Four In Hand

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 gown

of 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 ballroom. 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."

The effect of this forthright speech on Lizzie was galvanizing. Her eyes blazed in defence of her absent love. "Martin's not like that at all!"

"Oh, sweetheart, you're going to have to open your eyes!" Arabella bought into the discussion, sitting up the better to do so. "He's not only 'like that,' Martin Rotherbridge has made a career specializing in being 'like that.' He's a rake. The same as Hugo and Darcy Hamilton, too. And, of course, the greatest rake of them all is our dear guardian, who has his eye firmly set on Caro here. Rakes and Twinnings go together, I'm afraid. We attract them and they-" she put her head on one side, considering her words "-well, they attract us. It's no earthly good disputing the evidence."

Seeing the perturbation in Lizzie's face, Caroline sought to reassure her. "That doesn't mean that the

end result is not just the same as if they were more conservative. It's just that, well, it very likely takes longer for such men to accept the…the desirability of marriage." Her eyes flicked to Sarah who, head

bent and eyes intent on her fingers, was plaiting more daisies. "Time will, I suspect, eventually bring

them around. The danger is in the waiting."

Lizzie was following her sister's discourse with difficulty. "But Martin's never…well, you know, tried

to make love to me."

"Do you mean to say he's never kissed you?" asked Arabella in clear disbelief.

Lizzie blushed. "Yes. But I kissed him first."

"Lizzie!" The startled exclamation was drawn from all three sisters who promptly thereafter fell about laughing. Arabella was the last to recover. "Oh, my dear, you're more a Twinning than we'd thought!"

"Well, it was nice, I thought," said Lizzie, fast losing her reticence in the face of her sisters' teasing. "Anyway, what am I supposed to do? Avoid him? That wouldn't be much fun. And I don't think I

could stop him kissing me, somehow. I rather like being kissed."

"It's not the kissing itself that's the problem," stated Sarah. "It's what comes next. And that's even

more difficult to stop."

"Very true," confirmed Arabella, studying her slippered toes. "But if you want lessons in how to hold

a rake at arm's length you shouldn't look to me. Nor to Sarah either. It's only Caro who's managed to hold her own so far." Arabella's eyes started to dance as they rested on her eldest sister's calm face.

"But, I suspect, that's only because our dear guardian is playing a deep game."

Caroline blushed slightly, then reluctantly smiled. "Unfortunately, I'm forced to agree with you."

A silence fell as all four sisters pondered their rakes. Eventually, Caroline spoke. "Sarah, what are

you planning?''

Sarah wriggled her shoulders against the sundial's pedestal. "Well, it occurred to me that perhaps I

should make some effort to bring things to a head. But if I did the obvious, and started wildly flirting

with a whole bevy of gentlemen, then most likely I'd only land myself in the suds. For a start, Darcy would very likely not believe it and I'd probably end with a very odd reputation. I'm not good at it,

like Bella."

Arabella put her head on one side, the better to observe her sister. "I could give you lessons,"

she offered.

"No," said Caroline. "Sarah's right. It wouldn't wash." She turned to Lizzie to say, "Another problem,

my love, is that rakes know all the tricks, so bamming them is very much harder."

"Too true," echoed Arabella. She turned again to Sarah. "But if not that, what, then?"

A wry smile touched Sarah's lips. "I rather thought the pose of the maiden forlorn might better suit me. Nothing too obvious, just a subtle withdrawing. I'd still go to all the parties and balls, but I'd just

become quieter and ever so gradually, let my…what's the word, Caro? My despair? My broken heart? Well, whatever it is, show through."

Her sisters considered her plan and found nothing to criticise. Caroline summed up their verdict

"In truth, my dear, there's precious little else you could do."

Sarah's eyes turned to Arabella. "But what are you going to do about Lord Denbigh?"

Arabella's attention had returned to her toes. She wrinkled her pert nose. "I really don't know. I can't make him jealous; as Caro said, he knows all those tricks. And the forlorn act would not do for me."

Arabella had tried every means possible to tie down the elusive Hugo but that large gentleman seemed

to view her attempts with sleepy humour, only bestirring himself to take advantage of any tactical error she made. At such times, as Arabella had found to her confusion and consternation, he could move with ruthless efficiency. She was now very careful not to leave any opening he could exploit to be private

with her.

''Why not try…?" Caroline broke off, suddenly assailed by a twinge of guilt at encouraging her sisters

in their scheming. But, under the enquiring gaze of Sarah and Arabella, not to mention Lizzie, drinking

it all in, she mentally shrugged and continued. "As you cannot convince him of your real interest in any other gentleman, you'd be best not to try, I agree. But you could let him understand that, as he refused

to offer marriage, and you, as a virtuous young lady, are prevented from accepting any other sort of

offer, then, with the utmost reluctance and the deepest regret, you have been forced to turn aside and consider accepting the attentions of some other gentleman."

Arabella stared at her sister. Then, her eyes started to dance. "Oh, Carol" she breathed. "What a

perfectly marvellous plan!"

"Shouldn't be too hard for you to manage," said Sarah. "Who are the best of your court for the

purpose? You don't want to raise any overly high expectations on their parts but you've loads of experience in playing that game."

Arabella was already deep in thought. "Sir Humphrey Bullard, I think. And Mr. Stone. They're both

sober enough and in no danger of falling in love with me. They're quite coldly calculating in their approach to matrimony; I doubt they have hearts to lose. They both want an attractive wife, preferably with money, who would not expect too much attention from them. To their minds, I'm close to perfect but to scramble for my favours would be beneath them. They should be perfect for my charade."

Caroline nodded. "They sound just the thing."

"Good! I'll start tonight," said Arabella, decision burning in her huge eyes.

"But what about you, Caro?" asked Sarah with a grin. "We've discussed how the rest of us should go

on, but you've yet to tell us how you plan to bring our dear guardian to his knees."

Caroline smiled, the same gently wistful smile that frequently played upon her lips these days. "If I

knew that, my dears, I'd certainly tell you." The last weeks had seen a continuation of the unsatisfactory relationship between His Grace of Twyford and his eldest ward. Wary of his ability to take possession of her senses should she give him the opportunity, Caroline had consistently avoided his invitations to dally alone with him. Indeed, too often in recent times her mind had been engaged in keeping a watchful eye over her sisters, something their perceptive guardian seemed to understand. She could not fault him for his support and was truly grateful for the understated manner in which he frequently set aside his own inclinations to assist her in her concern for her siblings. In fact, it had occurred to her that, far from

being a lazy guardian, His Grace of Twyford was very much aufait with the activities of each of his wards. Lately, it had seemed to her that her sisters' problems were deflecting a considerable amount of

his energies from his pursuit of herself. So, with a twinkle in her eyes, she said, "If truth be told, the

best plan I can think of to further my own ends is to assist you all in achieving your goals as soon as

may be. Once free of you three, perhaps our dear guardian will be able to concentrate on me."

It was Lizzie who initiated the Twinning sisters' friendship with the two Crowbridge girls, also being presented that year. The Misses Crowbridge, Alice and Amanda, were very pretty young ladies in the manner which had been all the rage until the Twinnings came to town. They were pale and fair, as ethereal as the Twinnings were earthy, as fragile as the Twinnings were robust, and, unfortunately

for them, as penniless as the Twinnings were rich. Consequently, the push to find well-heeled

husbands for the Misses Crowbridge had not prospered.

Strolling down yet another ballroom, Lady Mott's as it happened, on the arm of Martin, of course,

Lizzie had caught the sharp words uttered by a large woman of horsey mien to a young lady, presumably her daughter, sitting passively at her side. "Why can't you two be like that? Those girls simply walk off with any man they fancy. All it needs is a bit of push. But you and Alice…" The rest of the tirade had been swallowed up by the hubbub around them. But the words returned to Lizzie later, when, retiring to the withdrawing-room to mend her hem which Martin very carelessly had stood upon, she found the room empty except for the same young lady, huddled in a pathetic bundle, trying to stifle her sobs.

As a kind heart went hand in hand with Lizzie's innocence, it was not long before she had befriended Amanda Crowbridge and learned of the difficulty facing both Amanda and Alice. Lacking the Twinning sisters' confidence and abilities, the two girls, thrown without any preparation into the heady world of

the ton, found it impossible to converse with the elegant gentlemen, becoming tongue-tied and shy,

quite unable to attach the desired suitors. To Lizzie, the solution was obvious.

Both Arabella and Sarah, despite having other fish to fry, were perfectly willing to act as tutors to the Crowbridge girls. Initially, they agreed to this more as a favour to Lizzie than from any more magnanimous motive, but as the week progressed they became quite absorbed with their protegees.

For the Crowbridge girls, being taken under the collective wing of the three younger Twinnings brought

a cataclysmic change to their social standing. Instead of being left to decorate the wall, they now spent their time firmly embedded amid groups of chattering young people. Drawn ruthlessly into conversations by the artful Arabella or Sarah at her most prosaic, they discovered that talking to the swells of the ton was not, after all, so very different from conversing with the far less daunting lads at home. Under the steady encouragement provided by the Twinnings, the Crowbridge sisters slowly unfurled their petals.

Caroline and His Grace of Twyford watched the growing friendship from a distance and were pleased

to approve, though for very different reasons. Having ascertained that the Crowbridges were perfectly acceptable acquaintances, although their mother, for all her breeding, was, as Lady Benborough

succinctly put it, rather too pushy, Caroline was merely pleased that her sisters had found some less

than scandalous distraction from their romantic difficulties. Max, on the other hand, was quick to

realize that with the three younger girls busily engaged in this latest exploit, which kept them safely in

the ballrooms and salons, he stood a much better chance of successfully spending some time, in less populated surroundings, with his eldest ward.

In fact, as the days flew past, his success in his chosen endeavour became so marked that Caroline

was forced openly to refuse any attempt to detach her from her circle. She had learned that their relationship had become the subject of rampant speculation and was now seriously concerned at the possible repercussions, for herself, for her sisters and for him. Max, reading her mind with consummate ease, paid her protestations not the slightest heed. Finding herself once more in His Grace's arms and,

as usual, utterly helpless, Caroline was moved to remonstrate. "What on earth do you expect to accomplish by all this? I'm your ward, for heaven's sake!"

A deep chuckle answered her. Engaged in tracing her left brow, first with one long finger, then with his lips, Max had replied, "Consider your time spent with me as an educational experience, sweet Caro. As Aunt Augusta was so eager to point out," he continued, transferring his attention to her other brow,

"who better than your guardian to demonstrate the manifold dangers to be met with among the ton?"

She was prevented from telling him what she thought of his reasoning, in fact, was prevented from thinking at all, when his lips moved to claim hers and she was swept away on a tide of sensation she

was coming to appreciate all too well. Emerging, much later, pleasantly witless, she found herself the object of His Grace's heavy-lidded blue gaze. "Tell me, my dear, if you were not my ward, would you consent to be private with me?"

Mentally adrift, Caroline blinked in an effort to focus her mind. For the life of her she could not understand his question, although the answer seemed clear enough. "Of course not!" she lied, trying unsuccessfully to ease herself from his shockingly close embrace.

A slow smile spread across Max's face. As the steel bands around her tightened, Caroline was sure he

was laughing at her.

Another deep chuckle, sending shivers up and down her spine, confirmed her suspicion. Max bent his head until his lips brushed hers. Then, he drew back slightly and blue eyes locked with grey. "In that

case, sweet ward, you have some lessons yet to learn."

Bewildered, Caroline would have asked for enlightenment but, reading her intent in her eyes, Max avoided her question by the simple expedient of kissing her again. Irritated by his cat-and-mouse tactics, Caroline tried to withdraw from participation in this strange game whose rules were incomprehensible

to her. But she quickly learned that His Grace of Twyford had no intention of letting her backslide. Driven, in the end, to surrender to the greater force, Caroline relaxed, melting into his arms, yielding body, mind and soul to his experienced conquest.

It was at Lady Richardson's ball that Sir Ralph Keighly first appeared as a cloud on the Twinnings's horizon. Or, more correctly, on the Misses Crowbridge's horizon, although by that stage, it was much

the same thing. Sir Ralph, with a tidy estate in Gloucestershire, was in London to look for a wife. His taste, it appeared, ran to sweet young things of the type personified by the Crowbridge sisters, Amanda Crowbridge in particular. Unfortunately for him, Sir Ralph was possessed of an overwhelming

self-conceit combined with an unprepossessing appearance. He was thus vetoed on sight as beneath consideration by the Misses Crowbridge and their mentors.

However, Sir Ralph was rather more wily than he appeared. Finding his attentions to Amanda

Crowbridge compromised by the competing attractions of the large number of more personable young men who formed the combined Twinning-Crowbridge court, he retired from the lists and devoted his energies to cultivating Mr. and Mrs. Crowbridge. In this, he achieved such notable success that he was invited to attend Lady Richardson's ball with the Crowbridges. Despite the tearful protestations of both Amanda and Alice at his inclusion in their party, when they crossed the threshold of Lady Richardson's ballroom, Amanda, looking distinctly seedy, had her hand on Sir Ralph's arm.

At her parents' stern instruction, she was forced to endure two waltzes with Sir Ralph. As Arabella

acidly observed, if it had been at all permissible, doubtless Amanda would have been forced to remain

at his side for the entire ball. As it was, she dared not join her friends for supper but, drooping with dejection, joined Sir Ralph and her parents.

To the three Twinnings, the success of Sir Ralph was like waving a red rag to a bull. Without exception, they took it as interference in their, up until then, successful development of their protegees. Even Lizzie was, metaphorically speaking, hopping mad. But the amenities offered by a ball were hardy conducive

to a council of war, so, with admirable restraint, the three younger Twinnings devoted themselves assiduously to their own pursuits and left the problem of Sir Ralph until they had leisure to deal with it appropriately.

Sarah was now well down the road to being acknowledged as having suffered an unrequited love. She bore up nobly under the strain but it was somehow common knowledge that she held little hope of recovery. Her brave face, it was understood, was on account of her sisters, as she did not wish to rain their Season by retiring into seclusion, despite this being her most ardent wish. Her large brown eyes, always fathomless, and her naturally pale and serious face were welcome aids in the projection of her

new persona. She danced and chatted, yet the vitality that had burned with her earlier in the Season

had been dampened. That, at least, was no more than the truth.

Arabella, all were agreed, was settling down to the sensible prospect of choosing a suitable connection.

As Hugo Denbigh had contrived to be considerably more careful in his attentions to Arabella than Darcy Hamilton had been with Sarah, the gossips had never connected the two. Consequently, the fact that

Lord Denbigh's name was clearly absent from Arabella's list did not in itself cause comment. But, as the Twinning sisters had been such a hit, the question of who precisely Arabella would choose was a popular topic for discussion. Speculation was rife and, as was often the case in such matters, a number of wagers had already been entered into the betting books held by the gentlemen's clubs. According to rumour, both Mr. Stone and Sir Humphrey Bullard featured as possible candidates. Yet not the most avid watcher could discern which of these gentlemen Miss Arabella favoured.

Amid all this drama, Lizzie Twinning continued as she always had, accepting the respectful attentions

of the sober young men who sought her out while reserving her most brilliant smiles for Martin Rotherbridge. As she was so young and as Martin wisely refrained from any overtly amorous or possessive act in public, most observers assumed he was merely helping his brother with what must,

all were agreed, constitute a definite handful. Martin, finding her increasingly difficult to lead astray,

was forced to live with his growing frustrations and their steadily diminishing prospects for release.

The change in Amanda Crowbridge's fortunes brought a frown to Caroline's face. She would not have liked the connection for any of her sisters. Still, Amanda Crowbridge was not her concern. As her sisters appeared to have taken the event philosophically enough, she felt justified in giving it no further thought, reserving her energies, mental and otherwise, for her increasingly frequent interludes with her guardian.

Despite her efforts to minimize his opportunities, she found herself sharing his carriage on their return journey to Mount Street. Miriam Alford sat beside her and Max, suavely elegant and exuding a subtle

aura of powerful sensuality, had taken the seat opposite her. Lady Benborough and her three sisters

were following in the Twyford coach. As Caroline had suspected, their chaperon fell into a sound sleep before the carriage had cleared the Richardson House drive.

Gazing calmly at the moonlit fields, she calculated they had at least a forty-minute drive ahead of them. She waited patiently for the move she was sure would come and tried to marshal her resolve to deflect

it. As the minutes ticked by, the damning knowledge slowly seeped into her consciousness that, if her guardian was to suddenly become afflicted with propriety and the journey was accomplished without incident, far from being relieved, she would feel let down, cheated of an eagerly anticipated treat. She frowned, recognizing her already racing pulse and the tense knot in her stomach that restricted her breathing for the symptoms they were. On the thought, she raised her eyes to the dark face before her.

He was watching the countryside slip by, the silvery light etching the planes of his face. As if feeling her gaze, he turned and his eyes met hers. For a moment, he read her thoughts and Caroline was visited by the dreadful certainty that he knew the truth she was struggling to hide. Then, a slow, infinitely wicked smile spread across his face. Caroline stopped breathing. He leaned forward. She expected him to take

her hand and draw her to sit beside him. Instead, his strong hands slipped about her waist and, to her

utter astonishment, he lifted her across and deposited her in a swirl of silks on his lap.

"Max!" she gasped.

"Sssh. You don't want to wake Mrs. Afford. She'd have palpitations."

Horrified, Caroline tried to get her feet to the ground, wriggling against the firm clasp about her waist. Almost immediately, Max's voice sounded in her ear, in a tone quite different from any she had previously heard. "Sweetheart, unless you cease wriggling your delightful derriere in such an enticing fashion, this lesson is likely to go rather further than I had intended."

Caroline froze. She held her breath, not daring to so much as twitch. Then Max's voice, the raw tones

of an instant before no longer in evidence, washed over her in warm approval. "Much better."

She turned to face him, carefully keeping her hips still. She placed her hands on his chest in an effort,

futile, she knew, to fend him off. "Max, this is madness. You must stop doing this!"

"Why? Don't you like it?" His hands were moving gently on her back, his touch scorching through the thin silk of her gown.

Caroline ignored the sardonic lift of his black brows and the clear evidence in his eyes mat he was laughing at her. She found it much harder to ignore the sensations his hands were drawing forth.

Forcing her face into strongly disapproving Unes, she answered his first question, deeming it prudent to conveniently forget the second. "I'm your ward, remember? You know I am. You told me so yourself."

"A fact you should strive to bear in mind, my dear."

Caroline wondered what he meant by that. But Max's mind, and hands, had shifted their focus of attention. As his hands closed over her breasts, Caroline nearly leapt to her feet. "Max!"

But, "Sssh," was all her guardian said as his lips settled on hers.