Chloe’s expression was full of love. “There was no one else I’d rather eat a meat pie with.”

Tommy grinned. “Now we have an entire family of rapacious rogues and miscreants. And at least two dozen equally roguish beasts being trained out in Jacob’s barn.”

“Rogues like Tiglet,” Chloe cooed and patted her legs.

The kitten leapt from Philippa’s lap to Chloe’s.

Philippa tried not to be jealous. Of everything. Of their bond. Their family. Their love.

“Chloe misses Tiglet,” Tommy whispered. “They were inseparable before Chloe married Faircliffe.”

Philippa nodded. She understood. The kitten had been Chloe’s first. Tommy was Chloe’s first.

And Philippa would not get to keep either of them.

23

23

Chloe clapped her hands together. “We’ve arrived!”

A footman was there to help the ladies out of the coach, but Tommy reached for Philippa first. Philippa pretended not to notice the tickle beneath her clothes at the feel of Tommy’s hand on hers or her desire to throw herself into Tommy’s arms.

“Follow me.” Tommy’s eyes sparkled.

Philippa held Tiglet to her chest. “Where are we going?”

“To the Planning Parlor,” Chloe answered.

Their butler opened the front door to welcome them inside.

“You’re the first non-Wynchester to be invited into the parlor,” Tommy whispered as they climbed the stairs.

Philippa’s head swam with pleasure. Invited. Included. Her heart beat erratically. She had only ever seen part of the ground floor, and had long wondered what the rest of the Wynchesters’ home must be like.

The Planning Parlor surpassed her every imagining.

Instead of parquet or a luxurious carpet, they walked into an enormous room with a floor made of slate. Chalk drawings covered a large part of it—a map here, a timetable of some sort there.

A large walnut-and-burl table commanded one half of the room. In the other half were a variety of chairs and sofas, not facing the fireplace but rather each other, much like how Philippa arranged the chairs in her reading circle to aid discussion.

There were five tall mullioned windows, their thick calico curtains tied back to allow in the morning sun. Bookcases lined the other walls. No, not just bookcases—some were map cases and every other kind of case. Philippa could spend a year exploring every nook and cranny, and likely still not uncover every surprise.

In fact, if she lived here, she doubted exploring the parlor to her heart’s content would raise so much as an eyebrow. The Wynchesters did not feel bad about their idiosyncrasies. They indulged them.

Two paintings above the fireplace caught her eye. One was a portrait of a white-haired gentleman with a droll expression. The other was the painting of Puck and his fellow imps that the Duke of Faircliffe had once given Philippa as a courting gift. She hadn’t expected it to end up here.