“Feelings are never immaterial,” said Elizabeth. “The more you try to hide them, the more volatile they become.”

“I don’t mind,” Tommy insisted. “I never expected to spend time with her at all, and now I’m to pretend to court her for three entire months. Who cares if the only way I can be around her is if I’m dressed as the new Baron Vanderbean?”

“You care,” said Graham.

“What if,” Marjorie said around a bite of biscuit, “you didn’t pretend to court her?”

“She doesn’t want me to court her,” Tommy reminded them. “She wants to use me to attract the attention of a higher-ranking lord.”

“Bah,” said Marjorie. “That’s a boring plan. All spinsters and debutantes want to catch the eye of a lord. Where’s her imagination?”

“Hopefully obsessing over Tommy. And if she’s not yet, she will be soon.” Elizabeth stepped back and replaced the curling tongs in their iron stand.

While waiting for her freshly curled hair to cool, Tommy scooted her stool closer to the looking glass and began to apply deep laugh lines at the corners of her eyes and a light shadow along her jaw.

Elizabeth pulled a chair next to Marjorie. “My turn for biscuits.”

Tommy ignored them and concentrated on her cosmetics.

“It would be all right, to be a little scared,” Graham said.

Tommy ignored him, too. The plan required her to be careless and confident Baron Vanderbean, not hopelessly-in-love-and-trying-not-to-show-it Tommy.

“There’s nothing to be nervous about,” she assured her brother. “Marjorie’s right. The beau monde is predictable and boring. The only time I ever have a little fun is as Great-Aunt Wynchester, and even then, the only interesting moments are the mischief I make myself.”

“Make mischief tonight,” Marjorie suggested as she bit into a biscuit. “Make it with Philippa.”

Tommy set down her cosmetics and reached for her Pomade de Nerole. “Philippa must remain proper if she’s to catch a peer.”

That was also why Tommy was leaving her flask of gin at home. It was funny when she was with Chloe, but Tommy did not want alcohol tonight.

She wanted to remember every moment with Philippa.

“Oh, drat,” drawled Marjorie. “Being improper would spoil her luck? How horrible it would be if Philippa failed to marry a man and instead consoled herself in the arms of her good friend Not Baron Vanderbean.”

Tommy glared at her sister in the looking glass as she brushed her new short brown curls toward her forehead and temples.

Marjorie smiled and popped another biscuit into her mouth.

“What Philippa would like,” Tommy said, “is for us to prevent Captain Northrup from being lauded for Damaris’s accomplishments.”

Marjorie nodded. “That’s a good courtship gift. I might start with flowers, though.”