No one knew of their sleuthing or Danny’s growing skill range from pinpoint shots of amovingtarget to lockpicking to identifying counterfeit sculptures on sight.
Using his experience to save women from abusive relationships, locate stolen funds for the local shelters, find loving homes in the country for six of Lord Pickles’s seven kittens—all at the behest of his knowing wife—the past eight years had been the happiest and fullest of Percy’s life. Gazing down at his beautiful wife, glowing with the early signs of pregnancy, he had a quiet suspicion his happiness was to double in the coming months.
Don finished hugging his sister, his smile genuine. “Make sure to remind Denise not to tell Mama until you are eight months and no longer able to hide your condition. We’ll all be happier for it.”
Danny winced. “Actually, I have yet to tell DeniseorMama.” She shook her head at her brother’s sour expression. “I meant to tell you all together after she returned from her outing since you know how troublesome Denise is when she’s the last to know—”
A commotion outside cut her off and then the doors to the drawing room burst open, and the troublesome woman herself stood in the doorway, hair askew, eyes wild.
“I was here the entire morning!” Denise squeaked before she dashed to the open seat on the divan, smoothing her lavender skirts and snatching an embroidery hoop from the basket on the floor—a leftover from the staff, no doubt, since none of the women in this room so much as touched a needle that wasn’t attached to a doctor’s kit or torture device.
Percy shared a knowing look with his wife, expecting to see the Countess of Bromley track through their home any second, Bible in hand. After eight seasons and no proposals, everyone knew from experience to run and hide when Lady Bromley was within lecturing distance of the youngest Deime sibling.
Danny shook her head at her sister. “What did you do now?”
“Nothing!”
“Denise—”
“DENISE DEIME!”
The scandalous shriek had everyone in the room turning to the drawing room doors, where Lady Kendra appeared, red faced and breathing as if she’d given chase up the two flights of stairs at a cheetah’s pace, in skirts.
Percy spared a glance at his sister-in-law and enjoyed a rare vision of the spirited woman blushing fiercely.
“You can’t run away after that,” Lady Kendra said.
Denise swallowed and failed miserably at sounding composed. “Lady Kendra, what a pleasant surprise. You know my sister, the duchess—”
“Don’t give me those insipid pleasantries. I demand to know what you meant by kissing me the way you did!”
All attention went to Denise, whose face was now the color of boiled beets. “I—I...”
“You said you loved me,” Kendra continued, eyes fixed on Denise. “Did you mean it?”
The room held its breath. Percy saw the fear in Denise’s face, fear of reprisals for admitting what everyone else could plainly see.
Denise bit her lip, her eyes pleading.
Kendra would give no quarter. “Did you?”
They all waited. Denise glanced at her sister, then brother, seeing their shocked expressions widen into grins of approval. After eight seasons, they’d all shared suspicions that Denise Deime preferred hens to cocks.
Frankly, this was long overdue.
Denise’s sigh of relief was short-lived as she answered the other woman. “Yes, I meant what I said.”
Kendra nodded. “Good.”
She crossed the room, and in full view of the three couples—and Don—the heartless wench they’d all known as an envious-flirt-turned-spinster took Denise’s face in her hands and kissed her, soundly.
Camille hooted.
Charlotte applauded.
Danny laughed.
Percy gazed in awe at the assembled band of lunatics he was honored to call his family, feeling his wife’s hand slide into his.
