In fact, it didn’t matter how lordly Baron Vanderbean appeared. He was a Balcovian nobleman, not an English one, which would explain away almost any idiosyncrasy. He was also infamously reclusive, and could not be expected to have kept up with the latest changes in fashion or decorum. Any slip would be greeted with delight, as it would provide fodder for the gossips and put the hostess’s party on everyone’s tongues. It was all good news for Philippa, but…

“Would you prefer to attend a society event as Miss Thomasina?” she asked.

“Blech.” Tommy gave a theatrical shudder. “I can think of no worse torture than suffering through society disguised as a proper young lady.”

“You’re an extraordinary fake baron. Anyone should be charmed,” Philippa said. Tommy was fascinating and daring. The quintessential heroine of her story, no doubt. “I suppose we’ll all find out tomorrow.”

Tommy’s eyes shone. “You want me to meet you at the party?”

“Meet me?” Philippa smiled. “I’d like to enter on your arm.”

13

13

Tommy held perfectly still as her sister Elizabeth curled Tommy’s naturally straight short brown hair into an artfully arranged mess known as the Cherubin. Graham leaned against the doorframe of Tommy’s dressing chamber, shaking his head with sham sympathy.

“Not everyone can have natural black curls,” Elizabeth said without turning around. “It is rude to brag about handsomeness you were born with.”

“I didn’t say a word,” Graham protested, but the sparkle in his brown eyes betrayed him. “How dreadful it must be to have to burn yourself in pursuit of beauty.”

“Be kind,” Elizabeth scolded. “We’re doing our best.”

It was usually Chloe who curled the hard-to-reach bits of Tommy’s hair. But when her sister married the Duke of Faircliffe, Tommy had been left on her own. Again. At first, she’d tried to curl her hair herself. The front and sides turned out all right, but in the back, she either burned the hair to a crisp or skipped whole patches altogether.

Elizabeth’s hair was naturally curly, so she did not have much experience with curling tongs. On the other hand, she was more patient than almost any other sibling and had assured Tommy she wasn’t too busy slashing villains with her rapier to learn a new skill.

She wasn’t quite up to Chloe’s level—perhaps no one else ever could be—but Elizabeth was a good sister doing her best.

“This is a special occasion,” Tommy informed Graham. “I must represent Horace Wynchester, a stylish Balcovian lord.”

“Mm-hm,” said her brother. “When you chose this romantic hair arrangement, you were definitely thinking of the expectations of the entire beau monde, and not about one specific young lady.”

“Where are Jacob and Marjorie?” Tommy demanded. “They promised there would be no more meddling in my romantical entanglements or lack thereof.”