“Very well,” he said.

All three girls straightened. They’d never, ever, seen him lose his temper, but knew him well enough to sense the change.

His tone cold, even and uninflected, he stated, “As you’re so convinced a suitable lady exists hereabouts, and that any such local lady will pose no real threat to you, I’ll make a bargain with you. I won’t return to London for the next three months, not until the Little Season commences. And I swear on all that’s holy that, from this moment on, I’ll marry the first suitable lady I meet-suitable on the basis of age, birth and station, temperament, compatibility and beauty. In return, you three will accept that lady without question.” He held their gazes, his own as hard as stone. “And you will not, again, indulge in any behavior designed to influence my decisions, or my life, in any way whatever.”

He paused, then said, “That’s the bargain. Do you accept it?”

They didn’t immediately answer.

All three studied him, then Belinda asked, “What if you don’t meet a suitable lady over the next three months?”

He smiled, a chilly gesture. “Then when the Little Season starts and I return to London, I’ll have to look there.”

They didn’t want to take the risk; the wariness in their eyes said so.

He pressed his advantage. “If you’re so sure that a suitable lady lies waiting in the neighborhood, then you should be prepared to let fate take her course and arrange for her to cross my path. You should be prepared to accept my bargain.”

The three looked at each other, wordlessly communing, then faced him once more. Belinda spoke. “If you promise on your honor to seriously look for, and then actively pursue, any suitable lady, then…” She hesitated, glanced one last time at the others, then looked back at him and nodded. “Yes-we accept your bargain.”

“Good.” He didn’t want to say more, much less hear any further words from them on his inability to choose his own wife. He glanced at Sybil, a silent observer throughout, and curtly nodded. “If you’ll excuse me?”