just as his father did to us.”
Graham added another tea cake to his plate. “How will we infiltrate the duke’s terraced fortress? That town house is as tightly locked down as His Loftiness himself. Do we even know where he’s keeping the painting?”
Chloe grinned at him. “We don’t have to. I know where it’s going to be.”
He set down his cake. “Where? How?”
She leaned back. “I sometimes watch parliamentary proceedings from the peephole in the attic—”
“Sometimes?” Graham rolled his eyes. “When have you missed one? And what does your obsession with politics have to do with getting Puck back?”
“Well, if you would let me finish.” Chloe pilfered her brother’s tea cake and took a bite from the corner, chewing with exaggerated slowness before swallowing. “As I was saying, today Tommy disguised us as journalists and we sneaked into the Strangers’ Gallery, where we sat behind Mr. York—”
“Wait,” Graham interrupted, his brown eyes gleaming. “Mr. York, the MP whose daughter is rumored to have caught the Duke of Faircliffe’s eye?”
“It’s more than a rumor,” Chloe said sourly. “We overheard Faircliffe say he intends to give Puck & Family to Mr. York’s daughter Philippa as a courting gift.”
Graham’s face purpled. “Give away our painting? That knave. It’s not his to give!”
“That’s the bad news,” Chloe agreed. She affected an innocent expression. “The good news is that my ‘Jane Brown’ alias has an invitation to Miss York’s weekly ladies’ reading circle. I met her when I was on that mission at the dreadful school for girls. Philippa was visiting with a charity group and—you know what? It doesn’t matter. The important part is, I have access to the home where the painting will be. It’s our chance!”
Her brother pinned her with his too-perceptive gaze. “You accidentally bumped into the Duke of Faircliffe’s future intended and now have a standing invitation into her household? That’s a bit of good fortune.”
“Er…yes.” Chloe became suddenly enthralled by her tea. “A very lucky, completely random coincidence.”
It was definitely not because she read the same gossip columns as her brother and wanted to see for herself what kind of woman attracted the Duke of Faircliffe’s attention.
Chloe had passed by him any number of times—not that he noticed. He didn’t even acknowledge her when she’d placed herself in his direct path to demand the return of her family portrait. Barely a syllable had escaped her lips before he strode right past her toward something or someone he actually cared about.
Blackguard.
“Now that we know when and where to act, we can play the game and get the painting.” Chloe counted the Impossible Things on her fingers. “First, ingratiate myself with the reading circle. Achieved. Second, retrieve Puck & Family once Faircliffe delivers it. Third, replace it with a forgery so no one suspects a thing. It all happens on Thursday.”
Graham frowned. “Why would Faircliffe wish to interrupt a reading circle?”
“He doesn’t know he’s going to.” Chloe smirked. “The Yorks are surprisingly crafty.”
“Even a stiff, scowling duke like Faircliffe is a catch worth bragging about,” Tommy explained. “Mrs. York will want witnesses.”
“We don’t want witnesses,” Graham pointed out. “Wouldn’t it be safer to bump into Faircliffe on the street and ‘accidentally’ swap his rolled canvas for ours?”
“It would indeed,” Chloe agreed, “if Faircliffe happened to stroll through Grosvenor Square with a rolled-up canvas. But the painting is framed, and the duke will arrive in a carriage where the York butler will be watching.”
Graham lifted his tea. “There aren’t a lighter set of fingers in all of London, so I’ve no doubt you can nick the canvas. And we’ll ask Marjorie to create the forgery.”
All six Wynchester siblings were talented in their own ways. Marjorie was an extraordinary painter who could replicate any artwork to match the original.
Chloe smiled. “Marjorie finished ages ago. I just needed an opportunity to exchange canvases. And some way to smuggle it out without anyone noticing.”
She swapped Graham’s spoon with Tommy’s fork as she thought. Coins and keys were easy objects to palm, but a rolled-up canvas was much too big.
“Could you strap a tube to your leg?” Tommy asked.
“Perhaps if I walked very carefully…” Chloe mused, then shook her head. “I would have to lift up my skirts to strap on the tube, and being caught like that would be worse. What I need is—”
“Kittens.” Their rugged elder brother Jacob strolled into the Planning Parlor with a lopsided basket in his strong arms. “Most ladies love kittens almost as much as a good book. If you