Page 5 of The Perks of Loving a Wallflower

The others gazed at her in silence.

“Mostlyon time,” Gracie amended. “I would have been early last week, were it not for a certain flirtatious Mr.—”

“Shh,” Philippa whispered, tilting her head toward the open doorway. “If Mother hears flirting took place at an event I failed to attend…”

They’d caught her mother listening through the keyhole on multiple occasions.

Gracie lowered her voice. “Sybil, you have the chart. Are we meant to be speaking in French or Latin?”

“Greek,” said Florentia.

“ClassicGreek,” Sybil corrected, shaking a finger at Florentia. “None of your hijinks, young lady.”

Florentia affected an angelic expression and widened her eyes innocently.

Philippa’s heart warmed. She loved that her friends weren’t just bookish, but unabashedly so. Between them, the ladies spoke several languages and boasted a comprehensive understanding of many subjects. Speaking of sensitive matters in code was no problem at all.

While Philippa’s obsession centered on physical manuscripts, other friends reveled in the knowledge that books contained. Botany, medicine, forging armor, currying leather—topics for whichmenhad clubs and livery companies and Royal Societies, but from which women were banned altogether.

Females’ poor, delicate brains could not possibly withstand big, actual thoughts.

Philippa longed to be included. So she’d created her own society. A sisterhood of women as curious and intelligent as any man.

And instead of dedicating themselves to any one thing, they covered hundreds of things. Every month featured different books. It might be a delightfully torrid novel, a detailed tome on the inner workings of the Leyden jar condenser, or the latest theories and applications of chemistry.

These were the best and cleverest women of Philippa’s acquaintance. The friends had become a family. She would do everything in her power to keep the group together.

Even marry the fusty old titled bore her parents selected for her.

3

Must be the right place,” quavered an ancient voice from the doorway. “This room smells like old books and expensive wine.”

Philippa was pleased to see Chloe and her unruly, white-haired great-aunt Wynchester enter the parlor. One might presume Philippa and Chloe would be on acrimonious terms because Chloe had stolen the duke Philippa was supposed to marry.

One would be wrong.

Philippa was eternally grateful not to have to wed a man whose ambivalence to their union matched her own. The new Duchess and Duke of Faircliffe hadwantedto marry each other.

If Philippa ruled the world, that would be the only requirement for marriage.

“Do you want to know a secret?” Gracie whispered, her eyes bright and shining. “I’m to be an aunt!”

Cries of delight and congratulations filled the parlor.

“I cannot wait until it’s me,” Gracie said with a happy sigh. “Just think. A husband…a wedding night…a house full of babies…”

None of those ideas sounded appealing to Philippa.

She knew that made her strange, even among a group of lady outcasts. Theywereladies, and many women wanted certain things. Such as being pawed by the same man for eternity, or filling a peaceful house full of crying babies.

It was fine to want those things. Why wasn’t it also finenotto want them?

“Don’t worry,” said Florentia. “At the rate you’re flirting, you’ll find yourself at the altar soon enough.”

“I hope so,” Gracie said. “That’s why I do it.”

It was also a fair part of why Philippadidn’tdo it. Not only was she horrid at the art of flirting, she had no interest in the inevitable outcome. She could look at a person and objectively acknowledge his attractiveness, but no manly face had ever inspired a passion any more profound than a pretty flower or a beautiful sunset.