Four in Hand. Stephanie Laurens
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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 résumé 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 in 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 life, 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 by the offside 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