He grabbed her arms and stared into her face. “No? No, you are still a virgin?” She didn’t answer, and he gave her a shake. “Does that fine prince over there know the consequences of his bastard brother deflowering an English lady? Does he?”

“He didn’t deflower me,” she whispered.

Her father’s face relaxed, but his grip didn’t. “Ah.” Then, more slowly: “That would explain why he’s not here, trying to make his way out of the servant class by marrying you.”

“He refused to marry me!” She half shrieked it.

Her father dropped her arms, tottered, and sank back in his chair. “Margaret, Margaret, why did you leave me?” he moaned.

Philippa raised her chin. She couldn’t even imagine what her mother would make of the situation. “I asked him to marry me.”

Her father’s only response was a loud groan.

“And he refused on the grounds of his honor.”

“Where did I go wrong?” he moaned. “What did we do wrong, Margaret?” He raised his head. “This is all because of Rodney, isn’t it? You got a bee in your bonnet about Rodney, and so you fell for a good-looking servant with an interesting tale.”

“Wick is a gentleman and as honorable as you are. He means to be a doctor, just like your own brother.”

“You are not the first,” her father said, unheeding. “There’s that daughter of the Earl of Southplank, a year or two ago. Everyone knew she ran off with a footman, some say for an entire week. But she’s properly married, right and tight now.” He stood again. “And that’s what you’ll be as well. I’ll visit Sir George this very afternoon.”

“I will not marry Rodney!” A numbing wave of despair broke over her head.

“You will.” Her mild-mannered father suddenly took on the look of a bulldog. “You’ll do as I say, Philippa. I won’t have you ruining your life, pining after a servant who has a better understanding of propriety than you do. I don’t know whether I’m more appalled that you played the fool enough to ask such a thing of the man, or more grateful that he didn’t lunge at the chance.”

“No, Papa!” Philippa cried. “You don’t understand. You can’t!”

“I can,” he said. He took her arm and began towing her up the stairs. “And don’t think you’re going to run away again. I’ll tell the baronet that you suffered from a bout of sun-sickness. You will marry the fat-bottomed Rodney on the morrow and count yourself lucky. The last of the banns were said Sunday, just as you were flitting around that castle making a fool of yourself!”

“Papa,” Philippa said, her voice catching with tears. “I love Wick. I love him more than—”