“Gentlemen,” Belinda stated, “always think they know what they’re doing when it comes to ladies, and they never do. They think they’re in charge, but they’re blind. Any lady worth the title knows that gentlemen, once hooked, can be led by the nose if the lady is so minded. So if an attractive London lady gets her hooks into you, and decides like Lady Hardesty that having girls like us to puff-off isn’t a proposition she wants to take on, where will that leave us?”

“Living in the North Riding with Great-Aunt Agatha,” Annabel supplied.

“So it was obvious we had to take action,” Jane concluded. Her eyes narrowed on Gervase. “Drastic action-whatever was necessary.”

Before he could even think of a reply, Belinda went on, “And there’s no use citing your age as any indication of your wisdom in such matters. You’ve spent the last twelve years out of society-it’s not a case of your skills in this regard being rusty so much as you’ve never developed the relevant skills at all.”

“It’s not the same as if you’d spent those years in London,” Annabel informed him, “watching and learning about choosing a wife.”

“This is not a battlefield on which you have any experience,” Jane declared in her most serious voice. “In this theater, you’re vulnerable.”

She was obviously reciting arguments they’d discussed at length; just the thought was horrifying. Trying to assimilate their unexpected and peculiarly female point of view was making Gervase giddy.

He held up a hand. “Wait. Just stop. Let’s approach this logically.” He cast a glance at Sybil, only to surmise from her attentive expression that however much she might deplore her daughters’ actions, she didn’t, materially, disagree with their assessment. No help there. He drew breath, and stated, “You’re worried that, like Robert Hardesty, I’ll fall victim to some fashionable London lady who will take a dislike to you and convince me to send you to live with Great-Aunt Agatha.”