Lady Eunice glanced at the clock in one corner. “Where’s Jessica?”

Florentia pursed her lips. “Running late like Gracie?”

This launched an immediate and lively debate between those who felt the reading circle’s scheduled hour was sacrosanct, and those who believed “out late kissing a rake” was a perfectly acceptable excuse for tardiness.

It was Great-Aunt Wynchester’s moment. The meeting hadn’t started, Philippa’s conversation with Lady Eunice was waning, and the others were distracted by the polemical Gracie discussion.

“Romantic gift, please.” Tommy held out her palm toward Chloe.

Chloe handed her the wicker basket.

Tommy pushed to her feet and bent forward myopically as she peered about the room.

“Miss York,” she quavered. “Might you show an old lady where to find the necessary?”

A brief frown lined Philippa’s brow at being interrupted. Great-Aunt Wynchester knew good and well where to find the water closet, and in any case, Chloe always helped her aunt when she got muddled.

Chloe, however, was far too absorbed in inspecting her fingernails to notice Philippa staring at her pointedly.

“Of course.” Philippa handed the kitten to one of her guests, likely for safekeeping. He couldn’t resist an open window. “Follow me, please.”

Rather than follow Philippa to the water closet, Tommy ducked into the empty dining room instead.

“Oh—not that way, Great-Aunt Wynchester.” Philippa reversed course and hurried into the dining room after Tommy. “This is where we dine. The necessary is—”

Tommy shut the door. Philippa’s mother was infamous for listening at the parlor keyhole when the reading circle was in session, but she had no reason to imagine the dining room occupied. Convincing the ladies to abandon their books was Mrs. York’s lifelong struggle.

Nonetheless, Tommy motioned Philippa away from the door and around the table where they had sat next to each other for tea.

“Great-Aunt Wynchester, really.” Philippa visibly tried for patience. “Surely you can see that this is a dining room, not a water closet. I know you’re not as vacant as you pretend. Is this about Damaris’s case?”

Philippa was simply too adorable. Tommy could barely look at her without remembering what it was like to kiss her, and battled the urge to grab her and kiss her all over again.

But definitely not as Great-Aunt Wynchester.

“It’s me,” Tommy said.

Her veins rushed with excitement at the prospect of welcoming Philippa into this jest, just like the baron identity. Having Philippa as a co-conspirator would make the farce even more fun. Tommy grinned at her in anticipation.

Philippa smiled gently. “I know you’re you. And if you would follow me down the corridor—”

“No. I mean, it’s me, Tommy.”

“T-Tommy?” Philippa stammered in obvious confusion.