“You may have met my father,” the gentleman replied. “Baron Vanderbean.”

Mother’s gasp could be interpreted as either delight or dismay. She had a horror of the entire Wynchester family…but “Baron” was indeed a title.

“Of course I knew your father,” Mother gushed.

She had never met the man.

“I have long desired to meet the new Baron Vanderbean,” Mother continued. “I am overjoyed to have my wish granted at long last.”

This was a bald-faced lie, but at least it let Philippa know how her mother expected the conversation to proceed.

“You have a nice horse,” Philippa offered. “It’s very…equine.”

Mother closed her eyes.

Baron Vanderbean widened his, and lowered his voice to a whisper. “Did you notice that, too? I wonder if he enjoys his lot in life. What do you think my horse really wants?”

Philippa blinked.

Baron Vanderbean smiled back at her expectantly.

“Maybe he hates being a horse,” she said. “Maybe he thinks walking about in circles is a dreadful use of his time. Maybe he’d rather be home reading.”

Mother opened her eyes. “Horses cannot read, Philippa.”

“How do we know?” asked Baron Vanderbean good-naturedly. “I, for one, have never invited a horse into my library in order to find out. The moment I return home, I shall rectify this error at once.”

“I hope your library is on the ground floor,” said Philippa. “It would add insult to injury to expect your horse to clop up stairs to have a look about, only to discover your taste in books is not in alignment with his.”

“Or that the books are in the wrong language,” Baron Vanderbean added. “It would be the height of presumption for me to presume an Arabian horse prefers his novels in English.”

“It would be the height of presumption to presume he prefers novels at all,” Philippa answered.

Baron Vanderbean grinned at her.

Philippa’s breath caught. Was this banter? Was she bantering?

“What makes you think your horse doesn’t enjoy history tomes or natural philosophy?” she asked archly. “Is it his long hair? The way he shakes his tail? His curling eyelashes?”

Baron Vanderbean tapped the side of his jaw. “I have not performed a comprehensive study to correlate eyelash shape with literature preferences. You have sent me in an entirely new direction of inquiry, and I am afraid I must depart at once in order to address this very pressing oversight. I shall report back with my findings, the first of which is that your eyelashes are very pleasing indeed.”

Report…back?

After one conversation with Philippa, Baron Vanderbean wanted to have…another?

“Tell him you’ll be here tomorrow,” Mother whispered.

“I’ll be here tomorrow,” Philippa parroted.

There. She was a bird, after all.

Perhaps there was hope.

Baron Vanderbean touched the brim of his hat. “Until tomorrow, then.”