He continued putting shorter books to his left, taller to his right. “Now she’ll have to actually peruse her collection of tales for a change but without having to endure the sight of disorder. What tale are you about to tell me?”

“Your promise first.” Constance could withstand a raised voice from anybody except her brothers.

“I will not shout,” Quinn said, jamming Robinson Crusoe next to Pilgrim’s Progress. “I will not pace about as the hyenas in the royal menagerie do when feeding time approaches. I will not clench my jaw like a man striving to spare his dear sister bad language. Satisfied?”

“Thank you.” Constance stood behind a stout rocking chair, though putting furniture between her and her brother betrayed how nervous she was. Damn Jack Wentworth for that.

“I have reason to believe Rothhaven will approach you about offering me his addresses.”

Quinn left off dis-arranging the storybooks. “I beg your pardon.” Quinn alone of Jack Wentworth’s children had never begged anyone for anything. He wasn’t begging now.

Constance met his glower, having endured the same fusillade many times before. “I am well past marriageable age, His Grace is of an appropriate station, and his suit will be agreeable to me.”

“Rothhaven is half mad, Constance. Bad enough that our sister is marrying into such a family.”

She shoved the chair aside. “You snob. You perishing hypocrite. Don’t make me ashamed of you.”

If she’d slapped him, Quinn could not look more surprised. “I seek to protect you from an unfortunate union, and you insult me for it?”

She wanted to do much more than insult him, but the moment called for reason. “You and Jane are tolerated because of your titles. Doors must open to you, but everywhere you see judgment, veiled censure, and hostility—from people who don’t know you at all.

“Those people know the gossip about your upbringing,” Constance went on. “They nearly killed you with their determination to cling to petty prejudices where you’re concerned. They have never exchanged a word with you. They nonetheless think you unfit to break bread with them because once upon a time—to survive—you did honest work with your bare hands.”

She’d crossed the room to face Quinn directly, lest he evade her by moving away.

“Go on.”

“All of society judged you unfairly, Quinn, even as they trusted you with their fortunes and called upon you for loans. No matter how brilliantly you manage their wealth, they will nonetheless judge your children and your grandchildren. For yourself, you don’t care, but what about for your daughters? And now you judge Rothhaven, having barely any acquaintance with him. You deem him half mad, putting more credence in gossip and ignorance than in the evidence of your own perceptions.”