Thursday. The day of her weekly gathering of bookish-and-proud-of-it ladies, and a welcome respite to the monotony of being what her mother wanted.

Philippa strode into the large, sunny parlor that doubled as her private library. Her personal quarters were too small to house her collection, so this was where her friends met. Their conversations spanned a variety of topics, and it was always best to have the book one needed in easy reach.

Philippa adored everything about her collection: the differences in size, weight, colors, content, and of course, the inimitable smell of old pages. She loved the joy of acquiring a new volume she had not yet read, and she loved in equal measure the infinite comfort of rereading a cherished keepsake whose spine opened to all the best parts. She even loved spending a lazy morning reorganizing: this month, by color, next month by size and shape.

And yet…sometimes she longed for more.

Adventure. Excitement. Being part of a grand story in real life, rather than only on the pages of a book.

Striding quickly, Philippa verified that the two dozen plush bergères were arranged in the usual oval. Her guests would arrive at any moment and she wanted everything to be just so.

Philippa’s mother appeared in the open doorway. She cast a disapproving look about the carefully prepared parlor. “Remember, I shan’t offer your friends a formal tea until you take your duty seriously. They can stay for one hour, and not a moment longer.”

This was Philippa’s punishment for failing to marry the Duke of Faircliffe when she’d had the opportunity. Mother would never forgive her. Faircliffe was everything Mrs. York had hoped and schemed for all these years: a lord interested in her daughter.

And Philippa still held out hope that if she said and did the right things, her parents would come to appreciate her for more than the social connections her future husband would bring.

Though the Yorks’ textiles fortune marked them nouveau riche, they lived in a prominent town house on exclusive Grosvenor Square in fashionable Mayfair. Philippa’s father was an important MP in the House of Commons. Their family was highly respected within the beau monde.

Even Philippa possessed her own significant inheritance from her maternal grandparents.

The only thing they lacked was a title.

This was Philippa’s one job, and she had botched it. Her parents would remain unhappy with her until she corrected her misstep.

“No formal tea.” She gave a sharp nod. “I remember.”