“It wouldn’t have mattered,” Philippa said dully. “The papers are only repeating what everyone else is saying. I received letters upbraiding me for my impudence in daring to come between a man and his undeserved glory. And my parents…”

Tommy stilled. “Are they all right?”

Philippa let out a sound somewhere between a laugh and a sob. “Of course you’d be more concerned about the well-being of my parents than they are about the well-being of their own daughter. Wynchesters are wonderful. My parents are unhappy with me.”

“You did nothing wrong,” Tommy said firmly. “I mean, you broke a few rules and maybe a couple of laws, but nothing you should feel bad about. Helping others is a good thing. Damaris, Agnes, and Katherine deserved credit. And Northrup deserved to be taken down. Propositioning you in the middle of a ball, for God’s sake.”

“It doesn’t matter who deserved what,” Philippa said. “I cannot undo what I’ve done, nor would I do so if I could. But I did not mean to cause—”

A miaow sounded from beneath a discarded frock coat. Tiglet poked his nose and whiskers out from under a lapel.

“You little scamp.” Philippa scooped up the kitten and cuddled him to her chest. “No matter how hard I try to make him happy, he keeps running away.”

“He doesn’t run away,” Tommy reminded her. “He comes home. It’s what he’s trained to do.”

“Which means it’s hopeless.” Philippa looked distraught. “There’s nothing I can do to make him feel at home with me. Tiglet and I are not meant to be together.”

“Or,” Tommy said hesitantly, “perhaps it’s a sign that you are. The Wynchester family can afford to grow.” She had learned to grow. “What if…what if this were your home, too?”

Philippa lay her cheek against the kitten’s calico fur. “I wish it were. Thank you for asking. But we both know I’m not a Wynchester.”

“Because you’re a York?” Tommy scoffed. “I was something else before I was a Wynchester, too. All of us were. Besides, you know I’m not talking about changing your name. I’m talking about changing your address.”

“My parents already have a plan to change both. It’s underway as we speak.” Philippa twisted her lips. “I’m to be a wife. That is what proper young misses grow up to do.”

“You don’t have to be a ‘proper miss’ or ‘wallflower’ or ‘wife’ or any other such label. You’re Philippa.” Tommy touched her arm. “It’s fine to play a role, but never forget that it is a role. It’s always better to be you.”

“I’ll be the me that’s married to Lord Whiddleburr,” Philippa mumbled. “Marchioness to an old roué I barely even know. But I cannot defy my parents again.”