Cover

Title Page

Dedication

To those for whom math is not a strength

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Acknowledgments

For this book to reach my readers, I rely on the good offices of many publishing professionals. My editor, Leah Hultenschmidt, continues to be a joy to work with (even when I’m doing my temperamental artist impersonation), and the whole crew at Grand Central Publishing keeps coming through for me, book after book. I am enjoying the living peedywaddles out of the Rogues to Riches series, in part because I have such a wonderful team to work with. That said, the real foundation upon which my joy rests is you, the reader. You allow me to turn storytelling into a calling, and to claim as a profession work that I absolutely love. Thanks for that. Endless, heartfelt thanks, and happy reading!

Chapter One

Chapter One

“Eleanora Hatfield is like the fellow who extracts a bad tooth,” Joshua Penrose said as he set a brisk pace down the walkway. “Your very survival means you allow him to inflict his special brand of agony, though you dread each encounter.”

“Not a flattering analogy to apply to any female, Penrose.” Wrexham, Duke of Elsmore, paused to examine a flower girl’s offerings at the corner. He and Penrose weren’t due at the bank for nearly a quarter of an hour, after all.

“How are you today, Miss Marybeth?”

She had the usual offerings—carnations for the lapel, tussy-mussies to take on a courting call, nose-gays of sweet pea and lavender, small sprays of muguet-des-bois.

“I’m in good health, Your Grace. And you?”

He chose a little arrangement of violets and mouget-de-bois. “I’m preparing to prostrate myself before that great institution known as Wentworth and Penrose. Very imposing financial organization. I must look my best. What shall we choose for Mr. Penrose?”

Penrose bore Marybeth’s inspection with an impatient twirl of his gold-handled walking stick. Marybeth considered him with an odd gravity for a mere girl, then passed over a bright red carnation arranged as a boutonniere.

“The gentleman would disdain to wear more than one simple flower. He hasn’t your ability to wear posies, Your Grace.”

“What a wise young lady you are.”

She smiled, which also made her a pretty young lady. Rex would ask his cook how soon they could hire a new scullery maid, for a London street corner wasn’t safe for the poor and lovely.

“Go on with ye, Your Grace. I’ve other custom to see to.”

That was the point. Rex enjoyed cutting a dash, but a duke’s choice of flower stall could mean the difference between the flower seller’s family eating meat that week or going without.