Four In Hand Read online

  However, when questioned, Lizzie disclaimed all interest in wedding breakfasts and the like. Hesitantly, not sure how he would take the suggestion, she toyed with the pin in his cravat and said, “Actually, I wonder if it would be possible to be married quite soon. Tomorrow, even?”

  Martin stared at her.

  “I mean,” Lizzie went on, “that there’s bound to be quite a few weddings in the family—what with Arabella and Sarah.”

  “And Caroline,” said Martin.

  Lizzie looked her question.

  “Max has taken Caroline off somewhere. I don’t know where, but I’m quite sure why.”

  “Oh.” Their recent occupation in mind, Lizzie could certainly see how he had come to that conclusion. It was on the tip of her tongue to ask for further clarification of the possibilities Caroline might encounter, but her tenacious disposition suggested she settle the question of her own wedding first. “Yes, well, there you are. With all the fuss and bother, I suspect we’ll be at the end of the list.”

  Martin looked much struck by her argument.

  “But,” Lizzie continued, sitting up as she warmed to her theme, “if we get married tomorrow, without any of the others knowing, then it’ll be done and we shan’t have to wait.” In triumph, she turned to Martin.

  Finding her eyes fixed on him enquiringly, Martin grinned. “Sweetheart, you put together a very convincing argument. So let’s agree to be married tomorrow. Now that’s settled, it seems to me you’re in far too composed a state. From what I’ve learned, it would be safest for everyone if you were kept in a perpetual state of confusion. So come here, my sweet, and let me confuse you a little.”

  Lizzie giggled and, quite happily, gave herself up to delighted confusion.

  ———

  The clink of crockery woke Caroline. She stretched languorously amid the soft cushions, the sensuous drift of the silken covers over her still tingling skin bringing back clear memories of the past hours. She was alone in the bed. Peering through the concealing silk canopy, she spied Max, tastefully clad in a long silk robe, watching a small dapper servant laying out dishes on the low tables on the other side of the room. The light from the brass lamps suffused the scene with a soft glow. She wondered what the time was.

  Lying back in the luxurious cushions, she pondered her state. Her final lesson had been in two parts. The first was concluded fairly soon after Max had joined her in the huge bed; the second, a much more lingering affair, had spun out the hours of the evening. In between, Max had, to her lasting shock, asked her to marry him. She had asked him to repeat his request three times, after which he had refused to do it again, saying she had no choice in the matter anyway as she was hopelessly compromised. He had then turned his attention to compromising her even further. As she had no wish to argue the point, she had meekly gone along with his evident desire to examine her responses to him in even greater depth than he had hitherto, a proceeding which had greatly contributed to their mutual content. She was, she feared, fast becoming addicted to Max’s particular expertise; there were, she had discovered, certain benefits attached to going to bed with rakes.

  She heard the door shut and Max’s tread cross the floor. The silk curtains were drawn back and he stood by the bed. His eyes found her pale body, covered only by the diaphanous silks, and travelled slowly from her legs all the way up until, finally, they reached her face, and he saw she was awake and distinctly amused. He grinned and held out a hand. “Come and eat. I’m ravenous.”

  It was on the tip of Caroline’s tongue to ask what his appetite craved, but the look in his eyes suggested that might not be wise if she wished for any dinner. She struggled to sit up and looked wildly around for her clothes. They had disappeared. She looked enquiringly at Max. He merely raised one black brow.

  “I draw the line at sitting down to dinner with you clad only in silk gauze,” Caroline stated.

  With a laugh, Max reached behind him and lifted a pale blue silk wrap from a chair and handed it to her. She struggled into it and accepted his hand to help her from the depths of the cushioned dais.

  The meal was well cooked and delicious. Max contrived to turn eating into a sensual experience of a different sort and Caroline eagerly followed his lead. At the end of the repast, she was lying, relaxed and content, against his chest, surrounded by the inevitable cushions and sipping a glass of very fine chilled wine.

  Max, equally content, settled one arm around her comfortably, then turned to a subject they had yet to broach. “When shall we be married?”

  Caroline raised her brows. “I hadn’t really thought that far ahead.”

  “Well, I suggest you do, for there are certain cavils to be met.”

  “Oh?”

  “Yes,” said Max. “Given that I left my brother, Darcy Hamilton and Hugo Denbigh about to pay their addresses to my three wards, I suspect we had better return to London tomorrow afternoon. Then, if you want a big wedding, I should warn you that the Rotherbridge family is huge and, as I am its head, all will expect to be invited.”

  Caroline was shaking her head. “Oh, I don’t think a big wedding would be at all wise. I mean, it looks as though the Twinning family will have a surfeit of weddings. But,” she paused, “maybe your family will expect it?”

  “I dare say they will, but they’re quite used to me doing outrageous things. I should think they’ll be happy enough that I’m marrying at all, let alone to someone as suitable as yourself, my love.”

  Suddenly, Caroline sat bolt upright. “Max! I just remembered. What’s the time? They’ll all be in a flurry because I haven’t returned…”

  But Max drew her back against his chest “Hush. It’s all taken care of. I left a note for Aunt Augusta. She knows you’re with me and will not be returning until tomorrow.”

  “But…won’t she be upset?”

  “I should think she’ll be dancing a jig.” He grinned as she turned a puzzled face to him. “Haven’t you worked out Aunt Augusta’s grand plan yet?” Bemused, Caroline shook her head. “I suspect she had it in mind that I should marry you from the moment she first met you. That was why she was so insistent that I keep my wards. Initially, I rather think she hoped that by her throwing us forever together I would notice you.” He chuckled. “Mind you, a man would have to be blind not to notice your charms at first sight, m’dear. By that first night at Almack’s, I think she realized she didn’t need to do anything further, just give me plenty of opportunity. She knows me rather well, you see, and knew that, despite my reputation, you were in no danger of being offered a carte blanche by me.”

  “I did wonder why she never warned me about you,” admitted Caroline.

  “But to return to the question of our marriage. If you wish to fight shy of a full society occasion, then it still remains to fix the date.”

  Caroline bent her mind to the task. Once they returned to London, she would doubtless be caught up in all the plans for her sisters’ weddings, and, she supposed, her own would have to come first. But it would all take time. And meanwhile, she would be living in Twyford House, not Delmere House. The idea of returning to sleeping alone in her own bed did not appeal. The end of one slim finger tapping her lower lip, she asked, “How soon could we be married?”

  “Tomorrow, if you wish.” As she turned to stare at him again, Max continued. “Somewhere about here,” he waved his arm to indicate the room, “lies a special licence. And our neighbour happens to be a retired bishop, a long-time friend of my late father’s, who will be only too thrilled to officiate at my wedding. If you truly wish it, I’ll ride over tomorrow morning and we can be married before luncheon, after which we had better get back to London. Does that programme meet with your approval?”

  Caroline leaned forward and placed her glass on the table. Then she turned to Max, letting her hands slide under the edge of his robe. “Oh, yes,” she purred. “Most definitely.”

  Max looked down at her, a glint in his eyes. “You, madam, are proving to be every bit as much
a houri as I suspected.”

  Caroline smiled slowly. “And do you approve, my lord?”

  “Most definitely,” drawled Max as his lips found hers.

  ———

  The Duke of Twyford returned to London the next afternoon, accompanied by his Duchess. They went directly to Twyford House, to find the entire household at sixes and sevens. They found Lady Benborough in the back parlour, reclining on the chaise, her wig askew, an expression of smug satisfaction on her face. At sight of them, she abruptly sat up, struggling to control the wig. “There you are! And about time, too!” Her shrewd blue eyes scanned their faces, noting the inner glow that lit Caroline’s features and the contented satisfaction in her nephew’s dark face. “What have you been up to?”

  Max grinned wickedly and bent to kiss her cheek. “Securing my Duchess, as you correctly imagined.”

  “You’ve tied the knot already?” she asked in disbelief.

  Caroline nodded. “It seemed most appropriate. That way, our wedding won’t get in the way of the others.”

  “Humph!” snorted Augusta, disgruntled at missing the sight of her reprehensible nephew getting leg-shackled. She glared at Max.

  His smile broadened. “Strange, I had thought you would be pleased to see us wed; Particularly considering your odd behaviour. Why, even Caro had begun to wonder why you never warned her about me, despite the lengths to which I went to distract her mind from such concerns.”

  Augusta blushed. “Yes, well,” she began, slightly flustered, then saw the twinkle in Max’s eye. “You know very well I’m aux anges to see you married at last, but I would have given my best wig to have seen it!”

  Caroline laughed. “I do assure you we are truly married. But where are the others?”

  “And that’s another thing!” said Augusta, turning to Max. “The next time you set about creating a bordello in a household I’m managing, at least have the goodness to warn me beforehand! I come down after my nap to find Arabella in Hugo Denbigh’s lap. That was bad enough, but the door to the morning-room was locked. Sarah and Darcy Hamilton eventually emerged, but only much later.” She glared at Max but was obviously having difficulty keeping her face straight “Worst of all,” she continued in a voice of long suffering, “Miriam went to look at the roses just before sunset. Martin had apparently chosen the rose garden to further his affair with Lizzie, don’t ask me why. It was an hour before Miriam’s palpitations had died down enough for her to go to bed. I’ve packed her off to her sister’s to recuperate. Really, Max, you’ve had enough experience to have foreseen what would happen.”

  Both Max and Caroline were convulsed with laughter.

  “Oh, dear,” said Caroline when she could speak, “I wonder what would have happened if she had woken up on the way back from the Richardsons’ ball?”

  Augusta looked interested but, before she could request further information, the door opened and Sarah entered, followed by Darcy Hamilton. From their faces it was clear that all their troubles were behind them—Sarah looked radiant, Darcy simply looked besotted. The sisters greeted each other affectionately, then Sarah drew back and surveyed the heavy gold ring on Caroline’s left hand. “Married already?”

  “We thought to do you the favour of getting our marriage out of the way forthwith,” drawled Max, releasing Darcy’s hand. “So there’s no impediment to your own nuptials.”

  Darcy and Sarah exchanged an odd look, then burst out laughing. “I’m afraid, dear boy,” said Darcy, “that we’ve jumped the gun, too.”

  Sarah held out her left hand, on which glowed a slim gold band.

  While the Duke and Duchess of Twyford and Lord and Lady Darcy exchanged congratulations all around, Lady Benborough looked on in disgust. “What I want to know,” she said, when she could make herself heard once more, “is if I’m to be entirely done out of weddings, even after all my efforts to see you all in parson’s mouse-trap?”

  “Oh, there are still two Twinnings to go, so I wouldn’t give up hope,” returned her nephew, smiling down at her with transparent goodwill. “Apropos of which, has anyone seen the other two lately?”

  No one had. When applied to, Millwade imparted the information that Lord Denbigh had called for Miss Arabella just before two. They had departed in Lord Denbigh’s carriage. Mr. Martin had dropped by for Miss Lizzie at closer to three. They had left in a hack.

  “A hack?” queried Max.

  Millwade merely nodded. Dismissed, he withdrew.

  Max was puzzled. “Where on earth could they have gone?”

  As if in answer, voices were heard in the hall. But it was Arabella and Hugo who had returned. Arabella danced in, her curls bouncing, her big eyes alight with happiness. Hugo ambled in her wake, his grin suggesting that he suspected his good fortune was merely a dream and he would doubtless wake soon enough. Meanwhile, he was perfectly content with the way this particular dream was developing. Arabella flew to embrace Caroline and Sarah, then turned to the company at large and announced, “Guess what!”

  A pregnant silence greeted her words, the Duke and his Duchess, the Lord and his Lady, all struck dumb by a sneaking suspicion. Almost unwillingly, Max voiced it. “You’re married already?”

  Arabella’s face fell a little. “How did you guess?” she demanded.

  “No!” moaned Augusta. “Max, see what happens when you leave town? I won’t have it!”

  But her words fell on deaf ears. Too blissfully happy themselves to deny their friends the same pleasures, the Duke and his Duchess were fully engaged in wishing the new Lady Denbigh and her Lord all manner of felicitations. And then, of course, there was their own news to hear, and that of the Hamiltons. The next ten minutes were filled with congratulations and good wishes.

  Left much to herself, Lady Benborough sat in a corner of the chaise and watched the group with an indulgent eye. Truth to tell, she was not overly concerned with the absence of weddings. At her age, they constituted a definite trial. She smiled at the thought of the stories she would tell of the rapidity with which the three rakes before her had rushed their brides to the altar. Between them, they had nearly forty years of experience in evading parson’s mouse-trap, yet, when the right lady had loomed on their horizon, they had found it expedient to wed her with all speed. She wondered whether that fact owed more to their frustrations or their experience.

  Having been assured by Arabella that Martin had indeed proposed and been accepted, the Duke and Duchess allowed themselves to be distracted by the question of the immediate housing arrangements. Eventually, it was decided that, in the circumstances, it was perfectly appropriate that Sarah should move into Hamilton House immediately, and Arabella likewise to Denbigh House. Caroline, of course, would henceforth be found at Delmere House. Relieved to find their ex-guardian so accommodating, Sarah and Arabella were about to leave to attend to their necessary packing, when the door to the drawing-room opened.

  Martin and Lizzie entered.

  It was Max, his sharp eyes taking in the glow in Lizzie’s face and the ridiculously proud look stamped across Martin’s features, who correctly guessed then-secret.

  “Don’t tell me!” he said, in a voice of long suffering. “You’ve got married, too?”

  ———

  Needless to say, the Twyford House ball four days later was hardly flat In fact, with four blushing brides, sternly watched over by their four handsome husbands, it was, as Max had prophesied, one of the highlights of the Season.