Darcy nodded. “Yes. I saw her.”
Max waited for more. His friend’s silence brought a considering look to his eyes.
“So, you see, it’s all perfectly all right. It’s Harriet Jenkins who has gone with Sir Ralph. I gather he proposed before they left and Miss Jenkins’s family approved the match, and as they are headed straight back to Gloucestershire, I don’t think there’s anything to worry about. Oh, and Mr. Minchbury proposed last night and the Crowbridges accepted him, so all’s ended well after all and everyone’s happy.”
“Except for the four of us, who’ve all aged years in one evening,” retorted Max acerbically.
She had the grace to blush. “I came as soon as I found out.”
Hugo interrupted. “But they’ve forgotten one thing. It’s all over town that Arabella eloped with Keighly.”
“Oh, no. I don’t think that can be right,” said Caroline, shaking her head. “Anyone who was at the unmasking at the Penbrights’ ball would know Arabella was there until the end.” Seeing the questioning looks, she explained. “The unmasking was held at one o’clock. And someone suggested there should be a…a competition to see who was the best disguised. People weren’t allowed to unmask until someone correctly guessed who they were. Well, no one guessed who Maria Pavlovska was, so Arabella was the toast of the ball.”
Max sat back in his chair and grinned tiredly. “So anyone putting about the tale of my ward’s elopement will only have the story rebound on them. I’m almost inclined to forgive your sisters their transgression for that one fact.”
Caroline looked hopeful, but he did not elaborate.
Max stood and the others followed suit. Hugo, still shaking his head in disbelief, took himself off, and Darcy left immediately after. Martin retired for a much needed rest and Caroline found herself alone with her guardian.
Max crossed to where she sat and drew her to her feet and into his arms. His lips found hers in a reassuring kiss. Then, he held her, her head on his shoulder, and laughed wearily. “Sweetheart, if I thought your sisters would be on my hands for much longer, I’d have Whitney around here this morning to instruct him to break that guardianship clause.”
“I’m sorry,” mumbled Caroline, her hands engrossed in smoothing the folds of his cravat. “I did come as soon as I found out.”
“I know you did,” acknowledged Max. “And I’m very thankful you did, what’s more! Can you imagine how Hugo and I would have looked if we had succeeded in overtaking Keighly’s carriage and demanded he return the lady to us? God!” He shuddered. “It doesn’t bear thinking about.” He hugged her, then released her. “Now you should go home and rest. And I’m going to get some sleep.”
“One moment,” she said, staying within his slackened hold, her eyes still on his cravat. “Remember I said I’d tell you whether there were any gentlemen who we’d like to consider seriously, should they apply to you for permission to address us?”
Max nodded. “Yes. I remember.” Surely she was not going to mention Willoughby? What had gone on last night, after he had left? He suddenly felt cold.
But she was speaking again. “Well, if Lord Darcy should happen to ask, then you know about that, don’t you?”
Max nodded. “Yes. Darcy would make Sarah a fine husband. One who would keep her sufficiently occupied so she wouldn’t have time for scheming.” He grinned at Caroline’s blush. “And you’re right. I’m expecting him to ask at any time. So that’s Sarah dealt with.”
“And I’d rather thought Lord Denbigh for Arabella, though I didn’t know then about Maria Pavlovska.”
“Oh, I wouldn’t deal Hugo short. Maria Pavlovska might be a bit hard to bear but I’m sure he’ll come about. And, as I’m sure Aunt Augusta has told you, he’s perfectly acceptable as long as he can be brought to pop the question.”
“And,” said Caroline, keeping her eyes down, “I’m not perfectly sure, but…”
“You think Martin might ask for Lizzie,” supplied Max, conscious of his own tiredness. It was sapping his will. All sorts of fantasies were surfacing in his brain and the devil of it was they were all perfectly achievable. But he had already made other plans, better plans. “I foresee no problems there. Martin’s got more money than is good for him. I’m sure Lizzie will keep him on his toes, hauling her out of the scrapes her innocence will doubtless land her in. And I’d much rather it was him than me.” He tried to look into Caroline’s face but she kept her eyes—were they greyish-green or greenish-grey? He had never decided—firmly fixed on his cravat.
“I’m thrilled that you approve of my cravat, sweetheart, but is there anything more? I’m dead on my feet,” he acknowledged with a rueful grin, praying that she did not have anything more to tell him.
Caroline’s eyes flew to his, an expression he could not read in their depths. “Oh, of course you are! No. There’s nothing more.”
Max caught the odd wistfulness in her tone and correctly divined its cause. His grin widened. As he walked her to the door, he said, “Once I’m myself again, and have recovered from your sisters’ exploits, I’ll call on you—say at three this afternoon? I’ll take you for a drive. There are some matters I wish to discuss with you.” He guided her through the library door and into the hall. In answer to her questioning look, he added. “About your ball.”
“Oh. I’d virtually forgotten about it,” Caroline said as Max took her cloak from Hillshaw and placed it about her shoulders. They had organized to hold a ball in the Twinnings’ honour at Twyford House the following week.
“We’ll discuss it at three this afternoon,” said Max as he kissed her hand and led her down the steps to her carriage.
CHAPTER TWELVE
Sarah wrinkled her nose at the piece of cold toast lying on her plate. Pushing it away, she leaned back in her chair and surveyed her elder sister. With her copper curls framing her expressive face, Caroline sat at the other end of the small table in the breakfast-room, a vision of palest cerulean blue. A clearly distracted vision. A slight frown had settled in the greeny eyes, banishing the lively twinkle normally lurking there. She sighed, apparently unconsciously, as she stared at her piece of toast, as cold and untouched as Sarah’s, as if concealed in its surface were the answers to all unfathomable questions. Sarah was aware of a guilty twinge. Had Max cut up stiff and Caroline not told them?
They had all risen early, being robust creatures and never having got into the habit of lying abed, and had gathered in the breakfast parlour to examine their success of the night before. That it had been a complete and unqualified success could not have been divined from their faces; all of them had looked drawn and peaked. While Sarah knew the cause of her own unhappiness, and had subsequently learned of her younger sisters’ reasons for despondency, she had been and still was at a loss to explain Caroline’s similar mood. She had been in high feather at the ball.
Then Max had left early, an unusual occurrence which had made Sarah wonder if they had had a falling-out. But her last sight of them together, when he had taken leave of Caroline in the ballroom, had not supported such a fancy. They had looked…well, intimate. Happily so. Thoroughly immersed in each other. Which, thought the knowledgeable Sarah, was not especially like either of them. She sent a sharp glance to the other end of the table.
Caroline’s bloom had gradually faded and she had been as silent as the rest of them during the drive home. This morning, on the stairs, she had shared their quiet mood. And then, unfortunately, they had had to make things much worse. They had always agreed that Caroline would have to be told immediately after the event. That had always been their way, ever since they were small children. No matter the outcome, Caroline could be relied on to predict unerringly the potential ramifications and to protect her sisters from any unexpected repercussions. This morning, as they had recounted to her their plan and its execution, she had paled. When they had come to a faltering halt, she had, uncharacteristically, told them in a quiet voice to wait as they were while she communicated their de
eds to their guardian forthwith. She had explained nothing. Rising from the table without so much as a sip of her coffee, she had immediately called for the carriage and departed for Delmere House.
She had returned an hour and a half later. They had not left the room; Caroline’s orders, spoken in that particular tone, were not to be dismissed lightly. In truth, each sunk in gloomy contemplation of her state, they had not noticed the passage of time. Caroline had re-entered the room, calmly resumed her seat and accepted the cup of coffee Arabella had hastily poured for her. She had fortified herself from this before explaining to them, in quite unequivocal terms, just how close they had come to creating a hellish tangle. It had never occurred to them that someone might see Harriet departing and, drawing the obvious conclusion, inform Max of the fact, especially in such a public manner. They had been aghast at the realization of how close to the edge of scandal they had come and were only too ready to behave as contritely as Caroline wished. However, all she had said was, “I don’t really think there’s much we should do. Thankfully, Arabella, your gadding about as Maria Pavlovska ensured that everyone knows you did not elope from the ball. I suppose we could go riding.” She had paused, then added, “But I really don’t feel like it this morning.”
They had not disputed this, merely shaken their heads to convey their agreement. After a moment of silence, Caroline had added, “I think Max would expect us to behave as if nothing had happened, other than there being some ridiculous tale about that Bella had eloped. You’ll have to admit, I suppose, that you swapped dominos with Harriet Jenkins, but that could have been done in all innocence. And remember to show due interest in the surprising tale that Harriet left the ball with Sir Ralph.” An unwelcome thought reared its head. “Will the Crowbridge girls have the sense to keep their mouths shut?”
They had hastened to assure her on this point. “Why, it was all for Amanda’s sake, after all,” Lizzie had pointed out.
Caroline had not been entirely convinced but had been distracted by Arabella. Surmising from Caroline’s use of her shortened name that the worst was over, she had asked, “Is Max very annoyed with us?”
Caroline had considered the question while they had all hung, unexpectedly nervous, on her answer. “I think he’s resigned, now that it’s all over and no real harm done, to turn a blind eye to your misdemeanours. However, if I were you, I would not be going out of my way to bring myself to his notice just at present”
Their relief had been quite real. Despite his reputation, their acquaintance with the Duke of Twyford had left his younger wards with the definite impression that he would not condone any breach of conduct and was perfectly capable of implementing sufficiently draconian measures in response to any transgression. In years past, they would have ignored the potential threat and relied on Caroline to make all right in the event of any trouble. But, given that the man in question was Max Rotherbridge, none was sure how successful Caroline would be in turning him up sweet. Reassured that their guardian was not intending to descend, in ire, upon them, Lizzie and Arabella, after hugging Caroline and avowing their deepest thanks for her endeavours on their behalf, had left the room. Sarah suspected they would both be found in some particular nook, puzzling out the uncomfortable feeling in their hearts.
Strangely enough, she no longer felt the need to emulate them. In the long watches of a sleepless night, she had finally faced the fact that she could not live without Darcy Hamilton. In the gazebo the previous evening, it had been on the tip of her tongue to beg to take her from the ball, to some isolated spot where they could pursue their lovemaking in greater privacy. She had had to fight her own nearly overwhelming desire to keep from speaking the words. If she had uttered them, he would have arranged it all in an instant, she knew; his desire for her was every bit as strong as her desire for him. Only her involvement in their scheme and the consternation her sudden disappearance would have caused had tipped the scales. Her desire for marriage, for a home and family, was still as strong as ever. But, if he refused to consider such an arrangement, she was now prepared to listen to whatever alternative suggestions he had to offer. There was Max’s opposition to be overcome, but presumably Darcy was aware of that. She felt sure he would seek her company soon enough and then she would make her acquiescence plain. That, at least, she thought with a small, introspective smile, would be very easy to do.
Caroline finally pushed the unhelpful piece of toast aside. She rose and shook her skirts in an unconsciously flustered gesture. In a flash of unaccustomed insight, Sarah wondered if her elder sister was in a similar state to the rest of them. After all, they were all Twinnings. Although their problems were superficially quite different, in reality, they were simply variations on the same theme. They were all in love with rakes, all of whom seemed highly resistant to matrimony. In her case, the rake had won. But surely Max wouldn’t win, too? For a moment, Sarah’s mind boggled at the thought of the two elder Twinnings falling by the wayside. Then, she gave herself a mental shake. No, of course not. He was their guardian, after all.
Which, Sarah thought, presumably meant Caroline would even the score. Caroline was undoubtedly the most capable of them all. So why, then, did she look so troubled?
Caroline was indeed racked by the most uncomfortable thoughts. Leaving Sarah to her contemplation of the breakfast table, she drifted without purpose into the drawing-room and thence to the small courtyard beyond. Ambling about, her delicate fingers examining some of the bountiful blooms, she eventually came to the hammock, slung under the cherry trees, protected from the morning sun by their leafy foliage. Climbing into it, she rested her aching head against the cushions with relief and prepared to allow the conflicting emotions inside her to do battle.
Lately, it seemed to her that there were two Caroline Twinnings. One knew the ropes, was thoroughly acquainted with society’s expectations and had no hesitation in laughing at the idea of a gentlewoman such as herself sharing a man’s bed outside the bounds of marriage. She had been acquainted with this Caroline Twinning for as long as she could remember. The other woman, for some mysterious reason, had only surfaced in recent times, since her exposure to the temptations of Max Rotherbridge. There was no denying the increasing control this second persona exerted over her. In truth, it had come to the point where she was seriously considering which Caroline Twinning she preferred.
She was no green girl and could hardly pretend she had not been perfectly aware of Max’s intentions when she had heard the lock fall on that bedroom door. Nor could she comfort herself that the situationhad been beyond her control—at least, not then. If she had made any real effort to bring the illicit encounter to a halt, as she most certainly should have done, Max would have instantly acquiesced. She could hardly claim he had forced her to remain. But it had been that other Caroline Twinning who had welcomed him into her arms and had proceeded to enjoy, all too wantonly, the delights to be found in his.
She had never succeeded in introducing marriage as an aspect of their relationship. She had always been aware that what Max intended was an illicit affair. What she had underestimated was her own interest in such a scandalous proceeding. But there was no denying the pleasure she had found in his arms, nor the disappointment she had felt when he had cut short their interlude. She knew she could rely on him to ensure that next time there would be no possible impediment to the completion of her education. And she would go to his arms with neither resistance nor regrets. Which, to the original Caroline Twinning, was a very lowering thought
Swinging gently in the hammock, the itinerant breeze wafting her curls, she tried to drum up all the old arguments against allowing herself to become involved in such an improper relationship. She had been over them all before; they held no power to sway her. Instead, the unbidden memory of Max’s mouth on her breast sent a thrill of warm desire through her veins. “Fool!” she said, without heat, to the cherry tree overhead.
———
Martin Rotherbridge kicked a stone out of his pa
th. He had been walking for nearly twenty minutes in an effort to rid himself of a lingering nervousness over the act he was about to perform. He would rather have raced a charge of Chasseurs than do what he must that day. But there was nothing else for it—the events of the morning had convinced him of that. That dreadful instant when he had thought, for one incredulous and heart-stopping moment, that Lizzie had gone away with Keighly was never to be repeated. And the only way of ensuring that was to marry the chit.
It had certainly not been his intention, and doubtless Max would laugh himself into hysterics, but there it was. Facts had to be faced. Despite his being at her side for much of the time, Lizzie had managed to embroil herself very thoroughly in a madcap plan which, even now, if it ever became known, would see her ostracized by those who mattered in the ton. She was a damned sight too innocent to see the outcome of her actions; either that, or too naive in her belief in her abilities to come about. She needed a husband to keep a firm hand on her reins, to steer her clear of the perils her beauty and innocence would unquestionably lead her into. And, as he desperately wanted the foolish woman, and had every intention of fulfilling the role anyway, he might as well officially be it.
He squared his shoulders. No sense in putting off the evil moment any longer. He might as well speakto Max.
He turned his steps toward Delmere House. Rounding a corner, some blocks from his destination, he saw the impressive form of Lord Denbigh striding along on the opposite side of the street, headed in the same direction. On impulse, Martin crossed the street.
“Hugo!”
Lord Denbigh halted in his purposeful stride and turned to see who had hailed him. Although a few years separated them, he and Martin Rotherbridge had many interests in common and had been acquainted even before the advent of the Twinnings. His lordship’s usual sleepy grin surfaced. “Hello, Martin. On your way home?”
Martin nodded and fell into step beside him. At sight of Hugo, his curiosity over Maria Pavlovska had returned. He experimented in his head with a number of suitable openings before settling for, “Dashed nuisances, the Twinning girls!”