CHAPTER FOUR
Emma, Lady Mortland, thought Max savagely, had no right to the title. He would grant she was
attractive, in a blowsy sort of way, but her conduct left much to be desired. She had hailed him almost
as soon as he had entered the Park. He rarely drove there except when expediency demanded. Consequently, her ladyship had been surprised to see his curricle, drawn by his famous match bays, advancing along the avenue. He had been forced to pull up or run the silly woman down. The considerable difficulty in conversing at any length with someone perched six feet and more above you, particularly when that someone displayed the most blatant uninterest, had not discouraged Lady
Mortland. She had done her best to prolong the exchange in the dim hope, Max knew, of gaining an invitation to ride beside him. She had finally admitted defeat and archly let him go, but not before
issuing a thickly veiled invitation which he had had no compunction in dechning. As she had been unwise enough to speak in the hearing of two gentlemen of her acquaintance, her resulting embarrassment was entirely her own fault. He knew she entertained hopes, totally unfounded, of becoming his Duchess.
Why she should imagine he would consider taking a woman with the morals of an alley cat to wife was beyond him.
As he drove beneath the trees, he scanned the carriages that passed, hoping to find his wards. He had
not seen them since that first ride in the Park, a feat of self-discipline before which any other he had
ever accomplished in his Me paled into insignificance. Darcy Hamilton had put the idea into his head.
His friend had returned with him to Deliriere House after that first jaunt, vociferous in his complaints
of the waywardness of Sarah Twinning. The fact that she was Max's ward had not subdued him in the least. Max had not been surprised; Darcy could be ruthlessly singleminded when hunting. It had been Darcy who had suggested that a short absence might make the lady more amenable and had departed
with the firm resolve to give the Twinning girls the go-by for at least a week.
That had been six days ago. The Season was about to get under way and it was time to reacquaint
himself with his wards. Having ascertained that their horses had not left his stable, he had had the bays put to and followed them to the Park. He finally spied the Twyford barouche drawn up to the side of
the avenue. He pulled up alongside.
"Aunt Augusta," he said as he nodded to her. She beamed at him, clearly delighted he had taken the trouble to find them. His gaze swept over the other occupants of the carriage in an appraising and approving manner, then came to rest on Miss Twinning. She smiled sunnily back at him. Suddenly alert, Max's mind returned from where it had wandered and again counted heads. There was a total of five in the carriage but Miriam Alford was there, smiling vaguely at him. Which meant one of his wards was missing. He quelled the urge to immediately question his aunt, telling himself there would doubtless be some perfectly reasonable explanation. Perhaps one was merely unwell. His mind reverted to its main preoccupation.
Responding automatically to his aunt's social chatter, he took the first opportunity to remark, "But I
can't keep my horses standing, ma'am. Perhaps Miss Twinning would like to come for a drive?"
He was immediately assured that Miss Twinning would and she descended from the carriage. He
reached down to help her up beside him and they were off.
Caroline gloried in the brush of the breeze on her face as the curricle bowled along. Even reined in to
the pace accepted in the Park, it was still infinitely more refreshing than the funereal plod favoured by Lady Benborough. That was undoubtedly the reason her spirits had suddenly soared. Even the sunshine seemed distinctly brighter.
"Not riding today?" asked Max.
"No. Lady Benborough felt we should not entirely desert the matrons."
Max smiled. "True enough. It don't do to put people's backs up unnecessarily."
Caroline turned to stare at him. "Your philosophy?" Augusta had told her enough of their guardian's
past to realise this was unlikely.
Max frowned. Miss Caroline Twinning was a great deal too knowing. Unprepared to answer her query,
he changed the subject. "Where's Sarah?"
"Lord Darcy took her up some time ago. Maybe we'll see them as we go around?"
Max suppressed the curse which rose to his lips.
How many friends was he going to have left by the end of this Season? Another thought occurred.
''Has she been seeing much of him?"
A deep chuckle answered this and his uneasiness grew. "If you mean has he taken to haunting us, no.
On the other hand, he seems to have the entree to all the salons we've attended this week."
He should, he supposed, have anticipated his friend's duplicity. Darcy was, after all, every bit as experienced as he. Still, it rankled. He would have a few harsh words to say to his lordship when next they met. "Has he been…particularly attentive towards her?"
"No," she replied in a careful tone, "not in any unacceptable way."
He looked his question and she continued, "It's just that she's the only lady he pays any attention to at
all. If he's not with Sarah, he either leaves or retires tb the card tables or simply watches her from a distance."
The description was so unlike the Darcy Hamilton he knew that it was on the tip of his tongue to verify they were talking about the same man. A sneaking suspicion that Darcy might, just might, be seriously smitten awoke in his mind. One black brow rose.
They paused briefly to exchange greetings with Lady Jersey, then headed back towards the barouche. Coming to a decision, Max asked, "What's your next major engagement?"
"Well, we go to the first of Almack's balls tomorrow, then it's the Billingtons' ball the next night."
The start of the Season proper. But there was no way he was going to cross the threshold of Almack's.
He had not been near the place for years. Tender young virgins were definitely not on his menu these days. He did not equate that description with Miss Twinning. Nor, if it came to that, to her sisters. Uncertain what to do for the best, he made no response to the information, merely inclining his head
to show he had heard.
Caroline was silent as the curricle retraced its journey. Max's questions had made her uneasy. Lord
Darcy was a particular friend of his-surely Sarah was in no real danger with him? She stifled a small sigh. Clearly, their guardian's attention was wholly concentrated on their social performance. Which, of course, was precisely what a guardian should be concerned with. Why, then, did she feel such a keen sense of disappointment?
They reached the barouche to find Sarah already returned. One glance at her stormy countenance was sufficient to answer Max's questions. It seemed Darcy's plans had not prospered. Yet.
As he handed Caroline to the ground and acknowledged her smiling thanks, it occurred to him she had
not expressed any opinion or interest in his week-long absence. So much for that tactic. As he watched her climb into the barouche, shapely ankles temporarily exposed, he realised he had made no headway during their interlude. Her sister's affair with his friend had dominated his thoughts. Giving his horses
the office, he grimaced to himself. Seducing a young woman while acting as guardian to her three
younger sisters was clearly going to be harder going than he had imagined.
Climbing the steps to Twyford House the next evening, Max was still in two minds over whether he
was doing the right thing. He was far too wise to be overly attentive to Caroline, yet, if he did not make
a push to engage her interest, she would shortly be the object of the attentions of a far larger circle of gentlemen, few of whom would hesitate to attend Almack's purely because they disliked being mooned over by very young women. He hoped, in his capacity as their guardian, to confine his attentions to the Twinning sisters and so escape the usual jostle of matchmaking mamas. They should have learned by now that he was not likely to succumb to their daughters' vapid charms. Still, he was not looking