At Philippa’s obvious surprise, Chloe burst out laughing. “Oh, the painting? It’s a long story. The portrait next to it is of Bean. That is, our original Baron Vanderbean. He’s the one who designed our Planning Parlor.”

“It’s wonderful,” Philippa said. “What an impressive library.”

“Oh, it’s not the library,” Tommy said. “We don’t actually have one. These are Graham’s almanacs and albums and journals and ledgers, and who knows what else.”

Not…actually…have…a library?

“No touching my albums,” warned a deep voice behind Philippa.

She turned to see the rest of the Wynchester clan file into the room.

Graham, with his springy black curls and a profusion of notebooks and newspapers clutched to his chest. Elizabeth, with her sword stick and a pile of blankets thrown over one shoulder. Marjorie, the smallest and palest, with bits of colored paint on her fingers.

And Jacob, with his gorgeous brown skin and a trio of what looked like…baby hedgehogs?

“Do not juggle the hedgehogs,” Graham commanded. “Only I shall juggle livestock in this family.”

“I forbid you from touching any of my animals, ever.” Jacob ignored the chairs and the sofas and settled on an unchalked patch of slate instead.

Elizabeth and Marjorie encircled him and his hedgehogs with rolled blankets, creating a makeshift pen.

Graham threw himself into a chair and opened a broadsheet as though the spectacle before him was as interesting as waiting for a kettle to boil.

“Are you reading the personal advertisements?” Tommy asked.

“What else? The news isn’t interesting,” Graham answered. “I learned all the good bits before breakfast.”

“And regaled us with every minute detail,” Elizabeth said, sotto voce.

“You eat breakfast together?” Longing shot through Philippa. It sounded chaotic and wonderful.

“Every meal when we’re home at the same time,” Tommy answered. “Some appear at the table with their gossip or their osprey, but the rest of us are civilized.”

“I’m not civilized,” said Elizabeth. “I resent that accusation.”

“Osprey?” Philippa asked doubtfully.

Jacob glanced up from his hedgehogs. “A large bird of prey with a wingspan of six feet and a lifespan of ten to twenty years, in danger of being hunted to extinction here in England. I rescued mine. Her name is Caelum.”

“I know what an osprey is,” Philippa said. “Should it be near Tiglet?”

“It shouldn’t be around any small animal you don’t want it to eat,” Jacob said. “Which is why I shall release mine back into the wild as soon as her wing heals.”

“Aargh.” Graham shook his broadsheet. “Why aren’t the secret messages ever interesting? Lady who lost her garter inside a catacomb, gentleman seeking same for friendship or more, coordinates for tracking a parcel, notice for a runaway bride: ‘Please come home; you can have your violin back.’”

“Those things…aren’t interesting?” Philippa managed.