“Your first mistake was believing them,” Graham said. “I, for one, shall never cease offering my wise counsel.”

“If by that you mean ‘unsolicited opinions,’” said Elizabeth, “mayhap you’re not as wise as you think you are.”

Graham smirked. “I predicted Mrs. York would ask Tommy to bring our carriage with the Wynchester crest as a prop for her schemes, didn’t I?”

“That’s not a prediction,” Elizabeth said. “We already knew that the Yorks intend to use Tommy as a stepping-stone.”

“Not all of the Yorks,” Tommy said. “Philippa doesn’t want to use me.”

Graham waggled his eyebrows. “Then try harder.”

Marjorie skidded into view. “Did I miss it?”

“No,” said Tommy. “I won’t apply the cosmetics until Elizabeth finishes curling my hair, so as not to accidentally smudge something.”

“What you need are side whiskers,” Graham said. “Jacob can probably loan you some polecat fur to match your hair.”

“First,” said Tommy, “never give fashion advice again. Second, artificial hair is unnecessary. I was clean shaven yesterday. It would raise more eyebrows to sprout polecats on my cheeks today.”

Marjorie pulled an armchair closer to where Tommy sat before her dressing table. “I love to watch you turn into a man. It’s no wonder Prinny used to spend his mornings watching Brummell do it.”

“Beau Brummell was already a man,” Graham reminded her.

“And still worse at it than Tommy,” Marjorie said with pride. “Brummell’s toilette took up to five hours, whereas Tommy can become a perfect gentleman in less than forty-five minutes.”

Tommy smiled and stretched her legs in their knee breeches out before her.

Elizabeth smacked her on the padded shoulder. “Stop moving. I’m almost done curling your hair.”

A footman appeared in the doorway. “Your biscuits, madam,” he said to Marjorie.

Graham moved out of the way. “You ordered biscuits to Tommy’s boudoir again?”

“It’s like watching a performance at the theater,” Marjorie explained. She turned to Tommy. “Are you scared?”

“No,” Tommy lied.

“Why should she be scared?” Graham scoffed. “Tommy has impersonated everything there is to impersonate, and I’ve never once seen her hesitate.”

“Never once?” Elizabeth asked archly.

“Very well, there were a few false starts before she spoke to Philippa,” Graham allowed.

“An entire year of false starts,” Marjorie corrected him.

“I did it…eventually.” A thrill rushed through Tommy. She hadn’t just spoken to Philippa. Philippa knew the truth.

Well, most of the truth.

Part of the truth.

“She now knows the important bit,” said Tommy. “That I’m me, and not Baron Vanderbean. And it didn’t change a thing.”

“That’s because she doesn’t actually know the important bit,” said Marjorie.

“That isn’t an important bit, because it’s irrelevant,” Tommy informed her. “She wants to marry a man. I am not a man. Ergo, my feelings are immaterial.”