But he had more serious problems on his mind than whether Arabella had torn her flounce. His pursuit of the luscious Miss Twinning, or, rather, the difficulties which now lay in his path to her, were a matter for concern. The odd fact that he actually bothered to dance with his eldest ward had already been noted. As there were more than a few ladies among the ton who could give a fairly accurate description of his preferences in women, the fact that Miss Twinning’s endowments brought her very close to his ideal had doubtless not been missed. However, he cared very little for the opinions of others and foresaw no real problem in placating the ton after the deed was done. What was troubling him was the unexpected behaviour of the two principals in the affair, Miss Twinning and himself.
With respect to his prey, he had miscalculated on two counts. Firstly, he had imagined it would take a concerted effort to seduce a twenty-five-year-old woman who had lived until recently a very retired life. Instead, from the first, she had responded so freely that he had almost lost his head. He was too experienced not to know that it would take very little of his persuasion to convince her to overthrow the tenets of her class and come to him. It irritated him beyond measure that the knowledge, far from spurring him on to take immediate advantage of her vulnerability, had made him pause and consider, in a most disturbing way, just what he was about. His other mistake had been in thinking that, with his intensive knowledge of the ways of the ton, he would have no difficulty in using his position as her guardian to create opportunities to be alone with Caroline. Despite—or was it because of?—her susceptibility towards him, she seemed able to avoid his planned tete-a-tetes with ease and, with the exception of a few occasions associated with some concern over one or other of her sisters, had singularly failed to give him the opportunities he sought. And seducing a woman whose mind was filled with worry over one of her sisters was a task he had discovered to be beyond him.
He had, of course, revised his original concept of what role Caroline was to play in his life. However, he was fast coming to the conclusion that he would have to in some way settle her sisters’ affairs before either he or Caroline would have time to pursue their own destinies. But life, he was fast learning, was not all that simple. In the circumstances, the ton would expect Miss Twinning’s betrothal to be announced before that of her sisters. And he was well aware he had no intention of giving his permission for any gentleman to pay his addresses to Miss Twinning. As he had made no move to clarify for her the impression of his intentions he had originally given her, he did not delude himself that she might not accept some man like Willoughby, simply to remove herself from the temptation of her guardian. Yet if he told her she was not his ward, she would undoubtedly be even more vigilant with respect to himself and, in all probability, even more successful in eluding him.
There was, of course, a simple solution. But he had a perverse dislike of behaving as society dictated. Consequently, he had formed no immediate intention of informing Caroline of his change of plans. There was a challenge, he felt, in attempting to handle their relationship his way. Darcy had pushed too hard and too fast and, consequently, had fallen at the last fence. He, on the other hand, had no intention of rushing things. Timing was everything in such a delicate matter as seduction.
The congestion of male forms about his eldest ward brought a slight frown to his face. But the musicians obligingly placed bow to string, allowing him to extricate her from their midst and sweep her on to the floor.
He glanced down into her grey-green eyes and saw his own pleasure in dancing with her reflected there.
His arm tightened slightly and her attention focused. “I do hope your sisters are behaving themselves?”
Caroline returned his weary question with a smile. “Assuming your friends are doing likewise, I doubt there’ll be a problem.”
Max raised his brows. So she knew at least a little of what had happened. After negotiating a difficult turn to avoid old Major Brumidge and his similarly ancient partner, he jettisoned the idea of trying tolearn more of Sarah’s thoughts in favour of spiking a more specific gun. “Incidently, apropos of your sisters’ and your own fell intent, what do you wish me to say to the numerous beaux who seem poised to troop up the steps of Delmere House?”
He watched her consternation grow as she grappled with the sticky question. He saw no reason to tell her that, on his wards’ behalf, he had already turned down a number of offers, none of which could be considered remotely suitable. He doubted they were even aware of the interest of the gentlemen involved.
Caroline, meanwhile, was considering her options. If she was unwise enough to tell him to permit any acceptable gentlemen to address them, they could shortly be bored to distraction with the task of convincing said gentlemen that their feelings were not reciprocated. On the other hand, giving Max Rotherbridge a free hand to choose their husbands seemed equally unwise. She temporized. “Perhaps it would be best if we were to let you know if we anticipated receiving an offer from any particular gentleman that we would wish to seriously consider.”
Max would have applauded if his hands had not been so agreeably occupied. “A most sensible suggestion, my ward. Tell me, how long does it take to pin up a flounce?”
Caroline blinked at this startling question.
“The reason I ask,” said Max as they glided to a halt, “is that Arabella deserted the room some minutes before the music started and, as far as I can see, has yet to return.”
A frown appeared in Caroline’s fine eyes but, in deference to the eyes of others, she kept her face free of care and her voice light. “Can you see if Lord Denbigh is in the room?”
Max did not need to look. “Not since I entered it.” After a pause, he asked, “Is she seriously pursuingthat line? If so, I fear she’ll all too soon reach point non plus.”
Caroline followed his lead as he offered her his arm and calmly strolled towards the supper-room. A slight smile curled her lips as, in the increasing crowd, she leaned closer to him to answer. “With Arabella, it’s hard to tell. She seems so obvious, with her flirting. But that’s really all superficial. In reality, she’s rather reticent about such things.”
Max smiled in reply. Her words merely confirmed his own reading of Arabella. But his knowledge of the relationship between Caroline and her sisters prompted him to add, “Nevertheless, you’d be well-advised to sound her out on that score. Hugo Denbigh, when all is said and done, is every bit as dangerous as…” He paused to capture her eyes with his own before, smiling in a devilish way, he continued, “I am.”
Conscious of the eyes upon them, Caroline strove to maintain her composure. “How very…reassuring, to be sure,” she managed.
The smile on Max’s face broadened. They had reached the entrance of the supper-room and he paused in the doorway to scan the emptying ballroom. “If she hasn’t returned in ten minutes, we’ll have to go looking. But come, sweet ward, the lobster patties await.”
With a flourish, Max led her to a small table where they were joined, much to his delight, by Mr. Willoughby and a plain young lady, a Miss Spence. Mr. Willoughby’s transparent intention of engaging the delightful Miss Twinning in close converse, ignoring the undemanding Miss Spence and Miss Twinning’s guardian, proved to be rather more complicated than Mr. Willoughby, for one, had imagined. Under the subtle hand of His Grace of Twyford, Mr. Willoughby found himself the centre of a general discussion on philosophy. Caroline listened in ill-concealed delight as Max blocked every move poor Mr. Willoughby made to polarise the conversation. It became apparent that her guardian understood only too well Mr. Willoughby’s state and she found herself caught somewhere between embarrassment and relief. In the end, relief won the day.
Eventually, routed, Mr. Willoughby rose, ostensibly to return Miss Spence to her parent. Watching his retreat with laughing eyes, Caroline returned her gaze to her guardian, only to see him look pointedly at the door from the ballroom. She glanced across and saw Arabella enter, slightly flushed and with a too-bright smile on
her lips. She made straight for the table where Sarah was sitting with a number of others and, with her usual facility, merged with the group, laughing up at the young man who leapt to his feet to offer her his chair.
Caroline turned to Max, a slight frown in her eyes, to find his attention had returned to the door. She followed his gaze and saw Lord Denbigh enter.
To any casual observer, Hugh was merely coming late to the supper-room, his languid gaze and sleepy smile giving no hint of any more pressing emotion than to discover whether there were any lobster patties left. Max Rotherbridge, however, was a far from casual observer. As he saw the expression in his lordship’s heavy-lidded eyes as they flicked across the room to where Arabella sat, teasing her company unmercifully, His Grace of Twyford’s black brows rose in genuine astonishment. Oh, God! Another one?
———
Resigned to yet another evening spent with no progress in the matter of his eldest ward, Max calmly escorted her back to the ballroom and, releasing her to the attentions of her admirers, not without a particularly penetrating stare at two gentlemen of dubious standing who had had the temerity to attempt to join her circle, he prepared to quit the ballroom. He had hoped to have persuaded Miss Twinning to view the moonlight from the terrace. There was a useful bench he knew of, under a concealing willow, which would have come in handy. However, he had no illusions concerning his ability to make love to a woman who was on tenterhooks over the happiness of not one but two sisters. So he headed for the card-room.
On his way, he passed Arabella, holding court once again in something close to her usual style. His bluegaze searched her face. As if sensing his regard, she turned and saw him. For a moment, she looked lost. He smiled encouragingly. After a fractional pause, she flashed her brilliant smile back and, putting up her chin, turned back to her companions, laughing at some comment.
Max moved on. Clearly, Caroline did have another problem on her hands. He paused at the entrance to the card-room and, automatically, scanned the packed ballroom. Turning, he was about to cross the threshold when a disturbing thought struck him. He turned back to the ballroom.
“Make up your mind! Make up your mind! Oh, it’s you, Twyford. What are you doing at such an occasion? Hardly your style these days, what?”
Excusing himself to Colonel Weatherspoon, Max moved out of the doorway and checked the room again. Where was Lizzie? He had not seen her at supper, but then again he had not looked. He had mentally dubbed her the baby of the family but his rational mind informed him that she was far from too young. He was about to cross the room to where his aunt Augusta sat, resplendent in bronze bombazine, when a movement by the windows drew his eyes.
Lizzie entered from the terrace, a shy and entirely guileless smile on her lips. Her small hand rested with easy assurance on his brother’s arm. As he watched, she turned and smiled up at Martin, a look so full of trust that a newborn lamb could not have bettered it. And Martin, wolf that he was, returned the smile readily.
Abruptly, Max turned on his heel and strode into the card-room. He needed a drink.
CHAPTER EIGHT
Arabella swatted at the bumble-bee blundering noisily by her head. She was lying on her stomach on the stone surround of the pond in the courtyard of Twyford House, idly trailing her fingers in the cool green water. Her delicate mull muslin, petal-pink in hue, clung revealingly to her curvaceous form while a straw hat protected her delicate complexion from the afternoon sun. Most other young ladies in a similar pose would have looked childish. Arabella, with her strangely wistful air, contrived to look mysteriously enchanting.
Her sisters were similarly at their ease. Sarah was propped by the base of the sundial, her bergere hat shading her face as she threaded daisies into a chain. The dark green cambric gown she wore emphasized her arrestingly pale face, dominated by huge brown eyes, darkened now by the hint of misery. Lizzie sat beside the rockery, poking at a piece of embroidery with a noticeable lack of enthusiasm. Her sprigged mauve muslin proclaimed her youth yet its effect was ameliorated by her far from youthful figure.
Caroline watched her sisters from her perch in a cushioned hammock strung between two cherry trees. If her guardian could have seen her, he would undoubtedly have approved of the simple round gownof particularly fine amber muslin she had donned for the warm day. The fabric clung tantalizingly to her mature figure while the neckline revealed an expanse of soft ivory breasts.
The sisters had gradually drifted here, one by one, drawn by the warm spring afternoon and the heady scents rising from the rioting flowers which crammed the beds and overflowed on to the stone flags. The period between luncheon and the obligatory appearance in the Park was a quiet time they were coming increasingly to appreciate as the Season wore on. Whenever possible, they tended to spend it together, a last vestige, Caroline thought, of the days when they had only had each other for company.
Sarah sighed. She laid aside her hat and looped the completed daisy chain around her neck. Cramming her headgear back over her dark curls, she said, “Well, what are we going to do?”
Three pairs of eyes turned her way. When no answer was forthcoming, she continued, explaining her case with all reasonableness, “Well, we can’t go on as we are, can we? None of us is getting anywhere.”
Arabella turned on her side better to view her sisters. “But what can we do? In your case, Lord Darcy’s not even in London.”
“True,” returned the practical Sarah. “But it’s just occurred to me that he must have friends still in London. Ones who would write to him, I mean. Other than our guardian.”
Caroline grinned. “Whatever you do, my love, kindly explain all to me before you set the ton ablaze. I don’t think I could stomach our guardian demanding an explanation and not having one to give him.”
Sarah chuckled. “Has he been difficult?”
But Caroline would only smile, a secret smile of which both Sarah and Arabella took due note.
“He hasn’t said anything about me, has he?” came Lizzie’s slightly breathless voice. Under her sisters’ gaze, she blushed. “About me and Martin,” she mumbled, suddenly becoming engrossed in her petit point.
Arabella laughed. “Artful puss. As things stand, you’re the only one with all sails hoisted and a clear wind blowing. The rest of us are becalmed, for one reason or another.”
Caroline’s brow had furrowed. “Why do you ask? Has Max given you any reason to suppose he disapproves?”
“Well,” temporized Lizzie, “he doesn’t seem entirely… happy, about us seeing so much of each other.”
Her attachment to Martin Rotherbridge had progressed in leaps and bounds. Despite Max’s warning and his own innate sense of danger, Martin had not been able to resist the temptation posed by Lizzie Twinning. From that first undeniably innocent kiss he had, by subtle degrees, led her to the point where,… finding herself in his arms in the gazebo in Lady Malling’s garden, she had permitted him to kiss her again. Only this time, it had been Martin leading the way. Lizzie, all innocence, had been thoroughly enthralled by the experience and stunned by her own response to the delightful sensations it had engendered. Unbeknownst to her, Martin Rotherbridge had been stunned, too.
Belatedly, he had tried to dampen his own increasing desires, only to find, as his brother could have told him, that that was easier imagined than accomplished. Abstinence had only led to intemperance. In the end, he had capitulated and returned to spend every moment possible at Lizzie’s side, if not her feet.
Lizzie was right in her assessment that Max disapproved of their association but wrong in her idea of the cause. Only too well-acquainted with his brother’s character, their guardian entertained a grave concern that the frustrations involved in behaving with decorum in the face of Lizzie Twinning’s bounteous temptations would prove overwhelming long before Martin was brought to admit he was in love with the chit. His worst fears had seemed well on the way to being realized when he had, entirely unintentionally, surprised them on their way back to the ball
room. His sharp blue eyes had not missed the glow in Lizzie’s face. Consequently, the look he had directed at his brother, which. Lizzie had intercepted, had not been particularly encouraging. She had missed Martin’s carefree response.
Caroline, reasonably certain of Max’s thoughts on the matter, realized these might not be entirely clear to Lizzie. But how to explain Max’s doubts of his own brother to the still innocent Lizzie? Despite the fact that only a year separated her from Arabella, the disparity in their understandings, particularly with respect to the male of the species, was enormous. All three elder Twinnings had inherited both looks and dispositions from their father’s family, which in part explained his aversion to women. Thomas Twinning had witnessed firsthand the dance his sisters had led all the men of their acquaintance before finally settling in happily wedded bliss. The strain on his father and himself had been considerable. Consequently, the discovery that his daughters were entirely from the same mould had prompted him to immure mem in rural seclusion. Lizzie, however, had only inherited the Twinning looks, her gentle and often quite stubborn innocence deriving from the placid Eleanor. Viewing the troubled face of her youngest half-sister, Caroline decided the time had come to at least try to suggest to Lizzie’s mind that there was often more to life than the strictly obvious. Aside from anything else, this time, she had both Sarah and Arabella beside her to help explain.
“I rather think, my love,” commenced Caroline, “that it’s not that Max would disapprove of the connection. His concern is more for your good name.”
Lizzie’s puzzled frown gave no indication of lightening. “But why should my being with his brother endanger my good name?”
Sarah gave an unladylike snort of laughter. “Oh, Lizzie, love! You’re going to have to grow up, my dear. Our guardian’s concerned because he knows what his brother’s like and that, generally speaking, young ladies are not safe with him.”