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He took the bouquet and gently placed it on the ground. Somewhere deep within, where that internal voice came from, he felt warmth.

The priest appeared again in the doorway as they approached.

“Ollie, before you come in, I thought I should mention you two”—Father Reilly nodded over to Evelyn—“were in the afternoon edition of the newspaper. Were you aware of that?”

Ollie stilled. “No.”

“Apparently, the gentleman to whom this young lady is betrothed is camped out at your house waiting for her. He is accompanied by her father, the priest who was supposed to officiate their wedding a few days ago, and the Commissioner of Police. There are dozens of officers, some from outside jurisdictions, doing a block by block search for the two of you.”

“That’s a lot more than I thought,” Evelyn said weakly.

“I think they’re desperate now. You’re quite good at running,” Father Reilly said with a grin.

Evelyn looked down. “I’m going home after this, Ollie. After we get the painting back.”

Ollie had known this was coming, but it didn’t lessen the negative feelings it dredged up.

He was oddly distraught their time together was ending, more than he would have expected to be.

Up until now, her departure had always been a vague, future problem.

Now that it was here, it felt like he was falling, flailing about to find any surface at all to grasp on to.

“I don’t want you to leave.” The words came out slowly as he admitted this to himself and her at the same time.

She lifted his gaze for a moment, her eyes searching his, but then she looked away again.

“Well…” The priest brightly clapped his hands in a jarring way. “How about we wrap up here, then?” He disappeared inside.

That was odd. How could the man be so cheery after what he had just told them?

Inside, the church was empty. But as Ollie’s eyes adjusted to the darkness, he found Father Reilly walking through the pews. At the front, a few people were seated.

Making his way that direction, Ollie studied the backs of their heads, wondering which of them was the Signature Swindler.

The four men looked up at Ollie when he and Evelyn stopped before them, and then he looked back and forth at each other. Ollie didn’t recognize any of them, but they seemed to be expecting him.

Ollie looked them over, trying to understand the situation. “Wait.” Ollie stilled as his eyes landed on the last man. He had bushy eyebrows and a round stomach. “Tommy Malone?”

Ollie had met Tommy Malone as an adult when Tommy had mugged Ollie and Dantes a few months ago. Tommy had also run around with their street gang back when they’d been children. Dantes and Tommy had been happy to run into each other again, but Tommy had still taken their belongings.

And now, he occasionally came into The Harp & Thistle with his wife.

“Ah, wee baby Oliver!” Tommy laughed, his shoulders shaking with the sound.

“Once again…” Ollie grit his teeth. Why did everyone compare him to a baby? “I’m bigger than you.”

Tommy laughed with glee again and nudged the wiry man beside him, who let out an audible oof. “What did I tell you, eh? Grew up to be a big fella!”

“Aye. Just like your big brothers,” the other man replied in an Irish accent so heavy, Ollie had trouble understanding him. His face had lines that didn’t make sense for age, which Ollie would place at about forty.

Briefly, Ollie thought perhaps this stranger was the thief, until he realized the man had a wooden leg.

“I’m nothing like Dantes and Victor,” Ollie retorted. “I don’t look like them, either.”

All four men, plus the priest, focused on him with narrowed eyes.

“You know,” the man with the wooden leg said, “you’re the spitting image of—”

“Shut up , Colm.” Tommy then said something in a language Ollie had only heard a few times.

At The Harp & Thistle, numerous different languages were spoken by their patrons.

The Germans, he could sometimes figure out what they were saying.

And there was similarity between Italian, Spanish, and French.

But this language was unlike anything else, and he always wondered what it was when he’d heard it.

Colm responded to Tommy in that language, and then others jumped in. Several of them began arguing and talking over each other, their volume becoming unbearable. Father Reilly, who was in on the conversation as well, made a motion with his hands that indicated he was telling them to calm down.

“What are they saying?” Ollie asked Peter Doyle, the only one who wasn’t involved in conversation.

The man shrugged. “Couldn’t tell you. Never learned Irish myself.”

Evelyn loudly cleared her throat like a schoolteacher did to settle down an entire classroom. A sound that apparently was universal because every single one of the men stilled and became silent.

“Thank you, gentlemen,” she said. “Now, we’re here because we were asked by someone to meet them here. Are any of you that man?”

No one responded.

“A painting is to be returned,” Evelyn continued while looking at each face. “Well?”

“Yes, about that.” Father Reilly stuck a hand in one of his black trouser pockets, revealing a piece of paper. “I was asked to give you this.”

Ollie let out a noise of annoyance and ripped it out of the man’s hand. “Of course that idiot isn’t going to make this easy,” he said to Evelyn. Someone chuckled at this but was told to hush.

Again, Hello was on the front in obnoxious, curly script.

I promised to return the painting to you, and I will.

As a wedding present.

Best wishes, and all that rubbish.

“What is he on about now?” Ollie was thoroughly confused.

“I don’t understand,” Evelyn studied the note. “He’s not going to give it back until I marry the earl?” She stomped her foot. “Oh, I could wring that man’s neck!”

“Maybe he was the one who turned you in,” Ollie replied.

“Double the wringing his neck!” she declared, punching a finger up into the air.

“Which of you cads wrote this? Which of you is that idiot thief?” Ollie demanded, looking around at the men.

“None of us,” Tommy responded. “He’s not here.”

“Then who in the blazes are you?”

Tommy slapped his hands to his knees before standing up and extending a hand to Ollie. “I’m Tommy Malone.”

“I know who you are.” Ollie rubbed the bridge of his nose. Tommy then turned to Evelyn and, before she could react, took her hand and shook it so hard, she stumbled. She frowned at him as she ripped her hand back.

“This is Colm O’Malley.” Tommy pointed down the line of men. “Daniel Nee, Martin Halloran, and Peter Doyle. We were all close with your brothers way back when.”

“But why are we all here? You, me?”

Tommy scratched the side of his head. “Seriously? He explained it in the note. You don’t get it?”

“Get what?” Evelyn snapped back.

“You two have to get married to get the painting back. It’s the only way. We’re your witnesses.” Tommy indicated to himself and the line of men.

“Aye,” the others added in unison.

Married.

To each other?

Rendered mute, Ollie could only react by his mouth falling open. This was the most preposterous thing Ollie had ever heard in his life. Why in the blazes would the thief want this? This was absurd!

Ollie tried to catch Evelyn’s eye to see her reaction. She was scarlet-faced furious and refused to look at him. “What did you just say?” She took a step toward Tommy with murder in her eyes.

“You’re here to get married,” Father Reilly said with that irritatingly bright voice. Evelyn’s head swung in his direction. “Ready?” the priest asked helpfully.

“No, I’m not ready!” Evelyn shouted back.

“This is madness! And an impossibility! There are only two ways we could marry. We could run off to Gretna Green.” She made a dramatic show of looking at her surroundings.

“Doesn’t look like we’re there. Or we get a license and I don’t recall ever apply for or picking one up, do you, Ollie?

Plus, that takes about two weeks for it to filed and that’s with no objections from anyone.

He couldn’t have waltzed in there yesterday after being struck by this brilliant idea and have a license ready today.

Nor could he have pretended to be us, even if he had enough money to beg the archbishop for help. ”

The men stared at her, silent for a long moment.

Father Reilly cleared his throat. “Well, I don’t know what to tell you, Miss Sparrow, but…” He then handed her a piece of paper. The paper had green ivy printed on it for decorative purposes.

But it was a marriage license. It had their names on it. And today’s date.

Her mouth fell open.

She shoved it back to the priest and, with a huff, stormed back down the aisle. Ollie expected her to start running. But then she paced back.

She wasn’t leaving.

“I have to agree with her.” Ollie finally found his voice. “You can’t make two random people marry.”

“Well, no,” Colm said. “But you aren’t two random people, if what we’ve been told is correct. And you’ve got to if you want your pretty picture back. He won’t budge on this, believe me. Stubbornest man alive.”

“Why does he want us to get married, of all things?” Ollie asked. He almost wished he were back at the pub getting torn apart by Victor, instead of being here.

Colm just shrugged. What a helpful lot.

“I don’t want to get married,” Evelyn said, though Ollie noted the strength in her voice had weakened. “And how is marrying Ollie supposed to help that? Hmm?” She crossed her arms and directed that question to all men present.

“Fair,” Daniel Nee said. “But if you’re already married, then you can’t marry someone else.” He raised his ginger eyebrows up high to indicate they all knew whom she was supposed to marry, and it wasn’t Ollie.

“Frankly, I think being married is grand.” Tommy shrugged, and the other men replied “Aye” in unison again. Except for Father Reilly, of course.