“If you do,” Annabel prophesied, “you’ll be caught.”

“Some London harpy will get her claws into you, and we won’t be there to drive her off.”

That last came from Jane. Gervase looked into her eyes, hoping to see that she was joking, or to at least detect some comprehension that she was over extrapolating, some indication that she understood that he had no need of their protection, especially in such an arena. Instead, all he saw was that same dogged, unbending purpose. One glance at the other two confirmed that they, too, saw her words as a simple statement of fact.

He stared at them, feeling like he’d strayed into a reality he no longer recognized. He really couldn’t believe he was having this discussion. One part of his mind was convinced he must be dreaming. “But”-he seemed to have no alternative but to ask the obvious-“if I can’t go to London and find a bride there, where do you imagine I’ll find a suitable lady to be my countess?”

That earned him a three-pronged look that suggested he was being deliberately obtuse.

“You need to look around here, of course,” Belinda informed him.

“In the neighborhood and nearby towns,” Annabel clarified.

“So you can bring her home and show her the castle, and us,” Jane added. “Before you marry her.”

He suddenly understood-or rather, his brain finally accepted what his intellect had deduced. “You want to vet my choice?”

All three blinked at him; Sybil did, too.

“Well, of course!” Belinda said.

His expression set like stone. “No.”

That should have been the end of it. He should have said not one more word and stalked from the room. Should have realized from what had already passed that in the last ten years his sisters had grown even more like him-until he was no match for the three of them together.