Her sisters had taken her words of the morning to heart and had wisely refrained from joining her in greeting their guardian. Alone, she emerged into the hallway. In astonishment, she beheld, not one elegantly turned out gentleman, but four.
Max, his eyes immediately drawn as if by some magic to her, smiled and came forward to take her
hand. His comprehensive glance swept her face, then dropped to her bonnet, dangling loosely by its ribbons from one hand. His smile broadened, bringing a delicate colour to her cheeks. "I'm glad
you're ready, my dear. But where are your sisters?"
Caroline blinked. "They're in the back parlour," she answered, turning to greet Darcy Hamilton.
Max turned. "Millwade, escort these gentlemen to the back parlour."
Millwade, not in Hillshaw's class, looked slightly scandalized. But an order from his employer was not
to be disobeyed. Caroline, engaged in exchanging courtesies with the gentlemen involved, was staggered. But before she could remonstrate, her cloak appeared about her shoulders and she was firmly propelled out the door. She was constrained to hold her fire until Max had dismissed the urchin holding the bays and climbed up beside her.
"You're supposed to be our guardian! Don't you think it's a little unconventional to leave three
gentlemen with your wards unchaperoned?"
Giving his horses the office, Max chuckled. "I don't think any of them need chaperoning at present. They'd hardly welcome company when trying to propose."
"Oh! You mean they've asked?"
Max nodded, then glanced down. "I take it you're still happy with their suits?"
"Oh, yes! It's just that…well, the others didn't seem to hold out much hope." After a pause, she asked, "Weren't you surprised?"
He shook his head. "Darcy I've been expecting for weeks. After this morning, Hugo was a certainty.
And Martin's been more sternly silent than I've ever seen him before. So, no, I can't say I was surprised." He turned to grin at her. "Still, I hope your sisters have suffered as much as their swains-it's only fair."
She was unable to repress her answering grin, the dimple by her mouth coming delightfully into being.
A subtle comment of Max's had the effect of turning the conversation into general fields. They laughed and discussed, occasionally with mock seriousness, a number of tonnish topics, then settled to determined consideration of the Twyford House ball.
This event had been fixed for the following Tuesday, five days distant. More than four hundred guests were expected. Thankfully, the ballroom was huge and the house would easily cater for this number. Under Lady Benborough's guidance, the Twinning sisters had coped with all the arrangements, a fact known to Max. He had a bewildering array of questions for Caroline. Absorbed with answering these,
she paid little attention to her surroundings.
"You don't think," she said, airing a point she and her sisters had spent much time pondering, "that, as
it's not really a proper come-out, in that we've been about for the entire Season and none of us is truly
a debutante, the whole thing might fall a little flat?"
Max grinned. "I think I can assure you that it will very definitely not be flat. In fact," he continued, as
if pondering a new thought, "I should think it'll be one of the highlights of the Season."
Caroline looked her question but he declined to explain.
As usual when with her guardian, time flew and it was only when a chill in the breeze penetrated her
thin cloak that Caroline glanced up and found the afternoon gone. The curricle was travelling smoothly down a well surfaced road, lined with low hedges set back a little from the carriageway. Beyond these, neat fields stretched sleepily under the waning sun, a few scattered sheep and cattle attesting to the fact that they were deep in the country. From the direction of the sun, they were travelling south, away from the capital. With a puzzled frown, she turned to the man beside her. "Shouldn't we be heading back?"
Max glanced down at her, his devilish grin in evidence. "We aren't going back."
Caroline's brain flatly refused to accept the implications of that statement. Instead, after a pause,
she asked conversationally, "Where are we?"
"A little past Twickenham."
"Oh." If they were that far out of town, then it was difficult to see how they could return that evening even if he was only joking about not going back. But he had to be joking, surely?
The curricle slowed and Max checked his team for the turn into a beech-lined drive. As they whisked through the gateway, Caroline caught a glimpse of a coat of arms worked into the impressive iron gates. The Delmere arms, Max's own. She looked about her with interest, refusing to give credence to the suspicion growing in her mind. The drive led deep into the beechwood, then opened out to run along a ridge bordered by cleared land, close-clipped grass dropping away on one side to run down to a distant river. On the other side, the beechwood fell back as the curricle continued towards a rise. Cresting this, the road descended in a broad sweep to end in a gravel courtyard before an old stone house. It nestled into an unexpected curve of a small stream, presumably a tributary of the larger river which Caroline rather thought must be the Thames. The roof sported many gables. Almost as many chimneys, intricate pots capping them, soared high above the tiles. In the setting sun, the house glowed mellow and warm. Along one wall, a rambling white rose nodded its blooms and released its perfume to the freshening breeze. Caroline thought she had seen few more appealing houses.
They were expected, that much was clear. A groom came running at the sound of the wheels on the gravel. Max lifted her down and led her to the door. It opened at his touch. He escorted her in and
closed the door behind them.
Caroline found herself in a small hall, neatly panelled in oak, a small round table standing in the middle
of the tiled floor. Max's hand at her elbow steered her to a corridor giving off the back of the hall. It terminated in a beautifully carved oak door. As Max reached around her to open it, Caroline asked, "Where are the servants?"
"Oh, they're about. But they're too well trained to show themselves."
Her suspicions developing in leaps and bounds, Caroline entered a large room, furnished in a fashion
she had never before encountered.
The floor was covered in thick, silky rugs, executed in the most glorious hues. Low tables were
scattered amid piles of cushions in silks and satins of every conceivable shade. There was a bureau against one wall, but the room was dominated by a dais covered with silks and piled with cushions,
more silks draping down from above to swirl about it in semi-concealing mystery. Large glass doors
gave on to a paved courtyard. The doors stood slightly ajar, admitting the comforting gurgle of the
stream as it passed by on the other side of the courtyard wall. As she crossed to peer out, she noticed
the ornate brass lamps which hung from the ceiling. The courtyard was empty and, surprisingly, entirely enclosed. A wooden gate was set in one side-wall and another in the wall opposite the house presumably gave on to the stream. As she turned back into the room, Caroline thought it had a strangely relaxing effect on the senses-the silks, the glowing but not overbright colours, the soothing murmur of the stream. Then, her eyes lit on the silk-covered dais. And grew round. Seen from this angle, it was clearly
a bed, heavily disguised beneath the jumble of cushions and silks, but a bed nevertheless. Her suspicions confirmed, her gaze flew to her guardian's face.
What she saw there tied her stomach in knots. "Max…" she began uncertainly, the conservative Miss Twinning hanging on grimly.
But then he was standing before her, his eyes glinting devilishly and that slow smile wreaking havoc