“The Duchess of Faircliffe,” she squealed, with a glint in her eyes that did not match her obsequious tone. Tommy supposed Mrs. York never would forgive Chloe for “stealing” the Duke of Faircliffe from Philippa. “And you brought your great-aunt. Again.”

But Mrs. York moved out of the way. As usual, Tommy was accepted…as long as she was someone else.

“Are we early to the ball?” she quavered as she hobbled past the threshold.

Chloe put a protective arm about Tommy’s shoulders. “It’s not a ball, Aunt. We’re attending Miss York’s Thursday afternoon reading circle, as we do every week.”

“I don’t feel like dancing.” Tommy patted her white wig. “I think I’ll just sit.”

“A lovely idea, Aunt. There will be plenty of chairs at the reading circle.”

They kept up this patter down the corridor and into the parlor, where Tommy and her sister took their usual seats between the door and the sideboard. Chloe placed her basket on the floor next to their chairs and wandered about, greeting the other ladies in the parlor.

Tommy sat because she was Great-Aunt Wynchester, and Great-Aunt Wynchester had bad knees. And also because the lower angle of a chair gave her a convenient vantage point from which to watch Philippa without being conspicuous herself.

In the five long days since the outing at Vauxhall, Philippa had grown even more beautiful. Her white-and-pink round dress of jaconet muslin was flounced with lace and flowers.

Just the sight of her made Tommy happy, and not solely for her beauty. Tommy adored watching Philippa light up when talking to her friends. It was no wonder at all that these ladies preferred spending their Thursday afternoons in a parlor with Philippa to promenading about Hyde Park with the crème de la crème of the beau monde.

The ladies of the reading circle were the best of the best. These were the people they most wished to converse with and to impress.

They certainly impressed Tommy. She had never seen so many intelligent and capable people all in one room. Chloe felt the same way, and she’d spent years spying on Parliament.

A familiar pair of calico ears poked out from beneath Philippa’s skirts. Tiglet wiggled his whiskers and gave a plaintive miaow, as though miffed that the ladies appeared more interested in books than kittens.

Philippa bent over, scooped him up, and brought him to her bosom without interrupting the heated discussion she was having with Lady Eunice about archery and fletchers.

Tommy couldn’t help but smile.

She needed a private conversation with Philippa. Great-Aunt Wynchester did not participate in literary arguments. Tommy’s tendency at the reading circle was to stay close to the dessert tray and toss out the occasional inappropriate comment in her best irascible-old-lady voice.

Today, however, her only aim was to present the peace offering she’d brought for Philippa.