Page 4 of The Perks of Loving a Wallflower

“What?” Philippa burst out in unconcealed horror.

Her personal sanctuary—and the books it contained—was her only escape.

She moved in front of the glass case containing her prized collection of illuminated manuscripts, as though blocking them from her mother’s view would likewise erase their existence from her mother’s mind.

Philippa fully intended to sneak a few volumes to her bedchamber before Mother locked her out of the parlor.

“You already forbade further literary acquisitions until I am back on the marriage mart,” Philippa reminded her. “It is not my fault that the new season won’t begin until Parliament reopens in January.”

“Humph.” Mother looked unimpressed with this logic.

Mother was always unimpressed with logic.

Philippa was just relieved to have fourteen-and-a-half more weeks of glorious spinsterhood.

“Perhaps your weekly reading circle should becomefortnightlyuntil you’ve an acceptable lord on the line,” Mother said.

“Again,” Philippa said as patiently as she could. “It is astonishingly difficult to fish for lords when London has yet to stock the lake. The season will begin in three months. Surely that’s soon enough to—”

Voices sounded down the corridor.

Philippa relaxed. She adored her witty, clever friends. Being limited to a mere hour of their company once a week was punishment enough. Losing a single minute more was unthinkable.

“They’re here,” she said. “May we please continue this discussion another time?”

Her mother’s expression could best be described as disgruntled, but the excited voices were already drawing closer.

Philippa and her mother had not heard the rap of the knocker, because Underwood took his post as butler seriously. He held the door open for all ladies before they reached the threshold. After four-and-a-half years of weekly reunions, the ladies did not require any guidance to the familiar parlor.

Having all her friends descend upon her at once was the best moment of Philippa’s week, and her mother was literally blocking the path.

“Very well,” Mother said. “But only because Lady Eunice has arrived.”

Philippa gave a tight nod.

Mother had long made it clear that titled guests like Lady Eunice not only outranked Philippa in society, but were also more important than Philippa in her own home. Thus, the reading circle continued to happen because Lady Eunice wished it to happen.

Not because it brought happiness or comfort to Mother’s sole offspring.

Mother stepped from the doorway into the corridor and let out a squeal as though she had just noticed the sounds of guests approaching.

“Why, Lady Eunice, don’t you look stunning today? I believe we have a bottle of your favorite Madeira. And Miss Kimball, how was your sister’s wedding? Oh, that’s just lovely. In you go, in you go. I must post myself at the door to greet the next guests.”

With that, Mother fluttered down the hall and out of sight.

Philippa’s friends bounced into the room like tumbling marbles. About two dozen ladies occasionally attended the reading circle, but her five closest friends never missed a meeting. It was all Philippa could do not to hug each of them tight.

Today, Lady Eunice was exquisite in a long-sleeved day dress trimmed in seed pearls, her auburn hair impeccably styled with face-framing ringlets. At the word “Madeira,” she headed straight to the sideboard.

Pink-cheeked Sybil, the group’s queen of lists and schedules, pushed her spectacles up her button nose and reviewed her notes before determining which cake she was allowing herself to indulge in today.

Gorgeous Florentia was next, with her beautiful light brown skin and a spray of freckles across her nose and apple cheeks. She pushed her springy black ringlets out of her face and peered about the room, assuring herself all was as it should be.

Gracie dashed into the room with windswept hair and wrinkles in the Mameluke sleeves of her mint green dress, yet still looked stunning as always. She pointed at the clock in the corner and crowed with delight.

“What? Miss Gracie Kimball arrivedearlyto an appointment?” Florentia clutched her hands to her bosom. “Pinch me, for I fear I am dreaming!”

“I’ve been on time ever since we’ve been limited to a single hour,” Gracie protested.