10

Mother flapped the baron’s calling card toward Philippa’s face. “Darling, this is splendid. You are splendid. Come, come. He isn’t standing at the front door, is he? I was clear that anyone with a title is to be shown into my cerulean sitting room.”

The footman inclined his head. “The baron awaits in your cerulean sitting room.”

“Well, don’t just stand there. Is someone making tea?”

“He may not have time or interest in tea,” Philippa said. “You told me a proper call from a gentleman should not last more than twenty minutes.”

“Surely it cannot take our kitchen twenty minutes to make a pot of tea,” Mother said. “And everyone is interested in sandwiches and cakes. And perhaps fruit and a bit of cheese. See to it at once. I shan’t have him saying our hospitality was lacking.”

The footman disappeared to do her bidding.

Mother reached over to pinch Philippa’s cheeks.

“Ouch.” Philippa ducked away. “I thought I wasn’t trying to ensnare him.”

“He doesn’t know that.” Mother grabbed Philippa by the elbow and steered her toward the corridor. “Make haste, make haste. There’s a baron in our sitting room.”

When Philippa and her mother arrived in the sitting room, he was looking out the windows with his hat in his hands. As before, his lean form was outfitted in a finely tailored coat and tight pantaloons. He stood a good four or five inches taller than Philippa.

Objectively handsome, she reminded herself, and waited to feel the promised flutter.

Her cold dead heart remained cold and dead.

Upon hearing them arrive, Baron Vanderbean turned from the window and made a fabulous leg. “Mrs. York. Miss York.”

“You still have your hat?” Mother gasped. “What can our butler be thinking? I will summon him at once and—”

“No need,” the baron said. “I shan’t be staying.”

Philippa thought her mother might expire on the spot.

“In fact,” he continued, “I am on my way to Hyde Park. My phaeton is spacious and comfortable. It would be my honor and privilege if Miss York would like to join me.”

Mother’s excitement was palpable. “Of course we’ll come! A phaeton—that’s just the thing. Everyone will see us. I’ll ring for our bonnets at once.”

Any hope of enjoying the baron’s company evaporated. Mother would be far too eager to put the gears of her machinations in motion. Never mind that a phaeton was a carriage meant for two.

Baron Vanderbean’s eyes met Philippa’s.

Everyone said her face was blank and unreadable. How she wished she could transmit her thoughts silently.

He winked.