Sometimes, it almost felt as though Tommy told the truth at all times and allowed other people to believe what they wished.
When she had confessed that she was not actually Baron Vanderbean—or a man—Philippa had later realized Tommy had never claimed to be Baron Vanderbean in the first place. She’d said the previous baron was her father. Philippa and her mother had taken one look at smart, dashing Tommy and accepted without question that this dapper gentleman must of course be the heir.
“Your mind looks beautiful today,” Tommy said.
Philippa slanted a look at her. “Poppycock.”
“It’s my favorite part of you,” Tommy said. “Of course it is beautiful.”
Mother made a little chuckle. “Baron Vanderbean has a curious weakness for bluestockings.”
“No.” Tommy’s eyes held Philippa’s. “Just one in particular.”
The back of Philippa’s neck heated, and she dropped her gaze to her tea.
This romantic drivel might not count as alie, per se, because Philippa was in on the joke. Tommy genuinely seemed to want to help in any way that she could. If she was very, verygoodat pretending to be a suitor, well, she was only doing as she’d been asked. Giving Philippa what she wanted.
And the truth was, it was diverting to be the toast of the ton instead of the spinster on the shelf. The boring society nonsense Philippa had long hated was amusing and exciting when she did it with Tommy.
“What is your reading circle’s book of the month?” Tommy asked.
“Oh, for heaven’s sake.” Mother flapped her hand. “No one is interested in that.”
“Miss York is,” Tommy said. “Therefore I am, too.”
“Ohh.” Lady Newcomb sighed.
“I’m interested in anything that interests Baron Vanderbean,” Mrs. Jarvis gushed. “Even Philippa’s dusty old books.”
“My daughterisclever,” Mother grumbled. “I suppose someone was bound to appreciate the trait someday.”
Philippa gazed at Tommy. Three months together was not nearly enough time. Now that she’d had a taste of what life could be like with a special…friend, or whatever Tommy was becoming, Philippa wanted to keep it always.
But it would have to end. Whomever her parents betrothed her to, it would not be Tommy. All Philippa could do was savor the moments between now and then. With luck, one day she would become one of those shocking old grandmothers, whose best stories began,When I was your age…
“Shall I ring for another tray of cucumber sandwiches?” Mother asked.
Lady Newcomb replied, “I couldn’t possibly eat another bite.”
“You’ve outdone yourself as always, dear,” agreed Mrs. Jarvis.
“I have something for Philippa,” Tommy said.
All eyes swung in their direction.
Philippa swallowed. More flowers? Sweets?
Tommy lifted the wicker basket from behind Philippa’s chair and placed it on her lap. “Be careful.”
Gingerly, Philippa lifted the edge of the lid.
White whiskers popped out, followed by a pink nose and calico fur.
“It’s Tiglet!” she squealed, then realized she sounded just like her mother. Perhaps her fluttery affectations weren’t fake after all. It was impossible to contain the laugh of delight in Philippa’s throat when the kitten rasped his rough tongue against the pad of her finger. She pulled him from the basket and hugged him to her chest. He had grown quite a bit since last she saw him. “Isn’t this Chloe’s kitten?”
Tommy shook her head. “Jacob’s. And now yours, if you’d like him.”
Of course she would. Not only was the kitten adorable, but male calico cats were also as rare and unusual as the Wynchesters themselves. Philippa would cherish her temporary companion.
