This strange restlessness under her skin was because she was keen to share her discovery with someone who could actually do something about it. Right?

Philippa was committed to helping Damaris in any way possible. Her friend wasn’t the first woman to have her ideas stolen by a man, nor would she be the last. Getting justice for her—a public confession—would feel like winning, just once, for all women everywhere.

And now there were two more names to put on the list! Agnes and Katherine deserved credit for their work, too.

“Miss York,” said Lady Newcomb, “how surprising to see you on the dance floor last night.”

“And in such an interesting gown,” said Mrs. Jarvis. “Every time I see you, you’re wrapped in even more lace than the time before.”

Philippa stared at them blankly because she knew it would vex them.

This was yet another reason she tried to avoid her mother’s teas. Her mother’s friends weren’t friendly at all. Currently, they were milling about the sitting room, peering at the portraits and Philippa, as if it were all fodder for tomorrow’s gossip.

“Is this your morning’s correspondence, Mrs. York?” Lady Waddington inquired. “Pity. I would have thought her performance last night would have caused some attention.”

Philippa clenched her teeth. The only reason her mother tolerated these people was because they were bon ton.

A wave of awareness rippled through the parlor, and everyone jerked their gazes to the corridor at once.

Baron Vanderbean paused at the threshold as though the doorway were a life-size frame and he, the stunning portrait.

In formal knee breeches with a gold waistcoat peeking from beneath a coat of sharp black superfine, Tommy looked every inch as though she had an appointment with the Queen. Ballroom perfect, except for the wicker basket dangling from her arm.

“Baron Vanderbean!” Mother squealed, nudging her nearest friends.

Tommy swept into the room with just a hint of swagger, striding not toward Philippa but to her mother. After executing an absolutely breathtaking bow, Tommy presented her with a single yellow rose.

“Is this for our darling Philippa?” Mother asked, giddy.

“No.” There was the rakish smile. “I brought it for you.”

Philippa waited for Tommy to add, To thank you for bringing Philippa into the world or some such, but it never came. She tried not to feel hurt. Tommy wasn’t a suitor. Philippa had to stop thinking of her like one.

Mother blushed and tittered and showed her yellow rose to all her friends as though Tommy had carried in the moon on her shoulders.

“Introductions,” hissed one of the ladies.

“I suppose.” Mother sighed disinterestedly, as though she had not spent the past hour bouncing on her toes in anticipation of exactly this moment.

One by one, she introduced Tommy to each of her guests.