“Stephen,” His Grace said, “whose affairs are no concern of yours, is arranging the sale of any interest he holds in ventures related to making or repairing firearms of any stripe. I have been urging him to diversify for three years. You come along, and in little more than a fortnight, he’s set about dismantling an empire that could re-arm the French military.”

Oh, Stephen. “His lordship has a flair for drama, and he is a man of dispatch. He will make a fine duke, should that day ever come.”

“Be assured, Abigail, the day will come. I am determined on that score and even my duchess won’t talk me around again. Stephen, however, will make a terrible duke. He will embody all that is loathsome about the species. He will neglect his duties in the Lords, he will be obnoxious and arrogant. He will grow bitter as his leg pains him more later in life, though in fact, it’s his heart that has suffered the severest blow.”

Abigail sat up to glower at the duke. “You insult your brother, and I will not allow that even from you, Your Grace. Stephen is the most estimable of men and a credit to his family.”

Walden bumped her gently with his shoulder. “If you are scolding me so thoroughly, Abigail, then I think you should call me Quinn. Stephen has the potential to be a wonderful duke—he’s already a wonderful person—but that potential is so much smoke in the wind if you desert him now. Mayfair society is not that difficult to manage. Jane excels at it, and she’s a mere preacher’s daughter. Pluck up your courage and marry my brother.”

His Grace was finding new places in her heart to break, the wretch. “My courage is quite plucked up, thank you. I am neither charmed nor intimidated by Mayfair society, and Stephen hasn’t much use for it in any case. He humors Her Grace in that regard, though as a younger man he was apparently more sociable.”

“As a younger man, he was more difficult, if you can imagine such a thing. And speaking of my difficult brother, where is he and does he know you plan to leave London tonight?”

If anybody had told Abigail that she would be discussing her personal affairs with a duke, she would have concluded such a person was addled. She instead concluded that she herself was addled, because not only was she discussing her personal affairs with a duke, she was about to confide in that duke as well.

“I will bid Stephen farewell when he returns from his call on Lady Champlain.” The words hurt, and should anybody inquire, Abigail would inform them that doing the right thing was no deuced comfort at all, not even after a week of desperate, hopeless self-indulgence.

His Grace grew subtly alert. “Why would Stephen bother to call on such a vapid, shallow—”