“No shouting from the conference room,” Joshua said. “What do you suppose they’re up to?”

Quinn had left his door open precisely to monitor developments down the corridor. The conference room sat between his office and Joshua’s, but by design, the walls allowed little sound to carry.

“I expect Mrs. Hatfield is interrogating Elsmore more thoroughly than he was ever quizzed at Eton.”

“Harrow. The Dorsets are a Harrow family, and they’ve been known to send the occasional younger son to Cambridge.”

“How broad-minded of them.”

Quinn’s younger brother Stephen occasionally lectured at Cambridge, also at Oxford and various Continental institutions. He was in London at present, though he no longer stayed at the ducal town house when in the capital.

Joshua took a love seat situated beneath a window and helped himself to a biscuit from the tray on the low table.

“Eleanora is doubtless interrogating, but what is Elsmore doing?”

“Reciting,” Quinn said, giving up on the lease agreement he’d been reading. “Or confessing.”

“Why did he come to us?” Joshua said. “Why not have a word with the army of solicitors he employs, why not set a cousin or uncle to the task? A thorough examination of the books could be a simple exercise in prudence, a modern measure for modern times. We have an auditor on staff and have nearly since we opened our London doors.”

They didn’t have merely an auditor, they had Eleanora Hatfield, the most observant, logical, financially astute person Quinn had the pleasure to know.

“Family money is delicate,” he said. “Discretion must be assured, and solicitors can be put in situations where loyalties are divided.”

“When did you start speaking duke-ish?”

“In plain banker-ish, the source of Elsmore’s problems might lie quite close to home. He describes the situation as trivial—one tally a little short, another even less than that—but the problem is significant enough that he’s handling it both quietly and with the most competent resource he could bring to bear. Don’t mistake Elsmore’s charm for a lack of shrewdness.”

Joshua munched another biscuit into oblivion. He favored raspberry glazes and had been known to add butter even to those.

“How does Elsmore know of our Mrs. Hatfield? Eleanora fancies herself something of a secret weapon.”

“I might have mentioned her over steak and port.” To Elsmore, in whom Quinn placed as much confidence as he did in any peer.

A muted exchange of words sounded through the wall behind Quinn’s desk.

Joshua was on his feet in the next instant. “I’ll not have him intimidating her. If Elsmore thinks his rank entitles him to rude behavior with an employee of Wentworth and Penrose, he is sorely mistaken.”

Quinn remained seated. He was married, he had three daughters and two sisters. “Wait. Elsmore will not get the better of this exchange.”

Joshua paused, hand on the door latch. “How can you tell?”