This last statement brought a tired smile to Max’s face. But, “You’ll have to wait in line for that privilege,” was all he said.
The brandy decanter, replenished after Martin’s inroads, had twice made the rounds before Wilson again slipped noiselessly into the room. He cleared his throat to attract Max’s attention. “A coach carrying a gentleman and a young lady wearing a rose-pink domino put in at the Crown at Acton at two this morning, Your Grace.”
The air of despondency which had settled over the room abruptly lifted. “Two,” said Max, his eyes going to the clock. “And it’s well after eight now. So they must be past Uxbridge. Unless they made a long stop?”
Wilson shook his head. “No, Your Grace. They only stopped long enough to change horses.” If anything, the little man’s impassive face became even more devoid of emotion. “It seems the young lady was most anxious to put as much distance as possible behind them.”
“As well she might,” said Max, his eyes glittering. “Have my curricle put to. And good work, Wilson.”
“Thank you, Your Grace.” Wilson bowed and left. Max tossed off the brandy in his glass and rose.
“I’ll come with you,” said Hugo, putting his own glass down. For a moment, his eyes met Max’s, then Max nodded.
“Very well.” His gaze turned to his brother and Darcy Hamilton. “Perhaps you two could break the news
to the ladies at Twyford House?”
Martin nodded.
Darcy grimaced at Max over the rim of his glass. “I thought you’d say that” After a moment, he continued, “As I said before, I’m not much of a hand at elopements and I don’t know Keighly at all. But it occurs to me, Max, dear boy, that it’s perfectly possible he might not see reason all that easily. He might even do something rash. So, aside from Hugo here, don’t you think you’d better take those along with you?”
Darcy pointed at a shin wooden case that rested on top of the dresser standing against the wall at the side of the room. Inside, as he knew, reposed a pair of Mr. Joseph Manton’s duelling pistols, with which Max was considered a master.
Max hesitated, then shrugged. “I suppose you’re right.” He lifted the case to his desk-top and, opening it, quickly checked the pistols. They looked quite lethal, the long black barrels gleaming, the silver mountings glinting wickedly. He had just picked up the second, when the knocker on the front door was plied with a ruthlessness which brought a definite wince to all four faces in the library. The night had been a long one. A moment later, they heard Hillshaw’s sonorous tones, remonstrating with the caller. Then, an unmistakably feminine voice reached their ears. With an oath, Max strode to the door.
Caroline fixed Hillshaw with a look which brooked no argument. “I wish to see His Grace immediately, Hillshaw.”
Accepting defeat, Hillshaw turned to usher her to the drawing-room, only to be halted by his master’s voice.
“Caro! What are you doing here?”
From the library door, Max strolled forward to take the hand Caroline held out to him. Her eyes widened as she took in the pistol he still held in his other hand. “Thank God I’m in time!” she said, in such heartfelt accents that Max frowned.
“It’s all right. We’ve found out which road they took. Denbigh and I were about to set out after them. Don’t worry, we’ll bring her back.”
Far from reassuring her as he had intended, his matter-of-fact tone seemed to set her more on edge. Caroline clasped both her small hands on his arm. “No! You don’t understand.”
Max’s frown deepened. He decided she was right He could not fathom why she wished him to let Arabella ruin herself. “Come into the library.”
Caroline allowed him to usher her into the apartment where they had first met As her eyes took in the other occupants, she coloured slightly. “Oh, I didn’t realize,” she said.
Max waved her hesitation aside. “It’s all right They already know.” He settled her in the armchair Hugo had vacated. “Caro, do you know where Keighly’s estates are?”
Caroline was struggling with his last revelation.
They already knew? How? “Gloucestershire, I think,” she replied automatically. Then, her mind registered the fact that Max had laid the wicked-looking pistol he had been carrying on his desk, with its mate, no less, and was putting the box which she thought ought to contain them back, empty, on the dresser. A cold fear clutched at her stomach. Her voice seemed thin and reedy. “Max, what are you going to do with those?”
Max, still standing behind the desk, glanced down at the pistols. But it was Hugo’s deep voice which answered her. “Have to make sure Keighly sees reason, ma’am,” he explained gently. “Need to impress on him the wisdom of keeping his mouth shut over this.”
Her mind spinning, Caroline looked at him blankly. “But why? I mean, what can he say? Well, it’s all so ridiculous.”
“Ridiculous?” echoed Max, a grim set to his mouth.
“I’m afraid you don’t quite understand, Miss Twinning,” broke in Darcy. “The story’s already all over town. But if Max can get her back and Keighly keeps his mouth shut, then it’s just possible it’ll all blow over, you see.”
“But…but why should Max interfere?” Caroline put a hand to her head, as if to still her whirling thoughts.
This question was greeted by stunned silence. It was Martin who broke it. “But, dash it all! He’s her guardian!“