Four in Hand

As the other three heads came together, Caroline turned to gaze unseeingly out of the window. A bewitching smile curved her generous lips and a twinkle lit her grey-green eyes. Softly, she murmured to herself, “For I’ve a definite suspicion he’s going to find us very trying indeed!”

THUP, THUP, THUP. The tip of Lady Benborough’s thin cane beat a slow tattoo, muffled by the pile of the Aubusson carpet. She was pleasantly impatient, waiting with definite anticipation to see her new charges. Her sharp blue gaze had already taken in the state of the room, the perfectly organised furniture, everything tidy and in readiness. If she had not known it for fact, she would never have believed that, yesterday morn, Twyford House had been shut up, the knocker off the door, every piece of furniture shrouded in Holland covers. Wilson was priceless. There was even a bowl of early crocus on the side-table between the long windows. These stood open, giving access to the neat courtyard, flanked by flowerbeds bursting into colourful life. A marble fountain stood at its centre, a Grecian maiden pouring water never-endingly from an urn.

Her contemplation of the scene was interrupted by a peremptory knock on the street door. A moment later, she heard the deep tones of men’s voices and relaxed. Max. She would never get used to thinking of him as Twyford—she had barely become accustomed to him being Viscount Delmere. Max was essentially Max—he needed no title to distinguish him.

The object of her vagaries strode into the room. As always, his garments were faultless, his boots beyond compare. He bowed with effortless grace over her hand, his blue eyes, deeper in shade than her own but alive with the same intelligence, quizzing her. “A vast improvement, Aunt.”

It took a moment to realise he was referring to her latest wig, a newer version of the same style she had favoured for the past ten years. She was not sure whether she was pleased or insulted. She compromised and snorted. “Trying to turn me up pretty, heh?”

“I would never insult your intelligence so, ma’am,” he drawled, eyes wickedly laughing.

Lady Benborough suppressed an involuntary smile in response. The trouble with Max was that he was such a thorough-going rake that the techniques had flowed into all spheres of his life. He would undoubtedly flirt outrageously with his old nurse! Augusta Benborough snorted again. “Wilson’s left to get the girls. He should be back any minute. Provided they’re ready, that is.”

She watched as her nephew ran a cursory eye over the room before selecting a Hepplewhite chair and elegantly disposing his long length in it.

“I trust everything meets with your approval?”

She waved her hand to indicate the room. “Wilson’s been marvellous. I don’t know how he does it.”

“Neither do I,” admitted Wilson’s employer. “And the rest of the house?”

“The same,” she assured him, then continued, “I’ve been considering the matter of husbands for the chits. With that sort of money, I doubt we’ll have trouble even if they have spots and squint.”

Max merely inclined his head. “You may leave the fortune-hunters to me.”

Augusta nodded. It was one of the things she particularly appreciated about Max—one never needed to spell things out. The fact that the Twinning girls were his wards would certainly see them safe from the attentions of the less desirable elements. The new Duke of Twyford was a noted Corinthian and a crack shot.

“Provided they’re immediately presentable, I thought I might give a small party next week, to start the ball rolling. But if their wardrobes need attention, or they can’t dance, we’ll have to postpone it.”

Remembering Caroline Twinning’s stylish dress and her words on the matter, Max reassured her. “And I’d bet a monkey they can dance, too.” For some reason, he felt quite sure Caroline Twinning waltzed. It was the only dance he ever indulged in; he was firmly convinced that she waltzed.

Augusta was quite prepared to take Max’s word on such matters. If nothing else, his notorious career through the bedrooms and bordellos of England had left him with an unerring eye for all things feminine. “Next week, then,” she said. “Just a few of the more useful people and a smattering of the younger crowd.”

She looked up to find Max’s eye on her.

“I sincerely hope you don’t expect to see me at this event?”

“Good Lord, no! I want all attention on your wards, not on their guardian!”

Max smiled his lazy smile.

“If the girls are at all attractive, I see no problems at all in getting them settled. Who knows? One of them might snare Wolverton’s boy.”

“That milksop?” Max’s mind rebelled at the vision of the engaging Miss Twinning on the arm of the future Earl of Wolverton. Then he shrugged. After all, he had yet to meet the three younger girls. “Who knows?”

“Do you want me to keep a firm hand on the reins, give them a push if necessary or let them wander where they will?”

Max pondered the question, searching for the right words to frame his reply. “Keep your eye on the three younger girls. They’re likely to need some guidance. I haven’t sighted them yet, so they may need more than that. But, despite her advanced years, I doubt Miss Twinning will need any help at all.”

His aunt interpreted this reply to mean that Miss Twinning’s beauty, together with her sizeable fortune, would be sufficient to overcome the stigma of her years. The assessment was reassuring, coming as it did from her reprehensible nephew, whose knowledge was extensive in such matters. As her gaze rested on the powerful figure, negligently at ease in his chair, she reflected that it really was unfair he had inherited only the best from both his parents. The combination of virility, good looks and power of both mind and body was overwhelming; throw the titles in for good measure and it was no wonder Max Rotherbridge had been the target of so many matchmaking mamas throughout his adult life. But he had shown no sign whatever of succumbing to the demure attractions of any débutante. His preference was, always had been, for women of far more voluptuous charms. The litany of his past mistresses attested to his devotion to his ideal. They had all, every last one, been well-endowed. Hardly surprising, she mused. Max was tall, powerful and vigorous. She could not readily imagine any of the delicate debs satisfying his appetites. Her wandering mind dwelt on the subject of his latest affaire, aside, of course, from his current chère amie, an opera singer, so she had been told. Emma, Lady Mortland, was a widow of barely a year’s standing but she had returned to town determined, it seemed, to make up for time lost through her marriage to an ageing peer. If the on-dits were true, she had fallen rather heavily in Max’s lap. Looking at the strikingly handsome face of her nephew, Augusta grinned. Undoubtedly, Lady Mortland had set her cap at a Duchess’s tiara. Deluded woman! Max, for all his air of unconcern, was born to his position. There was no chance he would offer marriage to Emma or any of her ilk. He would certainly avail himself of their proffered charms. Then when he tired of them, he would dismiss them, generously rewarding those who had the sense to play the game with suitable grace, callously ignoring those who did not.

The sounds of arrival gradually filtered into the drawing-room. Max raised his head. A spurt of feminine chatter drifted clearly to their ears. Almost immediately, silence was restored. Then, the door opened and Millwade, the new butler, entered to announce, “Miss Twinning.”

Caroline walked through the door and advanced into the room, her sunny confidence cloaking her like bright sunshine. Max, who had risen, blinked and then strolled forward to take her hand. He bowed over it, smiling with conscious charm into her large eyes.

Caroline returned the smile, thoroughly conversant with its promise. While he was their guardian, she could afford to play his games. His strong fingers retained their clasp on her hand as he drew her forward to meet his aunt.

Augusta Benborough’s mouth had fallen open at first sight of her eldest charge. But by the time Caroline faced her, she had recovered her composure. No wonder Max had said she would need no help. Great heavens! The girl was…well, no sense in beating about the bush—she was devilishly attractive. Sensually so. Responding automatically to the introduction, Augusta recognised the amused comprehension in the large and friendly grey eyes. Imperceptibly, she relaxed.

“Your sisters?” asked Max.

“I left them in the hall. I thought perhaps…” Caroline’s words died on her lips as Max moved to the bell pull. Before she could gather her wits, Millwade was in the room, receiving his instructions. Bowing to the inevitable, Caroline closed her lips on her unspoken excuses. As she turned to Lady Benborough, her ladyship’s brows rose in mute question. Caroline smiled and, with a swish of her delicate skirts, sat beside Lady Benborough. “Just watch,” she whispered, her eyes dancing.

Augusta Benborough regarded her thoughtfully, then turned her attention to the door. As she did so, it opened again. First Sarah, then Arabella, then Lizzie Twinning entered the room.

A curious hiatus ensued as both Max Rotherbridge and his aunt, with more than fifty years of town bronze between them, stared in patent disbelief at their charges. The three girls stood unselfconsciously, poised and confident, and then swept curtsies, first to Max, then to her ladyship.

Caroline beckoned and they moved forward to be presented, to a speechless Max, who had not moved from his position beside his chair, and then to a flabbergasted Lady Benborough.

As they moved past him to make their curtsy to his aunt, Max recovered the use of his faculties. He closed his eyes. But when he opened them again, they were still there. He was not hallucinating. There they were: three of the loveliest lovelies he had ever set eyes on—four if you counted Miss Twinning. They were scene-stealers, every one—the sort of young women whose appearance suspended conversations, whose passage engendered rampant curiosity, aside from other, less nameable emotions, and whose departure left onlookers wondering what on earth they had been talking about before. All from the same stable, all under one roof. Nominally his. Incredible. And then the enormity, the mind-numbing, all-encompassing reality of his inheritance struck him. One glance into Miss Twinning’s grey eyes, brimming with mirth, told him she understood more than enough. His voice, lacking its customary strength and in a very odd register, came to his ears. “Impossible!”

His aunt Augusta collapsed laughing.

Chapter Three

“No!” Max shook his head stubbornly, a frown of quite dramatic proportions darkening his handsome face.

Lady Benborough sighed mightily and frowned back. On recovering her wits, she had sternly repressed her mirth and sent the three younger Twinnings into the courtyard. But after ten minutes of carefully reasoned argument, Max remained adamant. However, she was quite determined her scapegrace nephew would not succeed in dodging his responsibilities. Aside from anything else, the situation seemed set to afford her hours of entertainment and, at her age, such opportunities could not be lightly passed by. Her lips compressed into a thin line and a martial light appeared in her blue eyes.

Max, recognising the signs, got in first. “It’s impossible! Just think of the talk!”

Augusta’s eyes widened to their fullest extent. “Why should you care?” she asked. “Your career to date would hardly lead one to suppose you fought shy of scandal.” She fixed Max with a penetrating stare. “Besides, while there’ll no doubt be talk, none of it will harm anyone. Quite the opposite. It’ll get these girls into the limelight!”

The black frown on Max’s face did not lighten.

Caroline wisely refrained from interfering between the two principal protagonists, but sat beside Augusta, looking as innocent as she could. Max’s gaze swept over her and stopped on her face. His eyes narrowed. Caroline calmly returned his scrutiny.

There was little doubt in Max’s mind that Caroline Twinning had deliberately concealed from him the truth about her sisters until he had gone too far in establishing himself as their guardian to pull back. He felt sure some retribution was owing to one who had so manipulated him but, staring into her large grey-green eyes, was unable to decide which of the numerous and varied punishments his fertile imagination supplied would be the most suitable. Instead, he said, in the tones of one goaded beyond endurance, “‘Commonly held to be well to pass’, indeed!”

Caroline smiled.

Augusta intervened. “Whatever you’re thinking of, Max, it won’t do! You’re the girls’ guardian—you told me so yourself. You cannot simply wash your hands of them. I can see it’ll be a trifle awkward for you,” her eyes glazed as she thought of Lady Mortland, “but if you don’t concern yourself with them, who will?”

Despite his violent response to his first sight of all four Twinning sisters, perfectly understandable in the circumstances, Max had not seriously considered giving up his guardianship of them. His behaviour over the past ten minutes had been more in the nature of an emotional rearguard action in an attempt, which his rational brain acknowledged as futile, to resist the tide of change he could see rising up to swamp his hitherto well-ordered existence. He fired his last shot. “Do you seriously imagine that someone with my reputation will be considered a suitable guardian for four…?” He paused, his eyes on Caroline, any number of highly apt descriptions revolving in his head. “Excessively attractive virgins?” he concluded savagely.

Caroline’s eyes widened and her dimple appeared.

“On the contrary!” Augusta answered. “Who better than you to act as their guardian? Odds are you know every ploy ever invented and a few more besides. And if you can’t keep the wolves at bay, then no one can. I really don’t know why you’re creating all this fuss.”