"Attractive?" Arabella had brazenly supplied. "To be perfectly frank, I doubt our guardian would
approve a fichu."
The delicate blush that had appeared on Caroline's cheeks had been most informative. But, "Too true," was all her sister had replied.
Arabella looked across the carriage once more and caught the gleam of warm approval that shone in
their guardian's eyes as they rested on Caroline. It was highly unlikely that the conservative
Mr. Willoughby was the cause of her sister's blushes. That being so, what game was the Duke of Twyford playing? And, even more to the point, was Caro thinking of joining in?
Heaven knew, they had had a close enough call with Sarah and Lord Darcy. Nothing had been said of Sarah's strange affliction, yet they were all close enough for even the innocent Lizzie to have some
inkling of the root cause. And while Max had been the soul of discretion in speaking privately to
Caroline and Sarah in the hall before they had left, it was as plain as a pikestaff the information he
had imparted had not included news of a proposal. Sarah's pale face had paled further. But the
Twinnings were made of stern stuff and Sarah had shaken her head at Caro's look of concern.
The deep murmur of their guardian's voice came to her ears, followed by her sister's soft tones.
Arabella's big eyes danced. She could not make out their words but those tones were oh, so revealing.
But if Sarah was in deep waters and Caro was hovering on the brink, she, to her chagrin, had not even got her toes wet yet.
Arabella frowned at the moon, showing fleetingly between the branches of a tall tree. Hugo, Lord Denbigh. The most exasperating man she had ever met. She would give anything to be able to say she didn't care a button for him. Unfortunately, he was the only man who could make her tingle just by looking at her.
Unaware that she was falling far short of Caroline's expectations, Arabella continued to gaze out of the window, absorbed in contemplation of the means available for bringing one large gentleman to heel.
The heavy Twyford coach lumbered along in the wake of the sleek Delmere carriage. Lady Benborough put up a hand to right her wig, swaying perilously as they rounded a particularly sharp corner. For the
first time since embarking on her nephew's crusade to find the Twinning girls suitable husbands, she felt
a twinge of nervousness. She was playing with fire and she knew it. Still, she could not regret it. The
sight of Max and Caroline together in the hall at Twyford House had sent a definite thrill through her old bones. As for Sarah, she doubted not that Darcy Hamilton was too far gone to desist, resist and retire. True, he might not know it yet, but time would certainly bring home to him the penalty he would have to pay to walk away from the snare. Her shrewd blue eyes studied the pale face opposite her. Even in the dim light, the strain of the past few days was evident. Thankfully, no one outside their party had been aware of that contretemps. So, regardless of what Sarah herself believed, Augusta had no qualms. Sarah was home safe; she could turn her attention elsewhere.
Arabella, the minx, had picked a particularly difficult nut to crack. Still, she could hardly fault the girl's taste. Hugo Denbigh was a positive Adonis, well-born, well-heeled and easy enough in his ways. Unfortunately, he was so easy to please that he seemed to find just as much pleasure in the presence of drab little girls as he derived from Arabella's rather more scintillating company. Gammon, of course, but how to alert Arabella to that fact? Or would it be more to the point to keep quiet and allow Hugo a small degree of success? As her mind drifted down that particular path, Augusta suddenly caught herself up
and had the grace to look sheepish. What appalling thoughts for a chaperon!
Her gaze fell on Lizzie, sweet but far from demure in a gown of delicate silver gauze touched with colour in the form of embroidered lilacs. A soft, introspective smile hovered over her classically moulded lips. Almost a smile of anticipation. Augusta frowned. Had she missed something?
Mentally reviewing Lizzie's conquests, Lady Benborough was at a loss to account for the suppressed excitement evident, now she came to look more closely, in the way the younger girl's fingers beat an impatient if silent tattoo on the beads of her reticule. Clearly, whoever he was would be at the ball. She would have to watch her youngest charge like a hawk. Lizzie was too young, in all conscience, to be allowed the licence her more worldly sisters took for granted.
Relaxing back against the velvet squabs, Augusta smiled. Doubtless she was worrying over nothing.
Lizzie might have the Twinning looks but surely she was too serious an innocent to attract the attentions of a rake? Three rakes she might land, the Twinnings being the perfect bait, but a fourth was bound to
be wishful thinking.
CHAPTER SEVEN
Martin puzzled over Max's last words on the Twinnings but it was not until he met the sisters that evening, at Lady Montacute's drum, that he divined what had prompted his brother to utter them. He
had spent the afternoon dropping in on certain old friends, only to be, almost immediately, bombarded with requests for introductions to the Twinnings. He had come away with the definite impression that
the best place to be that evening would be wherever the Misses Twinning were destined. His batman and valet, Jiggins, had turned up the staggering information that Max himself usually escorted his wards to their evening engagements. Martin had found this hard to credit, but when, keeping an unobtrusive eye
on the stream of arrivals from a vantage-point beside a potted palm in Lady Montacute's ballroom, he
had seen Max arrive surrounded by Twinning sisters, he had been forced to accept the crazy notion as truth. When the observation that the fabulous creature on his brother's arm was, in fact, his eldest ward finally penetrated his brain all became clear.
Moving rapidly to secure a dance with Lizzie, who smiled up at him with flattering welcome, Martin
was close enough to see the expression in his brother's eyes as he bent to whisper something in Miss Twinning's ear, prior to relinquishing her to the attention of the circle forming about her. His brows flew and he pursed his lips in surprise. As his brother's words of that morning returned to him, he grinned. How much was Max prepared to stake?
For the rest of the evening, Martin watched and plotted and planned. He used his wound as an excuse
not to dance, which enabled him to spend his entire time studying Lizzie Twinning. It was an agreeable pastime. Her silvery dress floated about her as she danced and the candlelight glowed on her sheening brown curls. With her natural grace, she reminded him of a fairy sprite, except that he rather thought
uch mythical creatures lacked the fulsome charms with which the Twinning sisters were so well-
endowed. Due to his experienced foresight, Lizzie accommodatingly returned to his side after every dance, convinced by his chatter of the morning that he was in dire need of cheering up. Lady Benborough, to whom he had dutifully made his bow, had snorted in disbelief at his die-away airs but
had apparently been unable to dissuade Lizzie's soft heart from bringing him continual succour. By
subtle degrees, he sounded her out on each of her hopeful suitors and was surprised at his own relief
in finding she had no special leaning towards any.
He started his campaign in earnest when the musicians struck up for the dance for which he had
engaged her. By careful manoeuvring, they were seated in a sheltered alcove, free for the moment of
her swains. Schooling his features to grave disappointment, he said, ''Dear Lizzie. I'm so sorry to disappoint you, but…" He let his voice fade away weakly.