Caroline had come unprepared to recite her history, imagining the Duke to be cognizant of the facts. Still, in the circumstances, she could hardly refuse. “My mother was Caroline Famingham, of the Staffordshire Farninghams.”
Max nodded. An ancient family, well-known and well-connected.
Caroline’s gaze had wandered to the rows of books lining the shelves behind the Duke. “She died shortly after I was born. I never knew her. After some years, my father married again, this time to the daughter of a local family who were about to leave for the colonies. Eleanor was very good to me and she looked after all of us comfortably, until she died six years ago. Of course, my father was disappointed that he never had a son and he rarely paid any attention to the four of us, so it was all left up to Eleanor.”
The more he heard of him, the more Max was convinced that Sir Thomas Twinning had had a screw loose. He had clearly been a most unnatural parent. Still, the others were only Miss Twinning’s half-sisters. Presumably they were not all as ravishing as she. It occurred to him that he should ask for clarification on this point but, before he could properly phrase the question, another and equally intriguing matter came to mind.
“Why was it none of you was presented before? If your father was sufficiently concerned to organize a guardian for you, surely the easiest solution would have been to have handed you into the care of husbands?”
Caroline saw no reason not to satisfy what was, after all, an entirely understandable curiosity. “We were never presented because my father disapproved of such…oh, frippery pastimes! To be perfectly honest, I sometimes thought he disapproved of women in general.”
Max blinked.
Caroline continued, “As for marriage, he had organized that after a fashion. I was supposed to have married Edgar Mulhall, our neighbour.” Involuntarily, her face assumed an expression of distaste.
Max was amused. “Wouldn’t he do?”
Caroline’s gaze returned to the saturnine face. “You haven’t met him or you wouldn’t need to ask. He’s…” She wrinkled her nose as she sought for an adequate description. “Righteous,” she finally pronounced.
At that, Max laughed. “Clearly out of the question.”
Caroline ignored the provocation in the blue eyes. “Papa had similar plans for my sisters, only, as he never noticed they were of marriageable age and I never chose to bring it to his attention, nothing came of them either.”
Perceiving Miss Twinning’s evident satisfaction, Max made a mental note to beware of her manipulative tendencies. “Very well. So much for the past. Now to the future. What was your arrangement with my uncle?”
The grey-green gaze was entirely innocent as it rested on his face. Max did not know whether to believe it or not.
“Well, it was really his idea, but it seemed a perfectly sensible one to me. He suggested we should be presented to the ton. I suspect he intended to find us suitable husbands and so bring his guardianship to an end.” She paused, thinking. “I’m not aware of the terms of my father’s will, but I assume such arrangements terminate should we marry?”
“Very likely,” agreed Max. The throbbing in his head had eased considerably. His uncle’s plan had much to recommend it, but, personally, he would much prefer not to have any wards at all. And he would be damned if he would have Miss Twinning as his ward—that would cramp his style far too much. There were a few things even reprobates such as he held sacred and guardianship was one.
He knew she was watching him but made no further comment, his eyes fixed frowningly on his blotter as he considered his next move. At last, looking up at her, he said, “I’ve heard nothing of this until now. I’ll have to get my solicitors to sort it out. Which firm handles your affairs?”
“Whitney and White. In Chancery Lane.”
“Well, at least that simplifies matters. They handle the Twyford estates as well as my others.” He laid the ice-pack down and looked at Caroline, a slight frown in his blue eyes. “Where are you staying?”
“Grillon’s. We arrived yesterday.”
Another thought occurred to Max. “On what have you been living for the last eighteen months?”
“Oh, we all had money left us by our mothers. We arranged to draw on that and leave our patrimony untouched.”
Max nodded slowly. “But who had you in charge? You can’t have travelled halfway around the world alone.”
For the first time during this strange interview, Max saw Miss Twinning blush, ever so slightly. “Our maid and coachman, who acted as our courier, stayed with us.”
The airiness of the reply did not deceive Max. “Allow me to comment, Miss Twinning, as your potential guardian, that such an arrangement will not do. Regardless of what may have been acceptable overseas, such a situation will not pass muster in London.” He paused, considering the proprieties for what was surely the first time in his life. “At least you’re at Grillon’s for the moment. That’s safe enough.”
After another pause, during which his gaze did not leave Caroline’s face, he said, “I’ll see Whitney this morning and settle the matter. I’ll call on you at two to let you know how things have fallen out.” A vision of himself meeting a beautiful young lady and attempting to converse with her within the portals of fashionable Grillon’s, under the fascinated gaze of all the other patrons, flashed before his eyes. “On second thoughts, I’ll take you for a drive in the Park. That way,” he continued in reply to the question in her grey-green eyes, “we might actually get a chance to talk.”
He tugged the bell pull and Hillshaw appeared. “Have the carriage brought around. Miss Twinning is returning to Grillon’s.”
“Yes, Your Grace.”
“Oh, no! I couldn’t put you to so much trouble,” said Caroline.
“My dear child,” drawled Max, “my wards would certainly not go about London in hacks. See to it, Hillshaw.”
“Yes, Your Grace.” Hillshaw withdrew, for once in perfect agreement with his master.
Caroline found the blue eyes, which had quizzed her throughout this exchange, still regarding her, a gently mocking light in their depths. But she was a lady of no little courage and smiled back serenely, unknowingly sealing her fate.
Never, thought Max, had he met a woman so attractive. One way or another, he would break the ties of guardianship. A short silence fell, punctuated by the steady ticking of the long case clock in the corner. Max took the opportunity afforded by Miss Twinning’s apparent fascination with the rows of leather-bound tomes at his back to study her face once more. A fresh face, full of lively humour and a brand of calm self-possession which, in his experience, was rarely found in young women. Undoubtedly a woman of character.
His sharp ears caught the sound of carriage wheels in the street. He rose and Caroline perforce rose, too. “Come, Miss Twinning. Your carriage awaits.”
Max led her to the front door but forbore to go any further, bowing over her hand gracefully before allowing Hillshaw to escort her to the waiting carriage. The less chance there was for anyone to see him with her me better. At least until he had solved this guardianship tangle.
———
As soon as the carriage door was shut by the majestic Hillshaw, the horses moved forward at a trot. Caroline lay back against the squabs, her gaze fixed unseeingly on the near-side window as the carriage traversed fashionable London. Bemused, she tried to gauge the effect of the unexpected turn their futures had taken. Imagine having a guardian like that!
Although surprised at being redirected from Twyford House to Delmere House, she had still expected to meet the vague and amenable gentleman who had so readily acquiesced, albeit by correspondence, to all her previous suggestions. Her mental picture of His Grace of Twyford had been of a man in late middle age, bewigged as many of her father’s generation were, distinctly past his prime and with no real interest in dealing with four lively young women. She spared a small smile as she jettisoned her preconceived image. Instead of a comfortable, fatherly figure, she would now have to
deal with a man who, if first impressions were anything to go by, was intelligent, quick-witted and far too perceptive for her liking. To imagine the new Duke would not know to a nicety how to manage four young women was patently absurd. If she had been forced to express an opinion, Caroline would have said that, with the present Duke of Twyford, managing women was a speciality. Furthermore, given his undoubted experience, she strongly suspected he would be highly resistant to feminine cajoling in any form. A frown clouded her grey-green eyes. She was not entirely sure she approved of the twist their fates had taken. Thinking back over the recent interview, she smiled. He had not seemed too pleased with the idea himself.
For a moment, she considered the possibility of coming to some agreement with the Duke, essentially breaking the guardianship clause of her father’s will.
But only for a moment. It was true she had never been presented to the ton but she had cut her social eyeteeth long ago. While the idea of unlimited freedom to do as they pleased might sound tempting, there was the undeniable fact that she and her half-sisters were heiresses of sorts. Her father, having an extremely repressive notion of the degree of knowledge which could be allowed mere females, had never been particularly forthcoming regarding their eventual state. Yet there had never been any shortage of funds in all the years Caroline could remember. She rather thought they would at least be comfortably dowered. Such being the case, the traps and pitfalls of society, without the protection of a guardian, such as the Duke of Twyford, were not experiences to which she would willingly expose her sisters.
As the memory of a certain glint in His grace of Twyford’s eye and the distinctly determined set of his jaw drifted past her mind’s eye, the unwelcome possibility that he might repudiate them, for whatever reasons, hove into view. Undoubtedly, if there was any way to overset their guardianship, His Grace would find it. Unaccountably, she was filled with an inexplicable sense of disappointment.
Still, she told herself, straightening in a purposeful way, it was unlikely there was anything he could do about it And she rather thought they would be perfectly safe with the new Duke of Twyford, as long as they were his wards. She allowed her mind to dwell on the question of whether she really wanted to be safe from the Duke of Twyford for several minutes before giving herself a mental shake. Great heavens!
She had only just met the man and here she was, mooning over him like a green girl! She tried to frown but the action dissolved into a sheepish grin at her own susceptibility. Settling more comfortably in the corner of the luxurious carriage, she fell to rehearsing her description of what had occurred in anticipation of her sisters’ eager questions.
———
Within minutes of Caroline Twinning’s departure from Delmere House, Max had issued a succession of orders, one of which caused Mr. Hubert Whitney, son of Mr. Josiah Whitney, the patriarch of the firm Whitney and White, Solicitors, of Chancery Lane, to present himself at Delmere House just before eleven. Mr. Whitney was a dry, desiccated man of uncertain age, very correctly attired in dusty black. He was his father’s son in every way and, now that his sire was no longer able to leave his bed, he attended to all his father’s wealthier clients. As Hillshaw showed him into the well-appointed library, he breathed a sigh of relief, not for the first time, that it was Max Rotherbridge who had inherited the difficult Twyford estates. Unknown to Max, Mr. Whitney held him in particular esteem, frequently wishing that others among his clients could be equally straightforward and decisive. It really made life so much easier.
Coming face-to-face with his favourite client, Mr. Whitney was immediately informed that His Grace, the Duke of Twyford, was in no way amused to find he was apparently the guardian of four marriageable young ladies. Mr. Whitney was momentarily at a loss. Luckily, he had brought with him all the current Twyford papers and the Twinning documents were among these. Finding that his employer did not intend to upbraid him for not having informed him of a circumstance which, he was only too well aware, he should have brought forward long ago, he applied himself to assessing the terms of the late Sir Thomas Twinning’s will. Having refreshed his memory on its details, he then turned to the late Duke’s will.
Max stood by the fire, idly watching. He liked Whitney. He did not fluster and he knew his business.
Finally, Mr. Whitney pulled the gold pince-nez from his face and glanced at his client. “Sir Thomas Twinning predeceased your uncle, and, under the terms of your uncle’s will, it’s quite clear you inherit all his responsibilities.”
Max’s black brows had lowered. “So I’m stuck with this guardianship?”
Mr. Whitney pursed his lips. “I wouldn’t go so far as to say that. The guardianship could be broken, I fancy, as it’s quite clear Sir Thomas did not intend you, personally, to be his daughters’ guardian.” He gazed at the fire and solemnly shook his head. “No one, I’m sure, could doubt that.”
Max smiled wryly.
“However,” Mr. Whitney continued, “should you succeed in dissolving the guardianship clause, then the young ladies will be left with no protector. Did I understand you correctly in thinking they are presently in London and plan to remain for the Season?”
It did not need a great deal of intelligence to see where Mr. Whitney’s discourse was heading. Exasperated at having his usually comfortably latent conscience pricked into life, Max stalked to the window and stood looking out at the courtyard beyond, hands clasped behind his straight back. “Good God, man! You can hardly think I’m a suitable guardian for four sweet young things!”
Mr. Whitney, thinking the Duke could manage very well if he chose to do so, persevered. “There remains the question of who, in your stead, would act for them.”
The certain knowledge of what would occur if he abandoned four inexperienced, gently reared girls to the London scene, to the mercies of well-bred wolves who roamed its streets, crystallised in Max’s unwilling mind. This was closely followed by the uncomfortable thought that he was considered the leader of one such pack, generally held to be the most dangerous. He could hardly refuse to be Caroline Twinning’s guardian, only to set her up as his mistress. No. There was a limit to what even he could face down. Resolutely thrusting aside the memory, still vivid, of a pair of grey-green eyes, he turned to Mr. Whitney and growled, “All right, dammit! What do I need to know?”
Mr. Whitney smiled benignly and started to fill him in on the Twinning family history, much as Caroline had told it. Max interrupted him. “Yes, I know all that! Just tell me in round figures—how much is each of them worth?”
Mr. Whitney named a figure and Max’s brows rose. For a moment, the Duke was entirely bereft of speech. He moved towards his desk and seated himself again.
“Each?”
Mr. Whitney merely inclined his head in assent. When the Duke remained lost in thought, he continued, “Sir Thomas was a very shrewd businessman, Your Grace.”
“So it would appear. So each of these girls is an heiress in her own right?”
This time, Mr. Whitney nodded decisively.
Max was frowning.
“Of course,” Mr. Whitney went on, consulting the documents on his knee, “you would only be responsible for the three younger girls.”
Instantly he had his client’s attention, the blue eyes oddly piercing. “Oh? Why is that?”
“Under the terms of their father’s will, the Misses Twinning were given into the care of the Duke of Twyford until they attained the age of twenty-five or married. According to my records, I believe Miss Twinning to be nearing her twenty-sixth birthday. So she could, should she wish, assume responsibility for herself.”
Max’s relief was palpable. But hard on its heels came another consideration. Caroline Twinning had recognised his interest in her—hardly surprising as he had taken no pains to hide it. If she knew he was not her guardian, she would keep him at arm’s length. Well, try to, at least. But Caroline Twinning was not a green girl. The aura of quiet self-assurance which clung to her suggested she would not be an easy con
quest. Obviously, it would be preferable if she continued to believe she was protected from him by his guardianship. That way, he would have no difficulty in approaching her, his reputation notwithstanding. In fact, the more he thought of it, the more merits he could see in the situation. Perhaps, in this case, he could have his cake and eat it too? He eyed Mr. Whitney. “Miss Twinning knows nothing of the terms of her father’s will. At present, she believes herself to be my ward, along with her half-sisters. Is there any pressing need to inform her of her change in status?”
Mr. Whitney blinked owlishly, a considering look suffusing his face as he attempted to unravel the Duke’s motives for wanting Miss Twinning to remain as his ward. Particularly after wanting to dissolve the guardianship altogether. Max Rotherbridge did not normally vacillate.
Max, perfectly sensible of Mr. Whitney’s thoughts, put forward the most acceptable excuses he could think of. “For a start, whether she’s twenty-four or twenty-six, she’s just as much in need of protection as her sisters. Then, too, there’s the question of propriety. If it was generally known she was not my ward, it would be exceedingly difficult for her to be seen in my company. And as I’ll still be guardian to her sisters, and as they’ll be residing in one of my establishments, the situation could become a trifle delicate, don’t you think?”
It was not necessary for him to elaborate. Mr. Whitney saw the difficulty clearly enough. It was his turn to frown. “What you say is quite true.” Hubert Whitney had no opinion whatever in the ability of the young ladies to manage their affairs. “At present, there is nothing I can think of that requires Miss Twinning’s agreement. I expect it can do no harm to leave her in ignorance of her status until she weds.”
The mention of marriage brought a sudden check to Max’s racing mind but he resolutely put the disturbing notion aside for later examination. He had too much to do today.