“They are young ladies, Duncan, not starving wolves.” Quinn’s daughters would be among those young ladies all too soon. Elizabeth was already jabbering about putting her hair up and letting her hems down and she was still a little girl, for God’s sake.

“The heiresses and matchmakers are of the same ilk as those who sent you to the gallows, Your Grace. What do we know of Lord Stapleton?”

That was Duncan, always focused, always thinking, and protective as hell where Stephen was concerned. “Should our duchesses join this conversation?”

“They are closeted in the sewing room. Miss Abbott’s wardrobe needs attention if she’s to be courted by a ducal heir.”

That bothered Quinn—the courtship that wasn’t supposed to be a courtship. “Stapleton and I butt heads in the Lords,” he said. “Jane is adamantly opposed to children doing factory labor, especially in the heavy industries. Stapleton maintains that a poor child should become inured to hard work early in life, the better to accept God’s will and make a contribution to the improvement of the realm. Children who don’t work are parasites in his estimation.”

The music box played a rendition of Mozart’s Sonata in C, a confectionary piece Elizabeth banged away at by the hour. Quinn had grown to detest it, though he’d never admit that to his daughter.

Duncan closed the lid of the music box and the contraption went blessedly silent. “Stapleton had only the one son if I recall?”

“Champlain, who went to his reward shortly after his own son was born. Stephen knew Lord Champlain and was among Lady Champlain’s many admirers for a time.”

“Stephen finds married women likeable.” Duncan set the music box in the middle of the reading table. “They are not interested in his prospects, according to him. He said Lady Champlain’s chess was so bad as to be interesting. I think he felt sorry for her because Champlain was such a bounder.”

Stephen seldom operated out of pity, at least not when he could be caught at it. “Could that be why Stapleton is in such a lather? His son misbehaved and left written evidence that Miss Abbott now possesses?”

“Few people care if titled sons misbehave,” Duncan said. “Stephen and I first encountered Champlain in Paris, where he was quite the bon vivant. According to Champlain, his papa sent him to the Continent precisely to indulge his frivolous inclinations. He and Stephen had a few adventures, about which I did not inquire.”

“Bordellos?”

“The French are more tolerant of certain predilections than we English.”

Duncan was former clergy, and the habit of primness died hard. “You think he and Stephen were lovers?”

“I did not inquire and neither will you, unless Miss Abbott, of all the ironies, has evidence of Stephen’s indiscretion and has earned Stapleton’s wrath as a result.”

Blast and bedamned. No wonder Duncan hadn’t suggested the ladies join them. “You and Stephen traveled on the Continent years ago. Why is Stapleton taking up the matter now? Maybe Stapleton committed the indiscretion or one of his mistresses did.” The old boy hadn’t remarried, which was odd, when the succession rested on the shoulders of one young child.