“I’m glad you did.” Tommy’s smile was slow and seemed to have been invented just for Philippa. “Since last I saw you, I’ve spent every moment counting the heartbeats until we could meet again.”

Lady Newcomb fluttered an ivory fan near her chest.

“Tea,” Mother shrilled in her false-gaiety voice. “It’s time for tea. Come along, come along. Baron Vanderbean, you will sit by Philippa, of course. Philippa, you will remember your place and cease embarrassing me.”

“It’s not embarrassing me,” Lady Newcomb murmured to Lady Waddington. “If she doesn’t want him, I’ll take him.”

Tommy’s dark gaze didn’t leave Philippa’s, but the corners of her mouth twitched. Her eyes sparkled as she deliberately gave Philippa the heavy-lidded rakish eyebrow wink she’d shown her at the ball.

Philippa tried hard not to grin and found herself smiling with her eyes instead. The thought that she could make a similar expression to Tommy’s raffish one sent a frisson of naughtiness down her spine. They were sharing a secret joke, a secret gesture. Communicating with no need for words at all.

“Over here,” Mother sang and sailed out of the parlor toward the dining room.

Tommy fell back to escort one of the women, much to the lady’s tittering delight. Did they practice coquettish giggles in front of a looking glass? How did other women manage to make it look so fetching? Philippa turned her gaze away. It didn’t matter. She wasn’t jealous.

In the dining room, Tommy pulled Philippa’s chair out for her, then placed the wicker basket she’d brought just behind the seat.

“What’s in the basket?” Philippa whispered.

“A surprise,” Tommy whispered back. “Did you really yearn to see me?”

“Desperately,” Philippa admitted, and immediately wished she hadn’t. She didn’t want to give the wrong idea. “I mean, about Damaris. The case. I have news. Maybe.”

“No whispering,” Mother scolded. “Will you pour the tea, darling?”

“We’ll never get a moment alone,” Philippa muttered, then rose to pour the tea.

Tommy waited until everyone was served before addressing the entire table in her easy, welcoming manner.

“I suppose you’ve heard there’s another balloon launch tomorrow afternoon at Vauxhall Gardens,” she said. “I’ll be attending with the Duke and Duchess of Faircliffe. I’d like to invite all of you to pack your blankets and join us for a picnic.”

“Oh.” Renewed whispers sailed around the table, followed by a chorus of “I’d love to” and “I wouldn’t miss it.”

Philippa raised her eyebrows at her mother and waited.

Rank was everything to the ton. Mother could not ignore the opportunity to be the public guest of a duke and duchess. Particularly when the friends she competed with had snapped up the invitation in a blink.