Max brought his blue gaze back from the ceiling and fixed it firmly on his brother. “Precisely. That being so, I suggest you revise the plans you’ve been making for Lizzie Twinning.”
Martin’s grin, if anything, became even broader.
“Why so? It’s you who’s their guardian, not I. Besides, you don’t seriously expect me to believe that, if our situations were reversed, you’d pay any attention to such restrictions?” When Max frowned, Martin continued. “Anyway, good heavens, you must have seen it for yourself. She’s like a ripe plum, ready for the picking.” He stopped at Max’s raised hand.
“Permit me to fill you in,” drawled his older brother. “For a start, I’ve nine years on you and there’s nothing about the business you know that I don’t. However, quite aside from that, I can assure you the Twinning sisters, ripe though they may be, are highly
unlikely to fall into anyone’s palms without a prior proposal of marriage.”
A slight frown settled over Martin’s eyes. Not for a moment did he doubt the accuracy of Max’s assessment. But he had been strongly attracted to Lizzie Twinning and was disinclined to give up the idea of converting her to his way of thinking. He looked up and blue eyes met blue. “Really?”
Max gestured airily. “Consider the case of Lord Darcy Hamilton.” Martin looked his question. Max obliged. “Being much taken with Sarah, the second of the four, Darcy’s been engaged in storming her citadel for the past five weeks and more. No holds barred, I might add. And the outcome you ask? As of yesterday, he’s retired to his estates, to lick his wounds and, unless I miss my guess, to consider whether he can stomach the idea of marriage.”
“Good lord!” Although only peripherally acquainted with Darcy Hamilton, Martin knew he was one of Max’s particular friends and that his reputation in matters involving the fairer sex was second only to Max’s own.
“Exactly,” nodded Max. “Brought low by a chit of a girl. So, brother dear, if it’s your wish to tangle with any Twinnings, I suggest you first decide how much you’re willing to stake on the throw.”
As he pondered his brother’s words, Martin noticed that Max’s gaze had become abstracted. He only just caught the last words his brother said, musing, almost to himself. “For, brother mine, it’s my belief the Twinnings eat rakes for breakfast.”
———
The coach swayed as it turned a corner and Arabella clutched the strap swinging by her head. As equilibrium returned, she settled her skirts once more and glanced at the other two occupants of the carriage. The glow from a street lamp momentarily lit the interior of the coach, then faded as the four horses hurried on. Arabella grinned into the darkness.
Caroline had insisted that she and not Lizzie share their guardian’s coach. One had to wonder why. Too often these days, her eldest sister had the look of the cat caught just after it had tasted the cream. Tonight, that look of guilty pleasure, or, more specifically, the anticipation of guilty pleasure, was marked.
She had gone up to Caroline’s room to hurry her sister along. Caroline had been sitting, staring at her reflection in the mirror, idly twisting one copper curl to sit more attractively about her left ear.
“Caro? Are you ready? Max is here.”
“Oh!” Caroline had stood abruptly, then paused to cast one last critical glance over her pale sea-green dress, severely styled as most suited her ample charms, the neckline daringly décolleté. She had frowned, her fingers straying to the ivory swell of her breasts. “What do you think, Bella? Is it too revealing? Perhaps a piece of lace might make it a little less…?”
“Attractive?” Arabella had brazenly supplied. “To be perfectly frank, I doubt our guardian would approve a fichu.”
The delicate blush that had appeared on Caroline’s cheeks had been most informative. But, “Too true,” was all her sister had replied.
Arabella looked across the carriage once more and caught the gleam of warm approval that shone in their guardian’s eyes as they rested on Caroline. It was highly unlikely that the conservative Mr. Willoughby was the cause of her sister’s blushes. That being so, what game was the Duke of Twyford playing? And, even more to the point, was Caro thinking of joining in?
Heaven knew, they had had a close enough call with Sarah and Lord Darcy. Nothing had been said of Sarah’s strange affliction, yet they were all close enough for even the innocent Lizzie to have some inkling of the root cause. And while Max had been the soul of discretion in speaking privately to Caroline and Sarah in the hall before they had left, it was as plain as a pikestaff the information he had imparted had not included news of a proposal. Sarah’s pale face had paled further. But the Twinnings were made of stern stuff and Sarah had shaken her head at Caro’s look of concern.
The deep murmur of their guardian’s voice came to her ears, followed by her sister’s soft tones. Arabella’s big eyes danced. She could not make out their words but those tones were oh, so revealing. But if Sarah was in deep waters and Caro was hovering on the brink, she, to her chagrin, had not even got her toes wet yet.
Arabella frowned at the moon, showing fleetingly between the branches of a tall tree. Hugo, Lord Denbigh. The most exasperating man she had ever met. She would give anything to be able to say she didn’t care a button for him. Unfortunately, he was the only man who could make her tingle just by looking at her.
Unaware that she was falling far short of Caroline’s expectations, Arabella continued to gaze out of the window, absorbed in contemplation of the means available for bringing one large gentleman to heel.
———
The heavy Twyford coach lumbered along in the wake of the sleek Delmere carriage. Lady Benborough put up a hand to right her wig, swaying perilously as they rounded a particularly sharp corner. For the first time since embarking on her nephew’s crusade to find the Twinning girls suitable husbands, she felt a twinge of nervousness. She was playing with fire and she knew it. Still, she could not regret it. The sight of Max and Caroline together in the hall at Twyford House had sent a definite thrill through her old bones. As for Sarah, she doubted not that Darcy Hamilton was too far gone to desist, resist and retire. True, he might not know it yet, but time would certainly bring home to him the penalty he would have to pay to walk away from the snare. Her shrewd blue eyes studied the pale face opposite her. Even in the dim light, the strain of the past few days was evident. Thankfully, no one outside their party had been aware of that contretemps. So, regardless of what Sarah herself believed, Augusta had no qualms. Sarah was home safe; she could turn her attention elsewhere.
Arabella, the minx, had picked a particularly difficult nut to crack. Still, she could hardly fault the girl’s taste. Hugo Denbigh was a positive Adonis, well-born, well-heeled and easy enough in his ways. Unfortunately, he was so easy to please that he seemed to find just as much pleasure in the presence of drab little girls as he derived from Arabella’s rather more scintillating company. Gammon, of course, but how to alert Arabella to that fact? Or would it be more to the point to keep quiet and allow Hugo a small degree of success? As her mind drifted down that particular path, Augusta suddenly caught herself up and had the grace to look sheepish. What appalling thoughts for a chaperon!
Her gaze fell on Lizzie, sweet but far from demure in a gown of delicate silver gauze touched with colour in the form of embroidered lilacs. A soft, introspective smile hovered over her classically moulded lips. Almost a smile of anticipation. Augusta frowned. Had she missed something?
Mentally reviewing Lizzie’s conquests, Lady Benborough was at a loss to account for the suppressed excitement evident, now she came to look more closely, in the way the younger girl’s fingers beat an impatient if silent tattoo on the beads of her reticule. Clearly, whoever he was would be at the ball. She would have to watch her youngest charge like a hawk. Lizzie was too young, in all conscience, to be allowed the licence her more worldly sisters took for granted.
Relaxing back against the velvet squabs, Augusta smiled. Doubtless she was worrying over nothing. Lizzie might have the Twinning looks but surely she was too serious an innocent to attract the attentions of a rake? Three rakes she might land, the Twinnings being the perfect bait, but a fourth was bound to be wishful thinking.
CHAPTER SEVEN