“The dregs of the dregs, I’m sure,” Mother spat. “You could have married a lord, Philippa. You chose to ruin him instead. The social consequences of your rash behavior—”

“It’s my life,” Philippa burst out. “I’m the one who must live with the consequences.”

“It’s not your life,” Mother said coldly. “It’s all of our lives. You are not the only person in this household to receive vile correspondence. Did you pause to think how your behavior would affect your mother and your father? I have received several notes retracting prior invitations. Some from the wives of men your poor father believed to be staunch allies.”

Philippa’s lungs were suddenly devoid of air.

The fatherly voice behind the broadsheet did not come to her defense.

Losing the very friends Philippa had wished to protect was a horrid unintended consequence. Discovering she’d managed to lower her parents’ consequence in the process…Possibly even ruin her father’s carefully constructed alliances in the House of Commons…Philippa wrapped her arms about her stomach.

“Who is the last fortune hunter remaining?” Mother asked.

“Lord Whiddleburr,” Father’s voice replied.

Mother turned to Philippa. “What good fortune, darling! You’ll become a lady after all. That is, so long as the marquess does not hear of your scandal.”

“He doesn’t hear very well at all,” Father murmured. “He’s older than I am.”

“I’ve no wish to marry Lord Whiddleburr,” Philippa said with horror.

“You didn’t want to marry Captain Northrup, and you got that wish,” Mother said. “Now we will take charge. Go upstairs and stay in your bedchamber until your father has had a chance to finish the marriage plans.”

“Finish?” Philippa stammered. “You didn’t even know who it was until a few moments ago.”

“If we obtain his signature in the next few hours, perhaps the betrothal will stick. Whiddleburr and his heirs will be important allies in Parliament. With a special license, you could be married tomorrow.”

Philippa’s flesh went clammy. “Tomorrow?”

“You should be thanking us,” Mother said. “His title will elevate your nonexistent status and help mend the damage done to ours as well. Lord Whiddleburr will make a fine parliamentary ally for your father. After all of the trouble you’ve caused, it is the right—and only—thing to do.”

Philippa’s fingernails dug into her palms, but she kept her jaw tightly shut. If choosing Lord Whiddleburr over a life of love or happiness could repair the harm done, perhaps it was the “right” thing to do. She had caused this damage. She did hurt her parents.

She wasn’t the white knight after all.