Four In Hand

CHAPTER ELEVEN

After returning to the ballroom with Caroline, Max found his temper unconducive to remaining at the

ball. In short, he had a headache. His wards seemed to be behaving themselves, despite his premonitions, so there was little reason to remain at Penbright House. But the night was young and his interlude with Caroline had made it unlikely that sleep would come easily, so he excused himself to his eldest ward and his aunt, and left to seek entertainment of a different sort.

He had never got around to replacing Carmelita. There hardly seemed much point now. He doubted

he would have much use for such women in future. He grinned to himself, then winced. Just at that moment, he regretted not having a replacement available. He would try bis clubs-perhaps a little

hazard might distract him.

The carriage had almost reached Delmere House when, on the spur of the moment, he redirected his coachman to a discreet house on Bolsover Street. Sending the carriage back to Penbright House, he entered the newest gaming hell in London. Naturally, the door was opened to His Grace of Twyford

with an alacrity that brought a sardonic grin to His Grace's face. But the play was entertaining enough

and the beverages varied and of a quality he could not fault.

The hell claimed to be at the forefront of fashion and consequently there were a number of women present, playing the green baize tables or, in some instances, merely accompanying their lovers. To his amusement, Max found a number of pairs of feminine eyes turned his way, but was too wise to evince

an interest he did not, in truth, feel. Among the patrons he found more than a few refugees from the Penbright ball, among them Darcy Hamilton.

Darcy was leaning against the wall, watching the play at the hazard table. He glowered as Max approached. "I noticed both you and your eldest ward were absent from the festivities for an

inordinately long time this evening. Examining etchings upstairs, I suppose?"

Max grinned. ''We were upstairs, as it happens. But it wasn't etchings I was examining."

Darcy nearly choked on his laughter. "Damn you, Max," he said when he could speak. "So you've

won through, have you?''

A shrug answered him. "Virtually. But I decided the ball was not the right venue." The comment

stunned Darcy but before he could phrase his next question Max continued. "Her sisters seem to be hatching some plot, though I'm dashed if I can see what it is. But when I left all seemed peaceful enough." Max's blue eyes went to his friend's face. "What are you doing here?"

"Trying to avoid thinking," said Darcy succinctly.

Max grinned. "Oh. In that case, come and play a hand of piquet."

The two were old adversaries who only occasionally found the time to play against each other.

Their skills were well-matched and before long their game had resolved into an exciting tussle which

drew an increasing crowd of spectators. The owners of the hell, finding their patrons leaving the tables

to view the contest, from their point an unprofitable exercise, held an urgent conference. They concluded that the cachet associated with having hosted a contest between two such well-known players was worth the expense. Consequently, the two combatants found their glasses continually refilled with the finest brandy and new decks of cards made readily available.

Both Max and Darcy enjoyed the battle, and as both were able to stand the nonsense, whatever the outcome, they were perfectly willing to continue the play for however long their interest lasted. In truth, both found the exercise a welcome outlet for their frustrations of the past weeks.

The brandy they both consumed made absolutely no impression on their play or their demeanour.

Egged on by a throng of spectators, all considerably more drunk than the principals, the game was still underway at the small table in the first parlour when Lord McCubbin, an ageing but rich Scottish peer, entered with Emma Mortland on his arm.

Drawn to investigate the cause of the excitement, Emma's bright eyes fell on the elegant figure of the Duke of Twyford. An unpleasant smile crossed her sharp features. She hung on Lord McCubbin's

arm, pressing close to whisper to him.

"Eh? What? Oh, yes," said his lordship, somewhat incoherently. He turned to address the occupants

of the table in the middle of the crowd. "Twyford! There you are! Think you've lost rather more than money tonight, what?"

Max, his hand poised to select his discard, let his eyes rise to Lord McCubbin's face. He frowned, an unwelcome premonition filling him as his lordship's words sank in. "What, exactly, do you mean by

that, my lord?" The words were even and precise and distinctly deadly.

But Lord McCubbin seemed not to notice. "Why, dear boy, you've lost one of your wards. Saw her,

clear as daylight. The flighty one in the damned pink domino. Getting into a carriage with that chap Keighly outside the Penbright place. Well, if you don't know, it's probably too late anyway, don't

you know?"

Max's eyes had gone to Emma Mortland's face and seen the malicious triumph there. But he had no

time to waste on her. He turned back to Lord McCubbin. "Which way did they go?"

The silence in the room had finally penetrated his lordship's foggy brain. "Er-didn't see. I went back

to the ballroom."

Martin Rotherbridge paused, his hand on the handle of his bedroom door. It was past seven in the morning. He had sat up all night since returning from the ball, with his brother's brandy decanter to

keep him company, going over his relationship with Lizzie Twinning. And still he could find only one solution. He shook his head and opened the door. The sounds of a commotion in the hall drifted up

the stairwell. He heard his brother's voice, uplifted in a series of orders to Hillshaw, and then to Wilson. The tone of voice was one he had rarely heard from Max. It brought him instantly alert. Sleep forgotten, he strode back to the stairs.

In the library, Max was pacing back and forth before the hearth, a savage look on his face. Darcy Hamilton stood silently by the window, his face showing the effects of the past weeks, overlaid by the stress of the moment. Max paused to glance at the clock on the mantelshelf. "Seven-thirty," he muttered. "If my people haven't traced Keighly's carriage by eight-thirty, I'll have to send around to Twyford House." He stopped as a thought struck him. Why hadn't they sent for him anyway? It could only mean that, somehow or other, Arabella had managed to conceal her disappearance. He resumed his pacing.

The idea of his aunt in hysterics, not to mention Miriam Alford, was a sobering thought. His own scandalous career would be nothing when compared to the repercussions from this little episode. He would wring Arabella's neck when he caught her.

The door opened. Max looked up to see Martin enter. "What's up?" asked Martin.

"Arabella!" said his brother, venom in his voice. "The stupid chit's done a bunk with Keighly."

"Eloped?" said Martin, his disbelief patent.

Max stopped pacing. "Well, I presume he means to marry her. Considering how they all insist on the proposal first, I can't believe she'd change her spots quite so dramatically. But if I have anything to

say about it, she won't be marrying Keighly. I've a good mind to shove her into a convent until she

comes to her senses!"

Darcy started, then smiled wryly. "I'm told there's a particularly good one near their old home."

Max turned to stare at him as if he had gone mad.

"But think of the waste," said Martin, grinning.

"Precisely my thoughts," nodded Darcy, sinking into an armchair. "Max, unless you plan to ruin your carpet, for God's sake sit down."

With something very like a growl, Max threw himself into the other armchair. Martin drew up a straight-backed chair from the side of the room and sat astride it, his arms folded over its back.

"So what now?" he asked. "I've never been party to an elopement before."

His brother's intense blue gaze, filled with silent warning, only made him grin more broadly. "Well,

how the hell should I know?" Max eventually exploded.

Both brothers turned to Darcy. He shook his head, his voice unsteady as he replied. "Don't look at

me. Not in my line. Come to think of it, none of us has had much experience in trying to get women

to marry us."

"Too true," murmured Martin. A short silence fell, filled with uncomfortable thoughts. Martin broke it. "So, what's your next move?"

"Wilson's sent runners out to all the posting houses. I can't do a thing until I know which road they've taken."

At that moment, the door silently opened and shut again, revealing the efficient Wilson, a small and self-effacing man, Max's most trusted servitor. "I thought you'd wish to know, Your Grace. There's

been no sightings of such a vehicle on any of the roads leading north, north-east or south. The man covering the Dover road has yet to report back, as has the man investigating the road to the south-west."

Max nodded. "Thank you, Wilson. Keep me informed as the reports come in."

Wilson bowed and left as silently as he had entered.

The frown on Max's face deepened. "Where would they go? Gretna Green? Dover? I know Keighly's

got estates somewhere, but I never asked where." After a moment, he glanced at Martin. "Did Lizzie

ever mention it?"

Martin shook his head. Then, he frowned. "Not but what I found her talking to Keighly as soon as ever they got to the ball this evening. I asked her what it was about but she denied there was anything in it." His face had become grim. "She must have known."

"I think Sarah knew too," said Darcy, his voice unemotional. "I saw her go out with Keighly, then

found her alone in a gazebo not far from the carriage gate."

"Hell and the devil!" said Max. "They can't all simultaneously have got a screw loose. What I can't understand is what's so attractive about Keighly?"

A knock on the door answered this imponderable question. At Max's command, Hillshaw entered.

"Lord Denbigh desires a word with you, Your Grace."

For a moment, Max's face was blank. Then, he sighed. "Show him in, Hillshaw. He's going to have

to know sooner or later."

As it transpired, Hugo already knew. As he strode into the library, he was scowling furiously. He

barely waited to shake Max's hand and exchange nods with the other two men before asking,

"Have you discovered which road they've taken?"

Max blinked and waved him to the armchair he had vacated, moving to take the chair behind the desk. "How did you know?"

"It's all over town," said Hugo, easing his large frame into the chair. "I was at White's when I heard it. And if it's reached that far, by later this morning your ward is going to be featuring in the very latest

on-dit all over London. I'm going to wring her neck!"

This last statement brought a tired smile to Max's face. But, "You'll have to wait in line for that

privilege," was all he said.

The brandy decanter, replenished after Martin's inroads, had twice made the rounds before Wilson

again slipped noiselessly into the room. He cleared his throat to attract Max's attention. "A coach

carrying a gentleman and a young lady wearing a rose-pink domino put in at the Crown at Acton

at two this morning, Your Grace."

The air of despondency which had settled over the room abruptly lifted. "Two," said Max, his eyes

going to the clock. "And it's well after eight now. So they must be past Uxbridge. Unless they made

a long stop?"

Wilson shook his head. "No, Your Grace. They only stopped long enough to change horses." If

anything, the little man's impassive face became even more devoid of emotion. "It seems the young

lady was most anxious to put as much distance as possible behind them."

"As well she might," said Max, his eyes glittering. "Have my curricle put to. And good work, Wilson."

"Thank you, Your Grace." Wilson bowed and left. Max tossed off the brandy in bis glass and rose.

"I'll come with you," said Hugo, putting his own glass down. For a moment, his eyes met Max's,

then Max nodded.

"Very well." His gaze turned to his brother and Darcy Hamilton. "Perhaps you two could break the

news to the ladies at Twyford House?"

Martin nodded.

Darcy grimaced at Max over the rim of his glass. "I thought you'd say that" After a moment, he continued, "As I said before, I'm not much of a hand at elopements and I don't know Keighly at all.

But it occurs to me, Max, dear boy, that it's perfectly possible he might not see reason all that easily.

He might even do something rash. So, aside from Hugo here, don't you think you'd better take those along with you?"

Darcy pointed at a shin wooden case that rested on top of the dresser standing against the wall at the

side of the room. Inside, as he knew, reposed a pair of Mr. Joseph Manton's duelling pistols, with

which Max was considered a master.

Max hesitated, then shrugged. "I suppose you're right." He lifted the case to his desk-top and, opening

it, quickly checked the pistols. They looked quite lethal, the long black barrels gleaming, the silver mountings glinting wickedly. He had just picked up the second, when the knocker on the front door

was plied with a ruthlessness which brought a definite wince to all four faces in the library. The night

had been a long one. A moment later, they heard Hillshaw's sonorous tones, remonstrating with the

caller. Then, an unmistakably feminine voice reached their ears. With an oath, Max strode to the door.

Caroline fixed Hillshaw with a look which brooked no argument. "I wish to see His Grace immediately, Hillshaw."

Accepting defeat, Hillshaw turned to usher her to the drawing-room, only to be halted by his master's voice.

"Caro! What are you doing here?"

From the library door, Max strolled forward to take the hand Caroline held out to him. Her eyes

widened as she took in the pistol he still held in his other hand. "Thank God I'm in time!" she said,

in such heartfelt accents that Max frowned.

"It's all right. We've found out which road they took. Denbigh and I were about to set out after them. Don't worry, we'll bring her back."

Far from reassuring her as he had intended, his matter-of-fact tone seemed to set her more on edge. Caroline clasped both her small hands on his arm. "No! You don't understand."

Max's frown deepened. He decided she was right He could not fathom why she wished him to let Arabella ruin herself. "Come into the library."

Caroline allowed him to usher her into the apartment where they had first met As her eyes took in the other occupants, she coloured slightly. "Oh, I didn't realize," she said.

Max waved her hesitation aside. "It's all right They already know." He settled her in the armchair Hugo had vacated. "Caro, do you know where Keighly's estates are?"

Caroline was struggling with his last revelation.

They already knew? How? "Gloucestershire, I think," she replied automatically. Then, her mind registered the fact that Max had laid the wicked-looking pistol he had been carrying on his desk, with

its mate, no less, and was putting the box which she thought ought to contain them back, empty, on

the dresser. A cold fear clutched at her stomach. Her voice seemed thin and reedy. "Max, what are

you going to do with those?"

Max, still standing behind the desk, glanced down at the pistols. But it was Hugo's deep voice which answered her. "Have to make sure Keighly sees reason, ma'am," he explained gently. "Need to impress on him the wisdom of keeping his mouth shut over this."

Her mind spinning, Caroline looked at him blankly. "But why? I mean, what can he say? Well, it's

all so ridiculous."

"Ridiculous?" echoed Max, a grim set to his mouth.

"I'm afraid you don't quite understand, Miss Twinning," broke in Darcy. "The story's already all over town. But if Max can get her back and Keighly keeps his mouth shut, then it's just possible it'll all blow over, you see."

"But…but why should Max interfere?" Caroline put a hand to her head, as if to still her whirling thoughts.

This question was greeted by stunned silence. It was Martin who broke it. "But, dash it all! He's her guardian!"

For an instant, Caroline looked perfectly blank. "Is he?" she whispered weakly.

This was too much for Max. "You know perfectly well I am." It appeared to him that his Caro had all

but lost her wits with shock. He reined in his temper, sorely tried by the events of the entire night, and said, "Hugo and I are about to leave to get Arabella back-"

"No!" The syllable was uttered with considerable force by Caroline as she leapt to her feet It had the desired effect of stopping her guardian in his tracks. One black brow rose threateningly, but before he could voice his anger she was speaking again. "You don't understand! I didn't think you did, but you

kept telling me you knew."

Caroline's eyes grew round as she watched Max move around the desk and advance upon her. She

waved one hand as if to keep him back and enunciated clearly, "Arabella did not go with Sir Ralph."

Max stopped. Then his eyes narrowed. "She was seen getting into a carriage with him in the

Penbrights' drive."

Caroline shook her head as she tried to work mis out. Then she saw the light. "A rose-pink domino

was seen getting into Sir Ralph's carriage?"

At her questioning look, Max thought back to Lord McCubbin's words. Slowly, he nodded his head.

"And you're sure it wasn't Arabella?"

"When I left Twyford House, Arabella was at the breakfast table."

"So who…?"

"Sarah?" came the strangled voice of Darcy Hamilton.

Caroline looked puzzled. "No. She's at home, too."

"Lizzie?"

Martin's horrified exclamation startled Caroline. She regarded him in increasing bewilderment.

"Of course not. She's at Twyford House."

By now, Max could see the glimmer of reason for what seemed like the first time in hours.

"So who went with Sir Ralph?"

"Miss Harriet Jenkins," said Caroline.

"Who?" The sound of four male voices in puzzled unison was very nearly too much for Caroline. She sank back into her chair and waved them back to their seats. "Sit down and I'll explain."

With wary frowns, they did as she bid them.

After a pause to marshal her thoughts, Caroline began. "It's really all Mrs. Crowbridge's fault. She

decided she wanted Sir Ralph for a son-in-law. Sir Ralph had come to town because he took fright at

the thought of the marriage he had almost contracted with Miss Jenkins in Gloucestershire." She glanced up, but none of her audience seemed to have difficulty understanding events thus far. "Mrs. Crowbridge kept throwing Amanda in Sir Ralph's way. Amanda did not like Sir Ralph and so, to help out, and especially because Mr. Minchbury had almost come to the point with Amanda and she favoured his suit, Arabella started flirting with Sir Ralph, to draw him away from Amanda." She paused, but no questions came. "Well, you, Max, made that a bit difficult when you told Arabella to behave herself with respect

to Sir Ralph. But they got around that by sharing the work, as it were. It was still Arabella drawing Sir Ralph off, but the other two helped to cover her absences. Then, Miss Jenkins came to town, following Sir Ralph. She joined in the…the plot. I gather Arabella was to hold Sir Ralph off until Mr. Minchbury proposed and then turn him over to Miss Jenkins."

Max groaned and Caroline watched as he put his head in his hand. "Sir Ralph has my heartfelt

sympathy," he said. He gestured to her. "Go on."

"Well, then Mrs. Crowbridge tried to trap Sir Ralph by trying to put him in a compromising situation

with Amanda. After that, they all decided something drastic needed to be done, to save both Sir Ralph and Amanda. At the afternoon concert, Sarah wheedled a declaration of sorts from Sir Ralph over Arabella and got him to promise to go along with their plan. He thought Arabella was about to go into

a decline and had to be swept off her feet by an elopement."

"My sympathy for Sir Ralph has just died," said Max. "What a slow-top if he believed that twaddle!"

"So that's what she was doing on the balcony with him," said Darcy. "She was there for at least half

an hour."

Caroline nodded. "She said she had had to work on him. But Harriet Jenkins has known Sir Ralph

from the cradle and had told her how best to go about it"

When no further comment came, Caroline resumed her story. "At the Penbrights's ball last night, Lizzie had the job of making sure Sir Ralph had brought Jus carriage and would be waiting for Sarah when she came to take him to the rendezvous later."

"And that's why she went to talk to Keighly as soon as you got in the ballroom," said Martin, putting

his piece of the puzzle into place.

"All Arabella had to do was flirt outrageously as usual, so that everyone, but particularly Sir Ralph,

would be convinced it was her in the rose-pink domino. At twelve-twenty, Arabella swapped dominos with Harriet Jenkins and Harriet went down to a gazebo by the carriage gate."

"Oh, God!" groaned Hugo Denbigh. The horror in his voice brought all eyes to him. He had paled.

"What was the colour? Of the second domino?"

Caroline stared at him. "Brown."

"Oh, no! I should have guessed. But her accent." Hugo dropped his head into his large hands.

For a moment, his companions looked on in total bewilderment. Then Caroline chuckled, her eyes dancing. "Oh. Did you meet Maria Pavlovska?"

"Yes, I did!" said Hugo, emerging from his depression. "Allow me to inform you, Miss Twinning,

that your sister is a minx!"

"I know that," said Caroline. "Though I must say, it's rather trying of her." In answer to Max's look

of patent enquiry, she explained. "Maria Pavlovska was a character Arabella acted in a play on board ship. A Polish countess of-er-'' Caroline broke off, blushing.

"Dubious virtue," supplied Hugo, hard pressed.

"Well, she was really very good at it," said Caroline.

Looking at Hugo's flushed countenance, none of the others doubted it.

"Where was I?" asked Caroline, trying to appear unconscious. "Oh, yes. Well, all that was left to do

was to get Sir Ralph to the gazebo. Sarah apparently did that."

Darcy nodded. "Yes. I saw her."

Max waited for more. His friend's silence brought a considering look to his eyes.

"So, you see, it's all perfectly all right. It's Harriet Jenkins who has gone with Sir Ralph. I gather he proposed before they left and Miss Jenkins's family approved the match, and as they are headed

straight back to Gloucestershire, I don't think there's anything to worry about. Oh, and Mr. Minchbury proposed last night and the Crowbridges accepted him, so all's ended well after all and everyone's happy."

"Except for the four of us, who've all aged years in one evening," retorted Max acerbically.

She had the grace to blush. "I came as soon as I found out."

Hugo interrupted. "But they've forgotten one thing. It's all over town that Arabella eloped with Keighly."

"Oh, no. I don't think that can be right," said Caroline, shaking her head. "Anyone who was at the unmasking at the Penbrights' ball would know Arabella was there until the end." Seeing the questioning looks, she explained. "The unmasking was held at one o'clock. And someone suggested there should be a…a competition to see who was the best disguised. People weren't allowed to unmask until someone correctly guessed who they were. Well, no one guessed who Maria Pavlovska was, so Arabella was

the toast of the ball."

Max sat back in his chair and grinned tiredly. "So anyone putting about the tale of my ward's elopement will only have the story rebound on them. I'm almost inclined to forgive your sisters their transgression

for that one fact."

Caroline looked hopeful, but he did not elaborate.

Max stood and the others followed suit. Hugo, still shaking his head in disbelief, took himself off, and Darcy left immediately after. Martin retired for a much needed rest and Caroline found herself alone

with her guardian.

Max crossed to where she sat and drew her to her feet and into his arms. His lips found hers in a reassuring kiss. Then, he held her, her head on his shoulder, and laughed wearily. "Sweetheart, if I thought your sisters would be on my hands for much longer, I'd have Whitney around here this

morning to instruct him to break that guardianship clause."

"I'm sorry," mumbled Caroline, her hands engrossed in smoothing the folds of his cravat. "I did come

as soon as I found out."

"I know you did," acknowledged Max. "And I'm very thankful you did, what's more! Can you imagine how Hugo and I would have looked if we had succeeded in overtaking Keighly's carriage and demanded he return the lady to us? God!" He shuddered. "It doesn't bear thinking about." He hugged her, then released her. "Now you should go home and rest. And I'm going to get some sleep."

"One moment," she said, staying within his slackened hold, her eyes still on his cravat. "Remember

I said I'd tell you whether there were any gentlemen who we'd like to consider seriously, should they apply to you for permission to address us?"

Max nodded. "Yes. I remember." Surely she was not going to mention Willoughby? What had gone

on last night, after he had left? He suddenly felt cold.

But she was speaking again. "Well, if Lord Darcy should happen to ask, then you know about that,

don't you?"

Max nodded. "Yes. Darcy would make Sarah a fine husband. One who would keep her sufficiently occupied so she wouldn't have time for scheming." He grinned at Caroline's blush. "And you're right.

I'm expecting him to ask at any time. So that's Sarah dealt with."

''And I'd rather thought Lord Denbigh for Arabella, though I didn't know then about Maria Pavlovska."

"Oh, I wouldn't deal Hugo short. Maria Pavlovska might be a bit hard to bear but I'm sure he'll come about. And, as I'm sure Aunt Augusta has told you, he's perfectly acceptable as long as he can be

brought to pop the question."

"And," said Caroline, keeping her eyes down, "I'm not perfectly sure, but…"

"You think Martin might ask for Lizzie," supplied Max, conscious of his own tiredness. It was sapping

his will. All sorts of fantasies were surfacing in his brain and the devil of it was they were all perfectly achievable. But he had already made other plans, better plans. "I foresee no problems there. Martin's

got more money than is good for him. I'm sure Lizzie will keep him on his toes, hauling her out of the scrapes her innocence will doubtless land her in. And I'd much rather it was him than me." He tried to look into Caroline's face but she kept her eyes-were they greyish-green or greenish-grey? He had

never decided-firmly fixed on his cravat.

"I'm thrilled that you approve of my cravat, sweetheart, but is there anything more? I'm dead on my

feet," he acknowledged with a rueful grin, praying that she did not have anything more to tell him.

Caroline's eyes flew to his, an expression he could not read in their depths. "Oh, of course you are!

No. There's nothing more."

Max caught the odd wistfulness in her tone and correctly divined its cause. His grin widened. As he walked her to the door, he said, "Once I'm myself again, and have recovered from your sisters'

exploits, I'll call on you-say at three this afternoon? I'll take you for a drive. There are some matters

I wish to discuss with you." He guided her through the library door and into the hall. In answer to her questioning look, he added. "About your ball."

"Oh. I'd virtually forgotten about it," Caroline said as Max took her cloak from Hillshaw and placed it about her shoulders. They had organized to hold a ball in the Twinnings' honour at Twyford House

the following week.

"We'll discuss it at three this afternoon," said Max as he kissed her hand and led her down the steps to

her carriage.