The following letter appeared in the Quotidian Journal on Thursday, May 18, 1899:

My dear Duke Aubrey-Serrs,

I understand how you feel. You’re a loving father, concerned about trusting his daughter to another man. Far from blaming you, I admire you for it. So let me address your concerns.

My darling duke, I know how much names mean to you, and I’m well aware of your family’s peculiar tradition regarding the family names being shared among marriage partners and passed down to the children. I assure you, I’m eminently flexible in this regard. You would be amazed at how easy I find it to change my name to suit any situation.

Serrs-Penn? Fine. But I’m also happy to tip my hat to the women’s rights movement and consider Penn-Serrs, which I think has a nice sound to it. Or maybe we should include more names to make it more grandiose. Penn-Aubrey-Serrs!—it would have to be, as Aubrey-Serrs-Penn refuses to roll off the tongue. Or shall we include my mother’s maiden name? For the sake of this column, we’ll say it’s Ellery. Then we could be Penn-Aubrey-Serrs-Ellery. It sounds delightfully pompous and would make our initials PASE. It’s unfortunately close to the French word passé, but it’s actually Spanish in origin and has to do with bullfighting.

Olé!

Or perhaps you meant what you said—“I will never allow my name to be coupled with that despicable thief’s.”

(Pardon, sir, the proper title is Master Thief, but we’ll let that pass.)

How it pains me to think you’d break with the traditions of your family! But if that’s so, we can simplify.

Eleanor Louise Penn sounds lovely.

Warmest regards from your soon-to-be son-in-law,

Mr. Penn.

Friday, May 19, 1899:

My Duke Aubrey-Serrs, the much loved,

Unworthy? I’m struck, Your Grace—struck to the heart! You wound me!

Is any man ever worthy of the love of an honorable woman? No. But love and mutual affection ennobles us! That’s what makes a man worthy. That is my first and final opinion on the matter.

However, the world is a dismally practical place, and I am being coupled with the daughter of a duke. I understand I’ll have to defend my merit.

I’m a humble man, so it pains me to brag, but here are my answers:

As a master thief, I know a fortune is important, and I admit yours is far greater than mine. But give me time! I’ll get there. If you’re in a hurry, we could arrange it so that you would lose roughly half your fortune under mysterious circumstances, while, around the same time, I would gain approximately the same amount. Then we would be even.

If this appeals to you, please have half your equity converted to gems. They’re more portable.

As for the question of titles, I feel content that I come out better for the comparison.

After all, Your Grace, Erravold Aubrey-Serrs of Illucia, is one of five men currently honored by our country with the title of Duke, but there is only one man with the title Marvelous.

I hope this will be enough to make you proud of me.

Yours, ever,

The Marvelous Mr. Ryce Penn, Master Thief

P.S. All this “Your Grace” and “Duke Aubrey-Serrs” is wearing out my hand and putting a dent in my supply of ink. We’re both men of titles. Can I dispense with the finery and simply call you Father?

Saturday, May 20, 1899:

Dear Father,

I’m glad to hear that family matters so much to you! I can hardly wait to be included in the ranks of those that you hold dear.

It’s true that I have no family that shares my last name (whichever one I’m using at the moment) to comfort me in the long evenings, but I’ve discovered there are bonds as strong as any forged by blood, and I’m glad to say that I do have a family, and I’m as proud of them as you are of yours.

My fellow thieves and brigands, gentlemen of fortune, land-bound pirates, swindlers, and sneaks—those beloved men who’ve shared my ill-gotten bread at my pilfered table—they are as dear as brothers to me. They are as precious as sons. I would trust them with my life, and I would die for them. And they’ve honored me by saying they feel the same.

Just as we hope you look forward to me joining your family, we all look forward to having you and your daughter join ours.

Especially your daughter. It’s sad to admit, but there’s a shocking disparity between the number of males and females in my family. Her womanly charms will be welcome. She’ll make a fine and much less malodorous addition to the clan.

Your son,

Mr. Penn

There was no letter on Sunday.

For the first time in six days, Eleanor could hope she wouldn’t get yelled at by her father.

Friday had been the worst. The thief’s letter must have resonated with some of the duke’s buried fears. Aubrey-Serrs had demanded to know if Eleanor loved Ryce Penn. With a pale face and hands clasped in her lap, she had insisted she didn’t know him. No matter how her father had railed, she never varied her tone or her answers. After five long minutes, the duke abruptly threw down the paper.

“Half our fortune! Half! This is the man you are welcoming into our lives.”

“He said that in jest, and that he’d only do it if we found it agreeable,” Eleanor whispered.

“Ever since those damned—”

“Erravold.” Lady Helena’s warning was laced with frost.

“—those dratted invitations arrived, you’ve protested it’s a joke! When half our fortune is gone, will you still find it funny?”

After that he passed on to the worn theme of how this could all be solved if only she would marry one of her suitors.

Eleanor felt like a besieged fortress; she was battered and tired, but she was strong, and she would hold out.

Helena rose from her seat and laid her folded paper on the table. “Erravold, she’s never wavered from her answer. Is this a new contest of wills? One isn’t enough for you? Let it go.”

“Never!”

Through it all, the duke had been infused with some kind of mesmeric vitality. He had more energy, and he smiled more, but it was a mad energy and the smiles were mostly bared teeth. One night, when Eleanor and the duke were together in the drawing room, she’d heard him chuckle. When she looked up, she saw he was reading one of his own quotes from the evening edition, and she wondered if some part of him was enjoying it.

The newspapers were certainly enjoying it. The Quotidian, being the honored recipient of Penn’s letters, had turned into a kind of bastard mint where they printed money for themselves by publishing whatever the thief wrote.

Eleanor wasn’t surprised at their increased circulation. The Aubrey-Serrs house took in four copies all by itself. As always, there was one paper for the back quarters and one for the duke, but the baroness wasn’t willing to wait for her brother to finish with his copy, and Taylor conspired with the maid, Miss Tessa, to ensure Eleanor got a paper at the earliest possible moment so she could brace herself for what would meet her at the breakfast table.

When Eleanor was alone in her room, snuggled up in her blankets and reading by the light of the spring sunrise, she could laugh at Mr. Penn’s marvelous letters. She could pretend she was reading them as a nonpartisan member of the public and enjoy them as much as everyone else must have been enjoying them. Penn’s comments were perfectly engineered to goad her father into a deeper fury, and every day the duke rewarded him—Come! See the latest evening edition!

So while Eleanor was relieved there was no letter that morning, a small part of her was disappointed.

Another part of her was nervous, and she didn’t know why.

The newspaper didn’t want the topic to slip into the background, so they ran a satirical article, pretending the duke had paid for a full announcement of the wedding. Information on both the bride and the groom were published, including their histories, accomplishments, and a list of prominent family members (Penn’s included Red-handed Jimmy).

Eleanor put the paper aside before she finished reading it. She got dressed and went down for breakfast.

When she arrived, she found her father and cousin deep in conversation. Her father gave off an air of smugness, while Edward looked as uneasy as Eleanor felt.

“Well, Eleanor! What do you think?” her father asked.

“About what, sir?”

“That d—” A quick scan revealed that Helena was nowhere in sight—“damned thief of yours hasn’t written a letter this morning! What do you say to that?”

“Should I say anything?”

“I wouldn’t be surprised if this was the end of the matter. By now Penn must realize I have no intention of allowing him to say what he will without answer. He’s measured himself against a real man, and he’s been found wanting.” Her father laughed. “That’ll be that.”

“That would be a relief.”

“Your cousin doesn’t agree with me though,” Aubrey-Serrs said cheerfully.

“Oh?”

“He still thinks there’s a threat! Can you believe this jester? He seems to be taking something seriously for once.”

Eleanor glanced over at Edward. He was staring down at the table with a twisted smirk on his face.

“I guess we’ll see,” Eleanor said. It seemed like a safe statement.

“I think we will.” The duke stood up to leave. As he passed by his daughter, he stopped and said, “Remember, Eleanor, always stand up for yourself! Be firm.”

She nodded. Her father disappeared through the door.

Eleanor made it to the sideboard before Edward broke the silence.

“When did you stop reading his comments?”

“Pardon?”

“His comments. When did you stop reading your father’s contributions to this farce?”

“Thursday.”

“Why?”

Eleanor picked up a plate and a piece of toast. “Because I couldn’t stop him.”

“But, Eleanor, you should always stand up for yourself! Be firm!”

Her hand shook as she reached for a teacup. “That isn’t funny, Edward.”

“You’re right. It’s the least funny thing in the world. It’s anti-funny—a kind of deadening agent.” The baron stood up and walked over to her. “This isn’t over.” He put a folded sheet of newsprint on the sideboard beside her plate. It was Saturday’s evening edition. “My charming uncle made a mistake. Penn will answer this, and I don’t think Uncle will like it.”

“I don’t want to read it.”

“You may not see how you can stop all this, Eleanor, but I think you’re smart enough to see what’s coming.”

Edward left. The room should have felt empty when he was gone, but all the tension was still there, humming along the lines of the furniture. Eleanor settled herself at the table with her toast, her tea, and the newspaper.

The toast was as cold as a stone slab by the time she quit the room. It was as untouched as the newspaper beside it.

Monday, May 22, 1899:

Dear Father,

Forgive me for taking so long to respond. I confess, until yesterday I was mostly ignorant of the Serrs’ family history, but I wanted to know how to answer you, so I did some research. It’s fascinating what you can learn with a little effort.

Have no fear. I wouldn’t dream of reviving old ghosts merely to make a point, but perhaps I can allay your fears; there are some accusations which will never be leveled against me.

Shall we speak of crimes?

I have never gained a fortune by ransacking a village and subjugating an innocent population, causing scores to die when winter came. Nor did I defend that fortune at the cost of my own men’s lives.

I have never curried favor with a usurper by betraying an oath.

I have never driven my wife to her grave with abuse, then married my mistress.

I have never raped a woman, and I would never protect a man from the law if he had.

No man has died by my hands—and never for such a useless thing as “honor.” Not one man, Your Grace, let alone a dozen.

I have never sold off my daughters to create an alliance.

I have never banished a bastard infant, conceived by my own affair, into the cold night, leaving him to freeze before the church could find him in the morning.

Now! Do my crimes seem so bad? I take trinkets and luxuries from people who have more than enough. With a little context, theft hardly seems worth mentioning.

Yours, ever,

Mr. Penn

P.S. Please assure my fiancée, I love her dearly and I still intend to marry her. I don’t care what her family is like.