“Am I the first thing that comes to his mind?”

“Yes.” Tommy swallowed. “Every minute of every day. Should he tell you about it less?”

“No,” Philippa said softly. “I find I like it.”

Tommy’s heart stuttered. “I’ll let him know.”

A breeze rustled the tall trees flanking them on both sides. The shade lent the illusion that they had walked into a tunnel. Long and cool, with no other souls about. Just enough dappled sunlight filtered through the restless leaves to light the shady path.

Philippa bit her lip. “Did I tell you how dashing you look today?”

“Me, or Baron Vanderbean?”

“Both,” Philippa answered. “But mostly you.”

Mostly you.

Philippa looked at her with her breeches and frock coat and short hair and saw Tommy. Tommy’s throat went dry. “You did a fine job with the list and the drawing.”

A smile flitted across Philippa’s lips. “Are you going to tell me I’d make a good Wynchester, too?”

“My opinion is irrelevant,” Tommy said dryly. “I appear to be outvoted.”

“Not to me,” Philippa said. “Your opinion is the only one that matters. I’ll have to try harder to impress you.”

“Have you been trying to impress me?”

“Has it not been working?”

“Oh, it works,” Tommy said. “It’s been working since before you were trying.”

Philippa grinned. “Was my eye-fluttering really that dreadful?”

“‘Dreadful’ is a harsh word,” Tommy said. “And yet even a harsh word like ‘dreadful’ fails to fully encapsulate the horror in which—”

Philippa smacked her shoulder. “I won’t do it again.”

“You can do it whenever you want. You can do anything with me.” Tommy slanted her a look, but Philippa’s gaze was fixed on the path ahead. At this hour, the shadows were not quite dark enough to make watching one’s step necessary. The Dark Walk was visible and smooth. The unclear path was where to go next with Philippa.

They weren’t acting now, were they? They were alone. Marjorie and Elizabeth had seen to that. They would be standing guard at a calculated distance. The air was calm and cool. No one else was on the path. No one was watching or listening. If ever there was a moment when all pretenses could be dropped, surely this was it.

Why was the prospect so terrifying?

Perhaps because Tommy was rarely herself. She always left home in one guise or another. Yes, Philippa was now aware of the role…but she also wanted the role. She hadn’t said, “Oh, how I long to be close to Tommy Wynchester.” She’d said, “Can you pretend to be Baron Vanderbean for the next three months?”

What if she didn’t want Tommy?

If their playful banter was a game, if she had misread the admittedly ambiguous signs, she would not only lose Philippa forever.

She’d be rejected as herself.