“I’ll wait to do my hands until last.” Tommy added tufts of hair to her eyebrows, then waggled them at Philippa. “How do you do, young lady? Come sit on my lap before I fall asleep.”

Philippa burst out laughing. “Does that ever work?”

“There’s always a first time.” Tommy preened. “You’re saying I won’t cut the same swath Baron Vanderbean did?”

“Oh, you’ll make an impression, all right.”

“Excellent.” Tommy wiped her fingers on a cloth and stood up. “Your turn.”

Philippa’s heart skipped. “What? I could never pass as a gentleman.”

Tommy pulled her to her feet. “I know.”

Her face was inches from Philippa’s. Even with the springy eyebrows and the deep wrinkles and the frightening side whiskers, she was still magnificently Tommy. Philippa had to turn her face away, lest she be tempted to climb into Great-Uncle Wynchester’s lap after all.

“Over here.” Tommy led her to an armchair. “This spot has better light from the window.”

Hesitant, Philippa started to sit down in the chair.

“Wait,” Tommy said. “You’ll want to take off your overdress.”

Philippa raised her brows skeptically.

“When applying cosmetics,” Tommy explained, “never wear anything you don’t want covered in them.”

Breath shaky, Philippa turned around to let Tommy loosen the ties of her lace overdress.

She had been undressed before, by her lady’s maid. That was done swiftly, the task over in a blink, the gown neatly folded and back in the wardrobe or set aside to be washed and ironed. It was ordinary work for the maid and unremarkable for Philippa.

But this. This. Tommy changed in and out of costumes at a moment’s notice, yet her competent fingers took their time with Philippa’s overdress. The boring little bow at the back was untied lovingly. The basic white ribbon eased free, inch by inch, widening the gap between the lace panels.

Philippa felt more exposed by the second.

The jittery pounding of her heart was ridiculous. It was not only an overdress, but a lace overdress, and by definition already transparent. Tommy wasn’t glimpsing any more of Philippa’s body by removing its outermost shell.

Yet it felt that way. As though Tommy were learning her contours in a way that wasn’t visual. Philippa’s shoulder blades were hidden beneath muslin, but they felt each brush of Tommy’s knuckles as though the material were nonexistent.

Her back and spine were behind a thick wall of whalebone stays, a shift, and an underdress. She couldn’t really feel Tommy’s fingers…could she? It was surely her imagination. There were only eight loops to the ties of her overdress, all right there between her shoulder blades. There was no reason to feel a shiver along her flesh or down her spine.

This act was innocent, Philippa told herself firmly.