Four In Hand (17 page)

Max moved on. Clearly, Caroline did have another problem on her hands. He paused at the entrance to the card-room and, automatically, scanned the packed ballroom. Turning, he was about to cross the threshold when a disturbing thought struck him. He turned back to the ballroom.

“Make up your mind! Make up your mind! Oh, it’s you, Twyford. What are you doing at such an occasion? Hardly your style these days, what?”

Excusing himself to Colonel Weatherspoon, Max moved out of the doorway and checked the room again. Where was Lizzie? He had not seen her at supper, but then again he had not looked. He had mentally dubbed her the baby of the family but his rational mind informed him that she was far from too young. He was about to cross the room to where his aunt Augusta sat, resplendent in bronze bombazine, when a movement by the windows drew his eyes.

Lizzie entered from the terrace, a shy and entirely guileless smile on her lips. Her small hand rested with easy assurance on his brother’s arm. As he watched, she turned and smiled up at Martin, a look so full of trust that a newborn lamb could not have bettered it. And Martin, wolf that he was, returned the smile readily.

Abruptly, Max turned on his heel and strode into the card-room. He needed a drink.

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 gownof 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, triedto 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, drinkingit 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.”