The duke tobbled as he walked. It was an oscillating, ponderous movement, and it was enough to make anyone except a sailor ill to watch. This gait was adopted to accommodate the shape of his body. The man was a ball. He was a well-dressed ball. He had energy, health, and (god knew) an appetite, but all the best clothes in the world couldn’t make him any less round, and to try would make him look like a draped Christmas ornament. That he would not tolerate. After all, he had his pride.

The world had to accept him as he was: loud, adamant, quick to anger, and spherical. It was a good thing he was a duke—if he wasn’t, his magisterial air would have been farcical. As it was, he was only mocked from several cities away and, often, only as an unnamed duke appearing in a pantomime.

That morning, he tobbled his way down the staircase and into his dining room. His daughter, Eleanor, was standing inside the door. She curtsied when he entered.

“Good morning, Father.”

He nodded to her.

It had always been Father, even when she was a little girl. She’d heard other children refer to their male predecessor as “Daddy,” or “Papa,” but that was never her father. She had assumed it was his proper title, like “Your Grace.”

Eleanor was the comic opposite of her father. She was thin and tended to be quiet and easygoing. She loved to spend her days curled up on a couch, reading a book, but she often went out for long walks because her father insisted she needed some activity in her life. There was also a strange humility to her. Some said she was born with it, while others said it was the only sensible recourse when living with a man like Duke Aubrey-Serrs.

Since so many people seem to care what a young woman looks like—especially if she’s rich and single—you might as well know Eleanor was pretty. Not stunning, but definitely pretty. She had an average face with average features, but her eyes were special. They were bright, wide, green, and expressive. Considering how rarely she raised them, seeing them felt like catching a glimpse of red fur as the fox you’d barely noticed darts away. It left you feeling startled and lucky to have seen them.

The duke went over to the breakfast laid out on the sideboard. Eleanor only took her share when he was finished. She got a scrap of toast, two slices of tomato, and a cup of tea. Aubrey-Serrs never bothered his daughter about her eating habits. His late wife had eaten that way. He assumed all women ate that way.

Their mornings were made of this routine, and the collection of familiar hours added a pleasant atmosphere to the proceedings. Toward the end of the meal, the morning letters would appear at the duke’s elbow. The unseen hand that delivered them was as light and familiar as everything else, but the letters always had a ponderous weight. They represented the end of the routine and the start of the real day.

The duke finished off the last of his heaped food, then slit the first letter open with his cutlery. A letter knife was inevitably included with the missives, but it was also inevitably ignored.

Eleanor wasn’t paying attention. Few of the letters were for her, and even if they were, her father always opened and dealt with them. She was gazing out toward the front window, relaxing into the monotony of the morning, when she heard her father choke.

A swift glance allied her worst fear; he was choking on his indignation, not his food.

“Eleanor!”

“Yes, Father?” Her subdued voice demonstrated how unnecessary his shout had been.

“What do you know of this?” He thrust a piece of heavy parchment at her. It rattled in his grip.

She took the paper and opened it.

His Grace, Erravold Dusten Aubrey-Serrs, Duke of Illucia

requests the honor of your presence

at the marriage of his daughter

Lady Eleanor Louise

to—

Eleanor broke away. “Father, what is this?”

“You’re saying you don’t know?”

He asked it as a matter of form. Her blatant confusion was enough to convince him she was ignorant.

“I know nothing!”

“Read it.”

Eleanor was so baffled, she read it in a rush, trying to find out if there was sense anywhere on the page.

to

Ryce Penn

at Saint Jerrum’s Cathedral

on Saturday, the fifteenth of July, eighteen hundred and ninety-nine,

at two o’clock in the afternoon

followed by a reception at Chaffinch Hall.

About the time she realized there were no more words, she also realized she’d missed the two most important ones—the given and family name of her intended groom.

She read them again. Then again.

Ryce Penn.

She dropped the paper back on the table. Her eyes rolled, and her cheek lifted in a slight smile.

“It’s a joke, Father.”

“It isn’t funny!”

“I think it’s very funny. Have you seen the man I’m supposed to marry?”

The duke snatch back the paper. His red face darkened until it was almost purple. He fumbled to his feet, knocking over the chair he hadn’t pulled out properly. It dropped to the floor with a clatter. The duke left the room.

Eleanor picked up the chair and replaced it. Then she followed her father out to the hall. With her slippers on, she was as noiseless as a cat.

The duke was in the library, on the telephone. He was talking to the police.

Heedless of her dress, she sat down on the floor near the doorway so she could listen to the conversation.

Ryce Penn. The Master Thief.

Eleanor had followed his exploits since he’d first become active five years ago. She was not one of the women who admired his daring or generosity (What was there to admire? He was being generous with other people’s money!), but she did enjoy his humor—however; she was smart enough to realize her amused indifference only existed because all her knowledge of him came from the pages of the daily news.

The Aubrey-Serrs had never had a visit from Mr. Penn. The duke disapproved of the thief, but he did it with minimal animosity, as one would disapprove of a foreign evil unlikely to land on their shores. In his heart-of-hearts, the duke had always assumed Penn would never be brave enough to try to steal from him.

Eleanor smiled and shook her head as she listened to her father rage into the phone.

The world-famous Penn was out to steal her hand in marriage! It was ridiculous.

She might have been pleased to hear her father’s outrage, but she was close enough she could make out the words, not just his tone, and she knew that his feelings were reserved for his fortune and his good name.

Eleanor stood up and crept away so her father wouldn’t hear her.

She didn’t begrudge the duke his concern. It wasn’t as if she was in any danger. The priests acting on behalf of St. Jerrum’s Cathedral would probably have a few questions if she was hauled, bound and gagged, to the alter. As her father knew, she couldn’t be forced to marry against her will.

But…

But if this was a plot by Penn, then the danger to her father’s property was probably real.

She returned to the dining table. With a glance over her shoulder, she pulled out the two letters addressed to her and opened them. They were both from friends of hers—society acquaintances, really, but people she enjoyed being with, who seemed to enjoy being with her. They both included a personal letter as well as a copy of the wedding invitation.

From the cheeky nature of the letters, neither of them were taking it seriously.

“More invitations?” a voice behind her said. “Of course.”

The duke was back. He seemed to have burnt himself out yelling at the police. He didn’t even badger her about touching the letters.

“I wonder if any of these”—he flicked his hand at the pile of envelopes—“will have anything else to talk about. That bastard. That bastard! How dare he?”

“Oh, Father, please don’t upset yourself so much. No one’s writing anything down on their calendars. They all think it’s a joke!”

“Yes. He’s turned our name into a joke. I won’t be able to walk down the street without everyone snickering behind my back.”

“Can’t we simply leave it alone?”

“None of this would have happened if you had only married! I had three suitors, all lined up! Good men from good families! You refused them all.”

Eleanor felt the pulse of a headache slip in at her temples. “The year of the proposals” (as she had mentally dubbed it) had been the worst of her life. Only her quiet grace had carried her through. As her father had raged, she added more make-up to hide how pale her face was, and when her father had demanded she speak, she only repeated her refusal.

She had hoped those particular discussions were over. She needed them to be over.

Eleanor wanted to say something to ease the situation, but what could she say? Her father was right.

“Now this!” Her father threw himself into his chair. It groaned in protest. “What will people say!”

“They’ll say Penn overstepped himself.”

The duke sneered, picked up the personal letter that he’d opened with the first dreadful invitation, and tossed it to her.

As Eleanor lifted the page, she felt her stomach sink.

“…I look forward with much joy and amusement to the upcoming nuptial. If I asked, do you think your prospective son-in-law might return my wife’s ruby collection? He should have plenty of money soon…”

The duke’s voice was deep and cold. “Is that what they’re saying? That Penn overstepped himself?”

Overwhelmed, almost faint with weariness, Eleanor muttered, “Father, what do you want me to do?”

Too late, Eleanor realized her mistake.

The duke stood up and marched over to her. He loomed like a tower. “Marry one of them.”

She balled her hands into fists so he wouldn’t see them trembling. “I meant about this current problem.”

“Marry! Before the fifteenth of July.”

“This has nothing to do with that. This is the hoax of a ribald thief and has nothing to do with my refusing to marry—”

“Do you think Penn would be doing this if you weren’t a spinster?!”

Spinster stung. He had meant it to sting, and Eleanor knew the poison would grow worse over the years, but for now the prick was forgotten when a flare of indignation turned her guts red hot.

It’s your fault, yet you blame me.

Then she thought better of it. It wasn’t all his fault. The men—they were cowards. The three suitors who had tried to woo her had been rounded up, given permission, and encouraged. All the other men had stared on from a distance, like sheep quietly watching a wolf act like a sheepdog.

Penn, at least, had done something. But, then again, they had only learned about his intentions via invitations sent out to their acquaintances. He hadn’t even been brave enough to send the notice to them personally.

A coward like all the rest.

The random thought made Eleanor’s cheeks twitch with an unexpected smile.

Fortunately, the duke was looking out the window and didn’t see it.

“We should let it pass,” she said. “They’ll all laugh, then this will be over.”

“I have never let an insult pass!”

“Is it an insult?”

“As if I would ever see my named joined with someone as…common…as him!”

Eleanor’s sigh was a whisper she only allowed to escape through her nose.

The duke went on, “A Serrs never lets an insult pass! I will answer him.”

“How? We don’t know him. We can’t send a letter to a man we’ve never met.”

“I can send it to the paper! I’ll show the conniving ape who he’s tried to mock, and then we’ll see if he finds it funny!” The duke stood up. “Which rag is he always writing to?”

“The Quotidian Journal.”

“Yes. That should do.”

Before the duke could go anywhere, Taylor, their eternal butler, appeared in the doorway.

“Your Grace, there are three gentlemen here to see you.”

“What? Who?”

“They claim they each represent a different newspaper. They would like to talk to you and Lady Eleanor.”

Eleanor could almost see the machinations of her father’s churning mind. To call on one paper, possibly with a discrete message placed in the classifieds, was one thing. But three different papers? What had Penn done—taken out an announcement? Or had one of their friends thought the gag was too good to keep to himself?

She glanced at her father’s face.

God help the man if the duke ever learned who he was.

“I’m going for my morning walk,” she muttered in the swelling silence. She hurried to leave the room before her father exploded.