“Of course,” Mother said. “Will you be sharing a blanket with Philippa and me, or must you sit with the newlyweds?”

Well done. Philippa inclined her head at her mother. If Tommy had been a reluctant suitor, he would find himself hard pressed to intrude upon a groom and his bride rather than accompany the Yorks.

“I wouldn’t dream of being anywhere but at Philippa’s side,” Tommy replied.

Philippa half expected her mother to whisper, “Much too forward.” The rest of the ladies gazed at Tommy with soppy expressions, as though imagining themselves the recipients of her romantic balderdash.

At least Philippa had the advantage of knowing it was all an act.

She must keep reminding herself of this fact. With Tommy, it was tricky to know what was make-believe and what was not.

Sometimes, it almost felt as though Tommy told the truth at all times and allowed other people to believe what they wished.

When she had confessed that she was not actually Baron Vanderbean—or a man—Philippa had later realized Tommy had never claimed to be Baron Vanderbean in the first place. She’d said the previous baron was her father. Philippa and her mother had taken one look at smart, dashing Tommy and accepted without question that this dapper gentleman must of course be the heir.

“Your mind looks beautiful today,” Tommy said.

Philippa slanted a look at her. “Poppycock.”

“It’s my favorite part of you,” Tommy said. “Of course it is beautiful.”

Mother made a little chuckle. “Baron Vanderbean has a curious weakness for bluestockings.”

“No.” Tommy’s eyes held Philippa’s. “Just one in particular.”

The back of Philippa’s neck heated, and she dropped her gaze to her tea.

This romantic drivel might not count as a lie, per se, because Philippa was in on the joke. Tommy genuinely seemed to want to help in any way that she could. If she was very, very good at pretending to be a suitor, well, she was only doing as she’d been asked. Giving Philippa what she wanted.

And the truth was, it was diverting to be the toast of the ton instead of the spinster on the shelf. The boring society nonsense Philippa had long hated was amusing and exciting when she did it with Tommy.

“What is your reading circle’s book of the month?” Tommy asked.

“Oh, for heaven’s sake.” Mother flapped her hand. “No one is interested in that.”

“Miss York is,” Tommy said. “Therefore I am, too.”

“Ohh.” Lady Newcomb sighed.

“I’m interested in anything that interests Baron Vanderbean,” Mrs. Jarvis gushed. “Even Philippa’s dusty old books.”

“My daughter is clever,” Mother grumbled. “I suppose someone was bound to appreciate the trait someday.”