“Because,” Tony said, “much as I hate to admit it, Oscar and Ralph are right. You must either break it off or marry the fellow. You aren’t the type of lady to engage in this kind of behavior.”

Oh, Lord. George’s chest felt suddenly tight, as if someone had crept up behind her and yanked her corset strings taut. She always felt this sensation at the thought of marriage. What could she say? “Well . . .”

“He kills sheep. Violet says so in her letter.” Ralph crossed his arms. “Georgina cannot marry a madman.”

No wonder Violet was hiding. She must’ve sent letters to all three of their brothers. George narrowed her eyes. Her sister was probably in the hills at this very moment, trying to figure out exactly how one went about drinking dew.

“You’ve been reading my mail again.” Oscar selected a tart from the tray, apparently having forgotten the bun, and shook it at Ralph. “That letter was to me. Yours said nothing about sheep.”

Ralph opened his mouth and closed it a few times, like a mule unsure of the bit between its teeth. “How would you know that if you hadn’t been reading my letters?”

Oscar smirked in a loathsome way. One day someone was going to hit him. “I’m older than you. It’s my duty to keep tabs on my impressionable young brother.”

Crash!

Everyone jerked around to the fireplace, where shards of glass lay on the hearth.

Tony leaned on the mantel and frowned sternly back. “I hope you didn’t care for that crystal vase, George?”

“Uh, no, not at—”

“Good,” Tony clipped. “Now, then. Edifying as this display of brotherly love is, I think we’ve wandered from the main point.” He held up a hand and ticked off his large-knuckled fingers. “One, do you think Harry Pye is a madman going about the countryside killing Granville’s sheep?”

“No.” That might be the only thing she was sure of.

“Fine. Ah. Ah.” Tony shook his head at Ralph, who’d begun to protest. “Do you both trust George’s judgment?”

“Of course,” Ralph said.

“Implicitly,” Oscar replied.

Tony nodded, then turned back to her. “Two, do you want to marry Harry Pye?”

“But, Tony, a land steward!” Oscar burst out. “You know he’s only in it for . . .” He stopped and looked flustered. “Sorry, Georgie.”

George tilted her chin away. She felt as if something fluttered in her throat, impeding the air.

Only Tony met the objection head-on. “Do you think he wants your money, George?”

“No.” Beastly, beastly brothers.

He raised his eyebrows and stared pointedly at Oscar.

Oscar threw up his arms and pushed his open palms at Tony. “Fine!” Oscar went to brood by the window, taking his plate of food with him.

“Do you want to marry him?” Tony persisted.