control over his wife before she makes them a laughingstock encouraging the likes of Vanderbean.”
“Andhis leeches. Every member of that family is unsavory. He shouldn’t even be at this ball. No one wants him here.”
Tommy stiffened.
