She stalked from the dance floor, away from the sight of Philippa and Charsdale. If Philippa didn’t wish to spend much time with Charsdale, then giving him half a set was the lesser evil. Tommy had rescued her by failing to act.

Yes. Exactly. That was what happened.

Tommy should have brought her flask of gin.

She was a good flirt. An excellent flirt. A well-practiced rake. With women who welcomed the sensual attentions of other women.

With Philippa, everything was upside down. Tommy was to pretend to be attracted, without letting on that she actually was attracted. How could she hide her ardent admiration when they were inches away from each other on a dance floor?

She paused a few yards away from an open doorway. This salon was filled with gentlemen playing whist around square tables or drinking port in comfortable chairs next to the fireplace. She started to enter, then heard her name and stopped before reaching the doorway to step just out of sight.

She’d heard Baron Vanderbean’s name, rather.

“…the only acceptable Wynchester.”

“If one is willing to accept any of them. One cannot comprehend the Duke of Faircliffe’s choice in bride.”

“He’s so indulgent and…and sweet to her. They look at each other as though no one else exists. Bad ton, I say.”

“I’ve nothing against the duchess—or the baron. Vanderbean inherited his living situation from his father, and we all know what that can be like. Nor have I any complaint against his sister Miss Honoria. My question is why they bother sharing their home with social-climbing orphans.”

“Wasn’t there some sort of legal trust requiring it?”

“Who do you think is in charge of that trust now? Vanderbean could shoo them out of his house if he wished to.”

“Have you jackanapes never heard of honor? A good son follows his sire’s wishes.”

“Bah. There’s a time and a place for honor, and it never requires opening one’s home to parasites. If Vanderbean wants a shot at one of the better debutantes, he’d do best to sever those ties.”

“It looks like he’s after Miss York. Ha! Can you imagine?”

“York ought to exert some control over his wife before she makes them a laughingstock encouraging the likes of Vanderbean.”

“And his leeches. Every member of that family is unsavory. He shouldn’t even be at this ball. No one wants him here.”

Tommy stiffened.

They thought she was trash. They thought her entire family was rubbish. They considered Baron Vanderbean sullied by association. Bean. And his new heir. The poor imaginary bastard didn’t have a chance in hell of impressing anyone.

Yes, he bloody well did!

Tommy would prove it.

15

15

The minuet had not yet ended, so Tommy took her time traversing the ballroom. Not sulking with her fists clenched and her lower lip jutting out. Nor cowed, with her spine hunched and her head bowed.