Elizabeth lifted a shoulder. “It didn’t take you long to forge the painting Chloe stole from the Yorks’ house.”

Philippa tripped and hurried to catch up. “Wait…What?”

“Very well,” Marjorie said with a sigh. “If Philippa can part with hers, I could create rough copies. They wouldn’t fool anyone who looks carefully, but could replace the original on a shelf if no one is paying close attention.”

“What painting did Chloe steal?” Philippa demanded.

“Robin Goodfellow,” Elizabeth answered absently. “The one Chloe’s husband gave you as a courting gift.”

Tommy tightened her lips at the reminder.

“Oh…all right.” Philippa fell back to Tommy’s side without further questions or comment.

“You didn’t want our painting anyway,” Tommy reminded her.

“I remember.” Philippa did not look upset at the theft. Nor was she looking at Tommy. She kept her gaze straight ahead, as though hoping she need never again discuss the Duke of Faircliffe or any of her other suitors’ attempts to woo her.

Or possibly…hoping she need never suffer any other gentleman’s attentions?

“I can also rebind your manuscript, if you’d like,” Marjorie offered.

“I trust you to take good care of art,” Philippa admitted. “So, yes, that would be wonderful. I am happy to pay for the work.”

Marjorie shook her head.

“Unnecessary,” Tommy explained. “We don’t need your money.”

A path beckoned between the trees in front of them.

“Gosh,” Marjorie exclaimed. “Have we arrived at the Dark Walk already?”

“By Jove, we have!” Elizabeth exclaimed with far too theatrical a look of surprise. “Why, it does look like a splendid spot to conduct a torrid affair.”

“Elizabeth…” Tommy said in warning.

Her sisters were already backing away.

“My stars, will you look at that?” Marjorie pulled absolutely nothing out of an imaginary pocket. “The current time is ‘leave-Tommy-and-Philippa-unchaperoned o’clock.’”

“Don’t come after us.” Elizabeth waved her sword stick in their direction. “If you don’t take this fine opportunity to make all manner of mischief, you’ll both deserve my wrath.”

Then they turned and ran off, cackling as loud as a flock of crows.

“Do they always meddle?” Philippa asked.

“Always,” Tommy said.

“What do they expect us to do now?”

Tommy paused. “Was it unclear?”

“They cannot really expect something like that.” Philippa laughed, then looked startled. “Can they?”

“They’re probably watching us to see what we’ll do, the minxes.” Tommy held out her elbow. “Shall we promenade in a staid, un-ravish-like manner?”

Philippa looped her arm through Tommy’s. “That’ll show them.”

It would not, actually, show them. It wouldn’t show anybody anything. Elizabeth and Marjorie were hoping Tommy would take this opportunity to give Philippa incontrovertible, empirical proof of Tommy’s interest.

“Did I tell you how lovely you look today?” she asked.

“Baron Vanderbean did,” Philippa replied. “Multiple times.”

“Baron Vanderbean has the unfortunate habit of blurting out the first thing that comes to his mind.”