“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.”
“Wedon’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 were showing off a new pet…”
Chloe tensed. Although hints of fur clung to Jacob’s ripped and patched waistcoat, she’d learned to be wary. The last time her brother had entered a room with a basket, he was trying his hand at snake charming. If she hadn’t been wearing her sturdiest boots… “Do you really have a kitten in there?”
“Ferrets,” he admitted, his dark brown eyes sparkling. “But I have the perfect solution out in the barn. Tiglet is the best of all the messenger kittens.”
“Messenger…kittens?” she echoed faintly.
“Like pigeons, but terrestrial,” Jacob explained earnestly. “More fur, less filth. The perfect cover. He can find his way home from anywhere. He’ll be a splendid distraction. Because where there’s chaos—”
“There’s opportunity,” Tommy finished, eyes gleaming.
Chloe held up a finger. “First rule of Three Impossible Things: No plan without a contingency.”
Graham brightened. “May I suggest—”
“Your acrobatic skills are awe inspiring, brother, but unnecessary in this instance.”
Graham’s shoulders caved. “When will it be my turn?”
“Whilst I don’t anticipate the need for trick riding on the back of a racing stallion,” Chloe assured him, “adriverwould not be amiss. Just in case I must flee in too much haste to flag down a hackney.”
“No hack required.” Graham straightened. “We can’t risk one of our carriages being recognized, so I’ll drive a substitute that cannot be traced to the family.”
Tommy cocked her head. “If there is a queue of carriages awaiting their literary-minded mistresses, how will Chloe know which coach is the right one?”
“Mine will have red curtains…and a conspicuously displayed glove for good measure.” Graham’s eyes lit up. “Better yet, I will not only be the first carriage you come to. I’ll be in the coachman’s perch. You shan’t miss me.”
“No plan without a contingency.” Jacob’s curly black hair dipped as he peeked into the basket of ferrets. “What if the Yorks’ staff insist you move the carriage?”
Tommy clapped her hands. “Elizabeth will distract them.”
When Elizabeth threw her voice, no one could tell where it was coming from. Their sister could emulate an entire crowd of distractions. She was also handy with a sword stick. Either skill would do the trick.
Graham turned to Chloe, his eyes serious. “If we get separated for any reason, go somewhere safe. I’ll find you.”
She grinned back at him, exhilarated by the upcoming adventure. Puck was finally coming home. “The reading circle will have a wonderful afternoon. Other than a wee interlude with Tiglet, the most memorable event will be Miss York charming the Duke of Haughtiness.”
Graham lifted a broadsheet. “Their alliance will be the talk of the scandal columns. No one will remember anything else. Which is too bad, because I rather enjoy their wild conjecture about us. One of my favorite columns claims: ‘Such a large, isolated house could contain dozens of them!’”
