Jane scooted around, which did nothing to quiet Quinn’s doomed longings. “A composer doesn’t stop hearing orchestras in his head,” she said, “just because symphonies have gone out of fashion. Stephen is selling off his firearms businesses because Miss Abbott has Quaker leanings. She isn’t above carrying defensive weapons, but the taking of human life always violates a Commandment in her theology.”

Quinn waited for Jane to settle, which she eventually did, her legs over the arm of the chair, her bottom nestled against his…lap.

“You think Stephen is selling up to placate his future duchess?”

“Stephen doubtless thinks that’s what he’s doing.”

“Jane?”

She rested her head on Quinn’s shoulder and quieted against him. “I miss you, Your Grace.”

“We can last another three weeks, Jane. We’ve managed before.” Though they would be the longest three weeks in marital history.

“I feel like a heifer. I’m suited for nothing of late but grazing and production. I will never fit into my dresses again, and that child has the appetite of a dragoon.”

Oh, how I love you. “You are beautiful to me, Jane, and you always will be. That our baby is healthy and thriving is my second greatest joy after being your husband.” As a younger man, Quinn had been too shy and backward to give his wife the words she needed. Thank heavens Jane was, indeed, a patient woman.

“It’s not fair.” Jane sighed against Quinn’s neck. “With every child, you grow more handsome and distinguished. I become fat and irritable.”

Quinn kissed her cheek. “You talk this way when you’re tired. It’s very bad of Stephen to be courting his Abigail while you are recovering from childbed. Duncan is grumbling because Stephen hasn’t spared him even a single game of chess.”

“Stephen will have time for chess again soon. I do believe I am about to steal a nap.”

“Jane, what aren’t you telling me?”

She was silent for a moment. Quinn had learned to wait for her replies.

“Ned is fond of Miss Abbott.”

“We all are.” Quinn did not understand exactly what drew Stephen and Abigail to each other, but the lady was clearly a match for Stephen’s intellect and for his heart.

“She asked Ned to procure her a ticket on the Wednesday night Northern Flyer. Ned had sense enough to make it an inside ticket. She booked two seats all the way to York—one for Hercules, if you can imagine that—and asked Ned to tell no one.”

But Ned, like Quinn, was entirely the Duchess of Walden’s creature, and had thus apparently tempered his silence with a judicious slip of the tongue in Jane’s hearing.

“And Stephen has no idea,” Quinn muttered. Neddy’s slip of the tongue neatly placed upon Jane the burden of telling Stephen this news.