“The Northrup manuscripts,” she replied without hesitation.

He frowned. “I thought you already had one.”

Was that the reason he’d wanted to be alone with her today? To discuss what to do about Damaris’s dreadful uncle? Of course it was. Philippa’s cheeks heated. While she had been thinking about the baron, he had been thinking about the case. She must do the same.

“I have a copy of the second volume,” she said, “but it is in poor condition. Just this morning, I discovered—”

But they’d reached the park. From the moment they drove through the open gates, all of Mother’s wildest matchmaking dreams started to come true.

Heads that never turned Philippa’s way, turned Philippa’s way. Persons who never slowed their fine carriages for more than a brief how do you do, no matter how Mother tried to engage them, paused to gawp at Philippa and her handsome companion.

She found herself performing introduction after introduction, as if Miss York the inveterate wallflower gadding about town with a charming, raffish baron was perfectly commonplace.

For his part, Baron Vanderbean seemed cross with the attention, as though he really had hoped for an uninterrupted hour of conversation with Philippa.

“My apologies,” he said after greeting one of the patronesses of Almack’s. “I did not realize my presence would cause such a fuss.”

Mother had realized it. She hoped he would keep causing fusses until Philippa landed an English lord.

“It’s no bother,” Philippa assured him. Then she remembered that Baron Vanderbean’s father had had a reputation for being reclusive. Given this was the first week most of society had ever glimpsed the new baron, it was reasonable to assume he was just as private. So far, he hadn’t sought anyone’s attention but Philippa’s. “At least, it’s no bother to me.”

“As long as you’re happy,” he said softly. “The offer to float away still stands.”

“That would be unlikely to cause less of a stir,” she said.

“The bigger the stir, the more amusing I find it,” he said with a grin so mischievous she could almost believe he meant it. That his discomfort was not with all the unusual attention, but annoyance at being pulled away from Philippa for even a moment.

It was flattering…and improbable. Yet she wanted so much for it to be true.

“How haven’t we met before?” she blurted out. “Have you been in Balcovia all of this time, and only just arrived?”

She recognized the impertinence of her question after it was already out of her mouth. She had essentially just accused him of failing to attend his own father’s funeral last year. Of course, the notice might not have reached him in time, but still—she had not meant to remind him of tragedy.

The baron lifted the reins and coaxed the carriage faster. “I’ve been…around.”