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His sisters stared at him like he was a specimen under glass. “See what?” he asked more than a little defensively.

“I think it’s the lines around his eyes,” said Effie.

Helen nodded. “And across his forehead. Those weren’t there before.”

He resisted the urge to touch his forehead. “What?”

“We’re wondering what’s gotten into you,” said Effie in her matter-of-fact manner. “We’d also like to know when we can expect our brother back.”

“Leave me alone.”

He flicked his newspaper out again. This time it was Helen who crushed it.

“What are you doing?” he nearly shouted.

“You’re being an ass,” said his youngest sister.

“Young ladies don’t use that language,” he said automatically, and cringed. He really was beginning to sound like his late mother.

“They do when it’s the only thing that’s guaranteed to get their brother’s attention,” said Helen. “Now tell us what’s wrong.”

“You might as well,” said Effie. “You know you won’t get a moment’s peace until you do.”

“Damned houseful of women,” he muttered.

“Two is hardly a ‘houseful,’ and stop changing the subject,” said Effie.

“Start speaking, Nicholas,” said Helen, her arms crossed over her chest in a vaguely menacing manner. “You know we’ll get it out of you anyway. It’ll be a lot easier to just talk to us.”

He looked from sister to sister. Despite his annoyance, he saw the real concern there. And the truth was, they were right. He’d returned home a different man—this one scorned and heartbroken—but he didn’t know how to tell them that. He’d always been their older brother, solid and steady. How could he admit that he’d lost his head and his heart over a woman who had turned away from him so easily? Who couldn’t even admit that she loved him?

It had never bothered him before, the idea of marriage. He’d need an heir, of course, but he wasn’t quite thirty—a man just entering the prime of his life. He’d always assumed he would acquire a wife—a woman from the county who would be content with a modest life as he tried to rebuild after the damage his father had done. It would happen, just later.

Except there was no later when it came to Jane. He wanted her now. He could see it all playing out in his head. In his fantasy, they’d meet again and she’d turn those beautiful blue eyes on him, losing her resolve against her own reservations the longer they stood together. He’d coax her, gently pushing to show her that everything she believed about her position and the gossip that their marriage would create was wrong.

Except it wasn’t. He knew she was right, because even with him barely holding the bank at bay, he was still a baron and she was still a governess. His sisters’ reputations would suffer if he were to marry her. There were more than two people at the center of this love story. He understood that Jane was making the reasonable decision for both of them, but that didn’t mean he had to agree with it.

He cleared his throat and folded his newspaper carefully before setting it on the side table next to him. “I met a young woman on my way to Lord Ashby’s estate.”

Both of his sisters lit up like fireworks on the queen’s birthday. “Thank goodness,” Effie said.

He frowned. “What does that mean?”

“Only that you’ll start to put down roots if you remain unmoving any longer,” said Helen.

“My roots are here. This is my home. Our home.”

“That doesn’t mean you need to rot away alone, Nicholas,” Effie scolded. “You could start living like a man with all of his youth and health intact and actually enjoy yourself a little.”

He recoiled at that. His sisters seemed to think he was just waiting for life to pass him by. “You make it sound as though I’m locked away in the country,” he said, his fists gripping the arms of his chair.

Helen stared him down. “Aren’t you though?”

He shot up out of his chair and shoved both of his hands through his hair. “And what am I supposed to do? I’ve been working my hardest to make sure that you both have a season and at least something of a dowry.”

“Because no one would want to marry us without one?” Effie asked, her hands on her hips.

“Because you don’t know what it’s like out there!” he shouted. He rarely lost his temper—and he’d certainly never done it in front of his sisters since his father and mother had died—but he was a fox cornered in its den. If only they knew what he’d done for them. If only they understood how painful it had been to let the woman he loved walk away without chasing after her and kissing her until she at least agreed to reconsider him. All of his pride and gentlemanly decorum could go to hell if it meant that he got a chance with Jane, and he’d given all of that up for his sisters, who didn’t even understand what he’d sacrificed.