A thunder of small feet on the floor above suggested the nursery contingent was about to interrupt the proceedings. “Shall we leave our guests in peace, Your Grace?”

“If he breaks her heart, Quinn, I will ruin him.”

So fierce. “Of course. And if she breaks his?”

“We will intervene. A moping duke, above all things, is not to be contemplated. Come along. I know you like to show off your ladies in the park, and we like to show you off as well.”

Quiet voices murmured behind the library door.

Quinn offered Jane his arm as the two oldest girls slid down the bannister and the third churned down the steps pulling her nurse by the hand. God willing, Elsmore would soon know the joy of being taken captive by his womenfolk, or at least by one woman in particular.

*  *  *

“Grandpapa claimed his son was the greater artistic talent,” Eleanora said, “but he had no money to give Papa a proper education.”

Rex was indulging in the pleasure of holding Eleanora in his lap, stroking her hair, and rubbing her back. She was still sniffly, still taking the occasional shuddery breath, but a long overdue storm was moving out to sea.

“So your papa received an improper education?”

Eleanora folded Rex’s handkerchief, which had become hopelessly wrinkled in her clutches. “We were in Birmingham at the time. Every metal trade in the realm is pursued there, and Grandpapa thought engraving would provide Papa a steady, honest living. Then some war or other ended, the gunsmiths and artificers took up engraving, and the newest employees were let go. My aunt did what she could to survive, and Papa…”

“He did what he could, in hopes of retrieving his sister from a dubious profession.” What a damned muddle. What an unfair, sad, stupid muddle.

“There’s no retrieving a woman or a family from ruin.”

Rex kissed Eleanora’s temple. The sofa was commodious, but he propped a pillow at Eleanora’s back in hopes of making her more comfortable still.

“A family cannot be retrieved from ruin easily, I agree, but it can be done.”

Eleanora glared at him, her lashes still spikey with tears. “This is England, and not even a duke can erase an executed felon from the family escutcheon.”

“Did you know that the Eighth Earl of Argyll was executed for treason, his lands and titles forfeited? Two years later all was restored to his son, who became the ninth earl. Matters went along smoothly until the ninth earl had the bad judgment to participate in the Monmouth Rebellion, so alas, he was done away with as well.”

“My papa was not an earl.”