It was likely difficult to reconcile dashing Baron Vanderbean with the old lady standing before her. Even though Tommy had ceased hunching and had spoken in her regular voice, the wiry white hair and the deep wrinkles and the hands covered in liver spots all painted a convincing picture.

The cosmetics could not be removed without special oils. The extravagant wig was pinned so tight, a hurricane could not have budged it. Her only hope was to convince Philippa with words.

“It’s me, Tommy,” she repeated. “Baron Vanderbean, if you prefer. I have never experienced a superior stroll in a garden to the fine afternoon at Vauxhall in which you and I—”

“Tommy?” Philippa squeaked. “Tommy?”

She did not look like a mischievous, delighted co-conspirator.

She looked furious.

“I couldn’t visit as Baron Vanderbean,” Tommy said quickly. “Your mother limited his attentions to a maximum of once per week, remember? I plan to attend the Oglethorpe ball on Saturday, but I thought—”

“You’ve been Great-Aunt Wynchester this entire time?” Philippa backed away, her movements jerky. “You’ve been Great-Aunt Wynchester for months?”

This was not at all going the way Tommy had expected it to.

“When I told you I wasn’t really Baron Vanderbean,” she said carefully, “you were delighted by the jest.”

“I was in on the jest,” Philippa burst out. “I had just ‘met’ the man, and he was instantly vulnerable and honest with me. It was both charming and disarming. This, on the other hand…” She waved a hand toward Tommy’s disguise. “This!”

Tommy set Chloe’s basket on the dining table. It clearly was not an opportune moment for romantic gestures.

“I didn’t mean to deceive you,” Tommy began.

“You didn’t mean to,” Philippa repeated. “You put on wrinkles and wigs and made a weekly appearance in my parlor every Thursday afternoon…by accident?”

“That was on purpose,” Tommy admitted. “What I mean was, when I started, I didn’t plan on ever telling you the truth, so there was little chance of you being cross with me for it.”

“Cross,” Philippa said. “Oh, I’m cross, all right. I’m tempted to toss you right out of this window and throw your little basket at your head. I cannot believe that…you of all people…”

To Tommy’s horror, Philippa’s eyes were glassy with tears.

“Don’t cry.” Appalled, Tommy felt a strange pricking in her own throat. “Baron Vanderbean trusted you because he knew you. When Great-Aunt Wynchester met you, it was for the first time. Now I know you can be trusted with a secret. Until the Duke of Faircliffe, my siblings and I had never let an outsider in.”

“I’ll cry if I want to,” Philippa snapped. “These are tears of rage, which I am perfectly entitled to, thank you very much. Everyone always tries to direct my life for me, and frankly I am sick of it.”