Four In Hand

by Stephanie Laurens

  Mr. Whitney was continuing, “How do you plan to handle the matter, if I may make so bold as to ask?”

  Max had already given the thorny problem of how four young ladies could be presented to the ton under his protection, without raising a storm, some thought. “I propose to open up Twyford House immediately. They can stay there. I intend to ask my aunt, Lady Benborough, to stand as the girls’ sponsor. I’m sure she’ll be only too thrilled. It’ll keep her amused for the Season.”

  Mr. Whitney was acquainted with Lady Benborough. He rather thought it would. A smile curved his thin lips.

  The Duke stood, bringing the interview to a close.

  Mr. Whitney rose. “That seems most suitable. If there’s anything further in which we can assist Your Grace, we’ll be only too delighted.”

  Max nodded in response to this formal statement As Mr. Whitney bowed, prepared to depart, Max, a past master of social intrigue, saw one last hole in the wall and moved to block it. “If there’s any matter you wish to discuss with Miss Twinning, I suggest you do it through me, as if I was, in truth, her guardian. As you handle both our estates, there can really be no impropriety in keeping up appearances. For Miss Twinning’s sake.”

  Mr. Whitney bowed again. “I foresee no problems, Your Grace.”

  CHAPTER TWO

  After Mr. Whitney left, Max issued a set of rapid and comprehensive orders to his majordomo Wilson. In response, his servants flew to various corners of London, some to Twyford House, others to certain agencies specializing in the hire of household staff to the elite of the ton. One footman was despatched with a note from the Duke to an address in Half Moon Street, requesting the favour of a private interview with his paternal aunt, Lady Benborough.

  As Max had intended, his politely worded missive intrigued his aunt. Wondering what had prompted such a strange request from her reprehensible nephew, she immediately granted it and settled down to await his coming with an air of pleasurable anticipation.

  Max arrived at the small house shortly after noon. He found his aunt attired in a very becoming gown of purple sarsenet with a new and unquestionably modish wig perched atop her commanding visage. Max, bowing elegantly before her, eyed the wig askance.

  Augusta Benborough sighed. “Well, I suppose I’ll have to send it back, if that’s the way you feel about it!”

  Max grinned and bent to kiss the proffered cheek. “Definitely not one of your better efforts, Aunt.”

  She snorted. “Unfortunately, I can hardly claim you know nothing about it. It’s the very latest fashion, I’ll have you know.” Max raised one laconic brow. “Yes, well,” continued his aunt, “I dare say you’re right. Not quite my style.”

  As she waited while he disposed his long limbs in a chair opposite the corner of the chaise where she sat, propped up by a pile of colourful cushions, she passed a critical glance over her nephew’s elegant figure. How he contrived to look so precise when she knew he cared very little how he appeared was more than she could tell. She had heard it said that his man was a genius. Personally, she was of the opinion it was Max’s magnificent physique and dark good looks that carried the day.

  “I hope you’re going to satisfy my curiosity without a great deal of roundaboutation.”

  “My dear aunt, when have I ever been other than direct?”

  She looked at him shrewdly. “Want a favour, do you? Can’t imagine what it is but you’d better be quick about asking. Miriam will be back by one and I gather you’d rather not have her listening.” Miriam Alford was a faded spinster cousin of Lady Benborough’s who lived with her, filling the post of companion to the fashionable old lady. “I sent her to Hatchard’s when I got your note,” she added in explanation.

  Max smiled. Of all his numerous relatives, his Aunt Benborough, his father’s youngest sister, was his favourite. While the rest of them, his mother included, constantly tried to reform him by ringing peals over him, appealing to his sense of what was acceptable, something he steadfastly denied any knowledge of, Augusta Benborough rarely made any comment on his lifestyle or the numerous scandals this provoked. When he had first come on the town, it had rapidly been made plain to his startled family that in Max they beheld a reincarnation of the second Viscount Delmere. If even half the tales were true, Max’s greatgrandfather had been a thoroughly unprincipled character, entirely devoid of morals. Lady Benborough, recently widowed, had asked Max to tea and had taken the opportunity to inform him in no uncertain terms of her opinion of his behaviour. She had then proceeded to outline all his faults, in detail. However, as she had concluded by saying that she fully expected her tirade to have no effect whatsoever on his subsequent conduct, nor could she imagine how anyone in their right mind could think it would, Max had borne the ordeal with an equanimity which would have stunned his friends. She had eventually dismissed him with the words, “Having at least had the politeness to hear me out, you may now depart and continue to go to hell in your own fashion and with my good will.”

  Now a widow of many years’ standing, she was still a force to be reckoned with. She remained fully absorbed in the affairs of the ton and continued to be seen at all the crushes and every gala event. Max knew she was as shrewd as she could hold together and, above all, had an excellent sense of humour. All in all, she was just what he needed.

  “I’ve come to inform you that, along with all the other encumbrances I inherited from Uncle Henry, I seem to have acquired four wards.”

  “You?“ Lady Benborough’s rendering of the word was rather more forceful than Miss Twinning’s had been.

  Max nodded. “Me. Four young ladies, one, the only one I’ve so far set eyes on, as lovely a creature as any other likely to be presented this Season.”

  “Good God! Who was so besotted as to leave four young girls in your care?” If anything, her ladyship was outraged at the very idea. Then, the full impact of the situation struck her. Her eyes widened. “Oh, good lord!” She collapsed against her cushions, laughing uncontrollably.

  Knowing this was an attitude he was going to meet increasingly in the next few weeks, Max sighed. In an even tone suggestive of long suffering, he pointed out the obvious. “They weren’t left to me but to my esteemed and now departed uncle’s care. Mind you, I can’t see that he’d have been much use to ‘em either.”

  Wiping the tears from her eyes, Lady Benborough considered this view. “Can’t see it myself,” she admitted. “Henry always was a slow-top. Who are they?”

  “The Misses Twinning. From Hertfordshire.” Max proceeded to give her a brief r6sume of the life history of the Twinnings, ending with the information that it transpired all four girls were heiresses.

  Augusta Benborough was taken aback. “And you say they’re beautiful to boot?”

  “The one I’ve seen, Caroline, the eldest, most definitely is.”

  “Well, if anyone should know it’s you!” replied her ladyship testily. Max acknowledged the comment with the slightest inclination of his head.

  Lady Benborough’s mind was racing. “So, what do you want with me?”

  “What I would like, dearest Aunt,” said Max, with his sweetest smile, “is for you to act as chaperon to the girls and present them to the ton.” Max paused. His aunt said nothing, sitting quite still with her sharp blue eyes, very like his own, fixed firmly on his face. He continued. “I’m opening up Twyford House. It’ll be ready for them tomorrow. I’ll stand the nonsense— all of it.” Still she said nothing. “Will you do it?”

  Augusta Benborough thought she would like nothing better than to be part of the hurly-burly of the marriage game again. But four? All at once? Still, there was Max’s backing, and that would count for a good deal. Despite his giving the distinct impression of total uninterest in anything other than his own pleasure, she knew from experience that, should he feel inclined, Max could and would perform feats impossible for those with lesser clout in the fashionable world. Years after the event, she had learned that, when her youngest son had embroiled himself i
n a scrape so hideous that even now she shuddered to think of it, it had been Max who had rescued him. And apparently for no better reason than it had been bothering her. She still owed him for that.

  But there were problems. Her own jointure was not particularly large and, while she had never asked Max for relief, turning herself out in the style he would expect of his wards’ chaperon was presently beyond her slender means. Hesitantly, she said, “My own wardrobe…”

  “Naturally you’ll charge all costs you incur in this business to me,” drawled Max, his voice bored as he examined through his quizzing glass a china cat presently residing on his aunt’s mantelpiece. He knew perfectly well his aunt managed on a very slim purse but was too wise to offer direct assistance which would, he knew, be resented, not only by the lady herself but also by her pompous elder son.

  “Can I take Miriam with me to Twyford House?”

  With a shrug, Max assented. “Aside from anything else, she might come in handy with four charges.”

  “When can I meet them?”

  “They’re staying at Grillon’s. I’m taking Miss Twinning for a drive this afternoon to tell her what I’ve decided. I’ll arrange for them to move to Twyford House tomorrow afternoon. I’ll send Wilson to help you and Mrs. Alford in transferring to Mount Street. It would be best, I suppose, if you could make the move in the morning. You’ll want to familiarize yourself with the staff and so on.” Bethinking himself that it would be wise to have one of his own well-trained staff on hand, he added, “I suppose I can let you have Wilson for a week or two, until you settle in. I suggest you and I meet the Misses Twinning when they arrive—shall we say at three?”

  Lady Benborough was entranced by the way her nephew seemed to dismiss complications like opening and staffing a mansion overnight. Still, with the efficient and reliable Wilson on the job, presumably it would be done. Feeling a sudden and unexpected surge of excitement at the prospect of embarking on the Season with a definite purpose in Me, she drew a deep breath. “Very well. I’ll do it!”

  “Good!” Max stood. “I’ll send Wilson to call on you this afternoon.”

  His aunt, already engrossed in the matter of finding husbands for the Twinning chits, looked up. “Have you seen the other three girls?”

  Max shook his head. Imagining the likely scene should they be on hand this afternoon when he called for Miss Twinning, he closed his eyes in horror. He could just hear the on-dits. “And I hope to God I don’t see them in Grillon’s foyer either!”

  Augusta Benborough laughed.

  ———

  When he called at Grillon’s promptly at two, Max was relieved to find Miss Twinning alone in the foyer, seated on a chaise opposite the door, her bonnet beside her. He was not to know that Caroline had had to exert every last particle of persuasion to achieve this end. And she had been quite unable to prevent her three sisters from keeping watch from the windows of their bedchambers.

  As she had expected, she had had to describe His Grace of Twyford in detail for her sisters. Looking up at the figure striding across the foyer towards her, she did not think she had done too badly. What had been hardest to convey was the indefinable air that hung about him—compelling, exciting, it immediately brought to mind a whole range of emotions well-bred young ladies were not supposed to comprehend, let alone feel. As he took her hand for an instant in his own, and smiled down at her in an oddly lazy way, she decided she had altogether underestimated the attractiveness of that sleepy smile. It was really quite devastating.

  Within a minute, Caroline found herself on the box seat of a fashionable curricle drawn by a pair of beautiful but restive bays. She resisted the temptation to glance up at the first-floor windows where she knew the other three would be stationed. Max mounted to the driving seat and the diminutive tiger, who had been holding the horses’ heads, swung up behind. Then they were off, tacking through the traffic towards Hyde Park.

  Caroline resigned herself to silence until the safer precincts of the Park were reached. However, it seemed the Duke was quite capable of conversing intelligently while negotiating the chaos of the London streets.

  “I trust Grillon’s has met with your approval thus far?”

  “Oh, yes. They’ve been most helpful,” returned Caroline. “Were you able to clarify the matter of our guardianship?”

  Max was unable to suppress a smile at her directness. He nodded, his attention temporarily claimed bythe off-side horse which had decided to take exception to a monkey dancing on the pavement, accompanied by an accordion player.

  “Mr. Whitney has assured me that, as I am the Duke of Twyford, I must therefore be your guardian.” He had allowed his reluctance to find expression in his tone. As the words left his lips, he realised that the unconventional woman beside him might well ask why he found the role of protector to herself and her sisters so distasteful. He immediately went on the attack. “And, in that capacity, I should like to know how you have endeavoured to come by Parisian fashions?”

  His sharp eyes missed little and his considerable knowledge of feminine attire told him Miss Twinning’s elegant pelisse owed much to the French. But France was at war with England and Paris no longer the playground of the rich.

  Initially stunned that he should know enough to come so close to the truth, Caroline quickly realised the source of his knowledge. A spark of amusement danced in her eyes. She smiled and answered readily, “I assure you we did not run away to Brussels instead of New York.”

  “Oh, I wasn’t afraid of that!” retorted Max, perfectly willing to indulge in plain speaking. “If you’d been in Brussels, I’d have heard of it”

  “Oh?” Caroline turned a fascinated gaze on him.

  Max smiled down at her.

  Praying she was not blushing, Caroline strove to get the conversation back on a more conventional course. “Actually, you’re quite right about the clothes, they are Parisian. But not from the Continent. There were two couturieres from Paris on the boat going to New York. They asked if they could dress us, needing the business to become known in America. It was really most fortunate. We took the opportunity to get quite a lot made up before we returned—we’d been in greys for so long that none of us had anything suitable to wear.”

  “How did you find American society?”

  Caroline reminded herself to watch her tongue. She did not delude herself that just because the Duke was engaged in handling a team of high-couraged cattle through the busy streets of London he was likely to miss any slip she made. She was rapidly learning to respect the intelligence of this fashionable rake. “Quite frankly, we found much to entertain us. Of course, our relatives were pleased to see us and organised a great many outings and entertainments.” No need to tell him they had had a riotous time.

  “Did the tone of the society meet with your approval?”

  He had already told her he would have known if they had been in Europe. Did he have connections in New York? How much could he know of their junketing? Caroline gave herself a mental shake. How absurd! He had not known of their existence until this morning. “Well, to be sure, it wasn’t the same as here. Many more cits and half-pay officers about. And, of course, nothing like the ton.”

  Unknowingly, her answer brought some measure of relief to Max. Far from imagining his new-found wards had been indulging in high living abroad, he had been wondering whether they had any social experience at all. Miss Twinning’s reply told him that she, at least, knew enough to distinguish the less acceptable among society’s hordes.

  They had reached the gates of the Park and turned into the carriage drive. Soon, the curricle was bowling along at a steady pace under the trees, still devoid of any but the earliest leaves. A light breeze lifted the ends of the ribbons on Caroline’s hat and playfully danced along the horses’ dark manes.

  Max watched as Caroline gazed about her with interest. “I’m afraid you’ll not see many notables at this hour. Mostly nursemaids and their charges. Later, between three and five, it’ll be cr
owded. The Season’s not yet begun in earnest, but by now most people will have returned to town. And the Park is the place to be seen. All the old biddies come here to exchange the latest on-dits and all the young ladies promenade along the walks with their beaux.”

  “I see.” Caroline smiled to herself, a secret smile as she imagined how she and her sisters would fit into this scene.

  Max saw the smile and was puzzled. Caroline Twinning was decidedly more intelligent than the women with whom he normally consorted. He could not guess her thoughts and was secretly surprised at wanting to know them. Then, he remembered one piece of vital information he had yet to discover. “Apropos of my uncle’s plan to marry you all off, satisfy my curiosity, Miss Twinning. What do your sisters look like?”

  This was the question she had been dreading. Caroline hesitated, searching for precisely the right words with which to get over the difficult ground. “Well, they’ve always been commonly held to be well to pass.”

  Max noted the hesitation. He interpreted her careful phrasing to mean that the other three girls were no more than average. He nodded, having suspected as much, and allowed the subject to drop.

  They rounded the lake and he slowed his team to a gentle trot. “As your guardian, I’ve made certain arrangements for your immediate future.” He noticed the grey eyes had flown to his face. “Firstly, I’ve opened Twyford House. Secondly, I’ve arranged for my aunt, Lady Benborough, to act as your chaperon for the Season. She’s very well-connected and will know exactly how everything should be managed. You may place complete confidence in her advice. You will remove from Grillon’s tomorrow. I’ll send my man, Wilson, to assist you in the move to Twyford House. He’ll call for you at two tomorrow. I presume that gives you enough time to pack?”

  Caroline assumed the question to be rhetorical. She was stunned. He had not known they existed at nine this morning. How could he have organised all that since ten?