“I donate funds and sew blankets and the like,” Philippa said, “which is all very well and useful. But I want to make a bigger difference. A fundamental difference. Once everyone has access to local reading libraries, regardless of their wealth or class, I will feel as though I made London better.” Her cheeks flushed. “Is that prideful and obnoxious?”

“It’s lovely,” Tommy admitted. “It’s very Wynchestery of you. We are very prideful of our attempts to make London better.”

“Attempts?” Philippa scoffed. “If monks still penned illustrated manuscripts, the stories would all be about your family’s endless escapades helping the helpless and righting wrongs. It must be marvelous to be a Wynchester.”

Tommy’s chest filled with love for her siblings. “I sometimes think I am the luckiest person in all of England.”

The waltz came to a close. The next song was to be a country dance involving several sets of partners.

“Shall we join them?” Philippa asked.

They could. But Tommy wasn’t ready to share Philippa with others just yet. The question was whether Philippa felt the same way.

Tommy gave her most wolfish leer. “How about a turn through the garden instead?”

“Classic,” Philippa breathed. “Everyone will think you’re angling to steal a kiss.”

Stealing a kiss was a splendid idea. The idea that Philippa was still thinking about how best to attract someone else…less so.

“The garden doors are open,” Tommy said. “Come with me. If you get cold, I’ll warm you up.”

Philippa’s forehead furrowed. “You mean you’ll loan me your coat?”

“Yes,” Tommy agreed. “That is the contingency plan.”

A thick border of tall, leafy trees enclosed the small, well-trimmed garden. The sun had long since set, so it was impossible to detect any bursts of autumnal yellow and orange among the green. Clouds diffused the moonlight, bathing the garden in a hazy, magical glow.

The trees blocked the wind, but the cold was already seeping through her clothes. They wouldn’t be able to stay outside for more than a few moments.

Tommy touched Philippa’s side.

Philippa gasped and froze.

Tommy’s hand was exactly where it had been while they were waltzing. Its position was neither salacious nor improper—during a waltz. It was not at all the same out here in the garden, where the loudest melody was the arrhythmic beating of one’s heart. Tommy brought her free hand to Philippa’s, cradling it for just a second.