Abigail glowered at him again. “Do not judge her ladyship. She protected her child. I am trying hard to respect her for that, and I predict Stephen will be making the same effort very shortly.”

The duke gazed over the garden, to outward appearances a man at peace. “I want to hear the rest of this tale, Abigail, but anything you tell me will be shared with Jane.”

“Stephen has warned me that you and Her Grace are in each other’s confidence.” Why must the day be so pretty, and why must Stephen be such a decent, dear man? “I expect Stephen will acquaint you both with the situation soon enough, but it has already become apparent to me that the child in Lady Champlain’s nursery is Stephen’s son, and that her ladyship went to extraordinary lengths to hide the boy’s paternity from his natural father.”

Abigail rose, unable to sit calmly while she recited the terms by which her heart would finish breaking. A rustling in the bushes suggested Hercules would soon return to the terrace.

“Above all things,” she said, “Stephen is haunted by the possibility that he will live down to Jack Wentworth’s standards, as a human being and most especially as a father. Jack was a vile, bullying, selfish reptile. I suspect Stephen is selling off his munitions factories because he grasps the difference between a defensive war and one waged purely out of greed. Jack Wentworth would approve of the latter, while even I can grasp the need for the former.”

The duke was watching her closely, and not with any particular expression of dismay. “Stephen has a son?”

“A beautiful, healthy, smart, and charming little boy. As it happens, the child’s mother is widowed and of suitable rank to marry a ducal heir.”

For the privilege of raising the son who should never have been hidden from him, Stephen would make that union cordial and successful.

“A son.” His Grace rose easily. “You’re sure?”

“I saw the boy with my own eyes, Lady Champlain confirmed his patrimony. Surely you can see—”

The duke approached and did not stop a cordial distance away. He instead wrapped Abigail in a gentle hug.

“Dukes lead the way into battle, Abigail. Stephen will be a duke one day.”

Quinn Wentworth’s embrace was different from Stephen’s. Abigail did not have to think of anybody’s balance or where a cane could rest without being knocked over. There was no escaping Quinn’s hug, and for the space of several breaths, Abigail let him simply hold her.

“Stephen will be a very f-fine duke, but I cannot be—”