Chapter 1 – The Invitations Arrive

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 allayed 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.

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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 snatched 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.