“He’s not in want of a wife,” Mrs. York said in exasperation. “He’s in mourning for one. Who knows when he’ll wed again! Northrup is the bird in hand. He’s standing up with Philippa for the very first dance.”

“I suppose he’ll stand up with all of the other unmarried ladies for every other dance,” said Mr. York.

“He will and should, as is proper. But the first dance is symbolic.” Mrs. York turned jubilant eyes on her daughter. “The wait is almost over, darling. Tomorrow, I expect the captain to pay a formal call upon your father.”

“Well, where is he, then?” Tommy barked. “Hasn’t forgotten about our dear Pippa, has he? That’s the orchestra setting up. You might want to go and put a bug in his ear, lest your captain forget all about his grand symbolic gesture.”

Alarmed, Mrs. York glanced over her shoulder at the receiving line, which now contained only Damaris and her mother. At the edge of the dance floor, Northrup stood among a clump of admirers. He puffed up his chest and spoke more heartily than usual, clearly intending to be observed.

“Well!” Mrs. York harrumphed and hooked her hand in her husband’s arm. “Come, Mr. York. We cannot allow his new airs to cause him to shirk his duty to Philippa.”

“Dear me,” Philippa said emotionlessly. “I am so upset.”

“Go on then,” Tommy barked at Philippa’s parents. “Bring that soon-to-be viscount to heel. I can play duenna to this pip until you’ve put things to rights.”

Mrs. York looked as though she might say something, but a violinist took that moment to draw her bow across a string to tune her instrument. With renewed haste, Mrs. York dragged her husband across the ballroom toward Captain Northrup.

Tommy turned back to Philippa and lowered her voice. “Tell me more about the parts of you I’ve set a-quiver.”

Philippa’s lips curved in a remarkably wicked smile. “You’ll discover them for yourself if we ever have another moment alone together.”

“Oh, is that all we need? I’ll clear the ballroom posthaste.” Tommy patted her false bosom. “Where did I put that tinderbox? A small fire ought to do the trick. Plenty of wood to be found in a ballroom.”

“No setting fires until we find the manuscript,” Philippa scolded her.

“It’s in an iron strongbox upstairs,” Tommy said. “Perfectly safe from a wee little strategic ballroom inferno. Just think how much easier it will be to nick if everyone’s already run off screaming.”

“I see why we always put Chloe in charge of the plans,” Philippa teased.

Tommy grinned at her. They were a we. It thrilled her.