“You’re right. My motives where Stephen was concerned were desperate, and in some regards, they still are. We will speak with Miss Abbott, and Stephen will insist on being present when we do.”

“The duchesses will insist on being present. One wishes Althea and Constance were on hand as well. They know Miss Abbott better than we do.”

“Shall I send for them?”

“Let’s confer with Stephen first. If we bungle this, he will never ask for our help again. You do not want a blunder of such proportions on your conscience, and neither do I.”

Hyde Park was a magical oasis of clean air, open space, autumnal verdure, pretty lanes, and quiet. York, true to its medieval origins, had nothing quite like it, and Abigail was enthralled.

“In spring,” Lord Stephen said, “the vehicles jam the pathways, and all the young swells on horseback flirt their way from carriage to carriage.”

“Are you among those young swells?”

“I was, for a few years. I am no longer flattered by the overtures of women willing to hold their noses and marry me in hopes of wearing the Walden tiara. Every time Quinn and Jane have another baby girl, I feel the wolves stalking closer. Horse, stop pulling at the bit or we will have words.”

The horse slowed to a walk.

“Did somebody break your heart?” Abigail asked. “Somebody other than your darling Jenny?”

“Half of Mayfair, a quarter of Paris, and about one-third of Berlin. By the time I reached Rome, I was a sadder and wiser fellow. I took to keeping company with widows and married women because they could be trusted. Married women and a few flirtatious fellows. Are you horrified?”

“No.” More than one client had retained Abigail to secure and destroy evidence of such liaisons. “Is that why you haven’t married? You prefer men?” She would be disappointed in a purely theoretical sense if that was the case.

“This is not the sort of conversation I envisioned us having, Abigail.”

“Then tell me to mind my own business and bestir yourself to flirt with me. We are here to be seen, are we not? We could also discuss the list of my clients with London connections, but I doubt that will be a productive conversation.”

A swan glided along on the still water of the Serpentine, cutting a path through the leaves dotting the water near the shore. The time of year was pretty but melancholy, and Abigail was abruptly homesick for York. She was in Hyde Park, driving out with one of the most eligible bachelors in England, wearing a truly lovely dress for the first time in ages.

Using the time to discuss old cases was pointless and just plain wrong, though Lord Stephen’s worldly sexual adventures weren’t an ideal topic for such an outing either.