A Wynchester never let a thing like “impossibility” get in the way of a good dream.
“Thereyou are.” Mrs. York thrust the lily at a startled maid. “Put that in a vase. We must hurry to the Southwell soirée.” She turned toward Tommy. “You brought the coach with the family crest?”
Tommy inclined her head. “As you requested, madam.”
Mrs. York clapped her hands. “We shan’t waste another moment. Come, come, darling. We must hie at once, whilst the queue is at its longest!”
The Southwell residence was a mere four streets from the York town house. Taking a coach for such a short journey was laughably impractical if one’s aim was to join the party quickly.
That was not Mrs. York’s aim. The fastest way to spread gossip that her daughter was being courted by a lord was to show the evidence before as many eyes as possible. The queue of fellow guests was a captive audience. It was a remarkably efficient battle plan.
After the ladies arranged themselves in the forward-facing seat, Tommy took the rear-facing seat and knocked behind her head to signal the driver.
“You look lovely tonight,” Tommy said to Philippa.
“She looks lovely every night,” Mrs. York responded pointedly. “My Philippa is always proper.”
Ah. This was less a compliment to her daughter than a subtle rebuke to Baron Vanderbean, whose Wynchester connections were anything but proper.
She inclined her head again to let Mrs. York know the message had been received.
Tommy and Mrs. York were fighting on the same side. Both of them wanted Philippa to make the best possible match, though their criteria differed wildly.
How Tommy wished women could be in the pool of suitors! Not as a decoy, but as a viable option. Someone to be seen, to be considered. Someone who had a chance. Instead, she was the fool in the seat opposite Philippa, trundling along backward, the narrow distance between their knees an uncrossable gulf.
Tonight was not for Tommy, but for Philippa.
After first passing the queue and then crawling along within it for what seemed like an eternity, it was at last their turn to alight onto the pavement.
Philippa met her eyes. “Ready, Baron?”
Tommy smiled back. “I’ve been ready for longer than you know.”
Ready to be at Philippa’s side, wherever that might be. Even in a crowded ballroom, with everyone’s eyes on them at once. Giddy excitement bubbled within her. This wasn’t one of Tommy’s daydreams. She washere, with Philippa on her arm. In front of hundreds of witnesses. Even Philippa’s mother was beaming on Tommy’s other side.
Yes, yes, this courtship wasn’treal, and all three of them were playing their own game of deception, but even a masquerade was more than Tommy had ever imagined she might one day have.
The Southwell butler announced their names together, forever publicly linking them. Mrs. York, Miss York, Baron Vanderbean. Very well, it wasn’tTommy’sname. She had never minded such details before. She tried not to let it bother her now. At least she was here with Philippa, regardless of alias.
The large chamber was draped with yellow silk and hung with gorgeous chandeliers. The colors made the crowded room seem awash with gold.
At first, Tommy had wanted Chloe to be here tonight. Upon second thought, she had begged all of her siblingsnotto come. She felt awkward enough around Philippa without two brothers and three sisters peering at her from every corner of the ballroom. And she wasn’t certain how Horace Wynchester would be received. She didn’t want her siblings to witness disrespect to any Baron Vanderbean.
As they passed down the receiving line, Mrs. York ebulliently pointed out Tommy’s existence, and her proximity to Philippa. “Good evening, good evening. Why yes, my daughter and Ididarrive with the baron!”
It was a strange sensation to try to be respectable. Like wearing a waistcoat that didn’t quite fit.
Not everyone was thrilled to meet the new baron. Most were courteous, but a few did not bother to hide their disdain of the foreign Wynchester heir. Wasthisone of the reasons Bean had been so reclusive? Were fancy soirées not worth the sideways glances and the pinched noses?
Tommy held herself straighter. She would make Bean proud tonight. Shewasn’this heir, not in the way she was pretending to be, but she would do her best to represent her temporary title well. To be the sort of man Horace Wynchester ought to be, if he weren’t imaginary.
Worthy of Bean, and worthy of Philippa.
Thus far, Tommy’s appearance had mostly been met with curiosity. Whispers followed them as they made their way across the crowded ballroom. Likely as much due to Mrs. York’s theatrics as anything Tommy had said or done. When they reached the opposite side, Mrs. York pressed a handkerchief to her forehead as though they’d just run the gauntlet.
“I’m going to find the ratafia, darling,” she whispered to Philippa. “You two…be conspicuous. There are many eyes to catch tonight.”
Mrs. York melted into the crowd, cooing at familiar faces as she went.
