De Beauharnais retrieved a shawl from the chair behind the escritoire and draped it solicitously around Harmonia’s shoulders.

“Perhaps we might continue this discussion elsewhere,” he said, giving Harmonia’s arm a pat. “Her ladyship’s private parlor should be reserved for the guests whom she chooses to receive.”

Oh, nicely done, and Stephen was happy to quit the fancy little parlor anyway. Champlain’s journals weren’t on the shelves behind the escritoire, nor did they grace the mantel or the bookshelves across from the fireplace.

“Let’s retire to Stapleton’s study, shall we?” Stephen said. “That is doubtless where Miss Abbott has been taken, and she needs to know that I am on hand to escort her from the premises.”

Or to kill Stapleton, Fleming, the butler, and anybody else who sought to do Abigail harm.

“He’s done what?” Quinn Wentworth spoke softly. In Ned’s experience, His Grace of Walden had never needed to shout, and particularly not with Ned. The emphasis had been all the more apparent for being rendered quietly.

“Stephen’s off to confront Stapleton directly,” Ned said, propping a hip on the library desk. “Miss Abbott wasn’t really given a choice about going with Fleming. She took Hercules with her, and I set a badger to following them. She’s at the Stapleton residence, ergo, Stephen took himself off to the same location.”

“We must trust Stephen,” Duncan said, from his reading chair before the fire. “Stapleton isn’t about to make off with a ducal heir or a ducal guest, and Stephen knows that.”

Quinn rounded on him. “Stapleton had a goddamned stagecoach held up in broad daylight trying to kidnap a woman who’d never done him a moment of harm. Stapleton violated the sanctity of Miss Abbott’s household. It’s not Stephen I’m worried about.”

Duncan nearly smiled. “There is that, and Miss Abbott is no doubt able to give a good account of herself.”

Quinn ran a hand through his hair. “I wish Jane were—”

Jane strode through the door. “Jane wishes you would recall that merely because a woman has been delivered of a child does not mean her mind or her hearing have become impaired. You are in a taking over Stephen and Miss Abbott?”

Quinn grasped his duchess’s hand and led her to the sofa. “I didn’t want to bother you. I’m not in a taking. Dukes do not…”

Jane crossed her arms and remained standing. “Quinton Wentworth, for shame.”

Ned and Duncan diplomatically found somewhere else to look.

“I would have fetched you down from the nursery,” Quinn said, “but I didn’t want to interrupt…” He waved a hand in the general direction of maternal delicacy.

“If you decline to interrupt every time I nurse our daughter, we will see a good deal less of each other than I prefer. Tell me what’s afoot.”

Duncan spoke as he got to his feet. “Might we wait for Matilda? I sent a footman to fetch her and she should be—ah, welcome, my love.” Not by a raised eyebrow or a smirk did Duncan indicate that some men had a proper respect for their wives’ counsel, but the message was conveyed by his husbandly peck to Matilda’s cheek.