The Southwell butler announced their names together, forever publicly linking them. Mrs. York, Miss York, Baron Vanderbean. Very well, it wasn’t Tommy’s name. She had never minded such details before. She tried not to let it bother her now. At least she was here with Philippa, regardless of alias.

The large chamber was draped with yellow silk and hung with gorgeous chandeliers. The colors made the crowded room seem awash with gold.

At first, Tommy had wanted Chloe to be here tonight. Upon second thought, she had begged all of her siblings not to come. She felt awkward enough around Philippa without two brothers and three sisters peering at her from every corner of the ballroom. And she wasn’t certain how Horace Wynchester would be received. She didn’t want her siblings to witness disrespect to any Baron Vanderbean.

As they passed down the receiving line, Mrs. York ebulliently pointed out Tommy’s existence, and her proximity to Philippa. “Good evening, good evening. Why yes, my daughter and I did arrive with the baron!”

It was a strange sensation to try to be respectable. Like wearing a waistcoat that didn’t quite fit.

Not everyone was thrilled to meet the new baron. Most were courteous, but a few did not bother to hide their disdain of the foreign Wynchester heir. Was this one of the reasons Bean had been so reclusive? Were fancy soirées not worth the sideways glances and the pinched noses?

Tommy held herself straighter. She would make Bean proud tonight. She wasn’t his heir, not in the way she was pretending to be, but she would do her best to represent her temporary title well. To be the sort of man Horace Wynchester ought to be, if he weren’t imaginary.

Worthy of Bean, and worthy of Philippa.

Thus far, Tommy’s appearance had mostly been met with curiosity. Whispers followed them as they made their way across the crowded ballroom. Likely as much due to Mrs. York’s theatrics as anything Tommy had said or done. When they reached the opposite side, Mrs. York pressed a handkerchief to her forehead as though they’d just run the gauntlet.

“I’m going to find the ratafia, darling,” she whispered to Philippa. “You two…be conspicuous. There are many eyes to catch tonight.”

Mrs. York melted into the crowd, cooing at familiar faces as she went.

Tommy raised a brow. “She’s fortunate Baron Vanderbean isn’t the marrying sort. He might have caught on to the dastardly scheme by now.”

Philippa shook her head. “Baron Vanderbean would be used to the world of the ton, in which one’s worth directly correlates with the worth of one’s associates. Why do you think names are called as people arrive? So we can gawp at each other, and see who is with whom, and determine whom we ought to be seen with next. Each name is a feather in the hostess’s cap.”