Free Four In Hand by Stephanie Laurens

this way until they reached the gates of the Park, by which time the group had dwindled to its original size and he could relax again.
    He turned to Caroline, still by his side. “Can you guarantee they’ll always behave so circumspectly, or was that performance purely for my benefit?” As her laughing eyes met his, he tried to decide whether they were greeny-grey or greyish-green. An intriguing question.
    “Oh, we’re experienced enough to know which way to jump, I assure you,” she returned. After a pause, she continued, her voice lowered so only he could hear. “In the circumstances, we would not willingly do anything to bring disrepute on ourselves. We are very much aware of what we owe to you and Lady Benborough.”
    Max knew he should be pleased at this avowal of good intentions. Instead, he was aware of a curious irritation. He would certainly do everything in his power to reinforce her expressed sentiment with respect to the three younger girls, but to have Caroline Twinning espousing such ideals was not in keeping with his plans. Somehow, he was going to have to convince her that adherence to all the social strictures was not the repayment he, at least, would desire. The unwelcome thought that, whatever the case, she might now consider herself beholden to him, and would, therefore, grant him his wishes out of gratitude, very nearly made him swear aloud. His horse jibbed at the suddenly tightened rein and he pushed the disturbing thought aside while he dealt with the grey. Once the horse had settled again, he continued by Caroline’s side as they headed back to Mount Street, a distracted frown at the back of his dark blue eyes.
    ———
    Augusta Benborough flicked open her fan and plied it vigorously. Under cover of her voluminous skirts, she slipped her feet free of her evening slippers. She had forgotten how stifling the small parties, held in the run-up to the Season proper, could be. Every bit as bad as the crushers later in the Season. But there, at least, she would have plenty of her own friends to gossip with. The mothers and chaperons of the current batch of debutantes were a generation removed from her own and at these small parties they were generally the only older members present. Miriam Alford had elected to remain at Twyford House this evening, which left Augusta with little to do but watch her charges. And even that, she mused to herself, was not exactly riveting entertainment.
    True, Max was naturally absent, which meant her primary interest in the entire business was in abeyance. Still, it was comforting to find Caroline treating all the gentlemen who came her way with the same unfailing courtesy and no hint of partiality. Arabella, too, seemed to be following that line, although, in her case, the courtesy was entirely cloaked in a lightly flirtatious manner. In any other young girl, Lady Ben-borough would have strongly argued for a more demure style. But she had watched Arabella carefully. The girl had quick wits and a ready tongue. She never stepped beyond what was acceptable, though she took delight in sailing close to the wind. Now, convinced that no harm would come of Arabella’s artful play, Augusta nodded benignly as that young lady strolled by, accompanied by the inevitable gaggle of besotted gentlemen.
    One of their number was declaiming,
    “’My dearest flower, More beautiful by the hour, To you I give my heart.’”
    Arabella laughed delightedly and quickly said, “My dear sir, I beg you spare my blushes! Truly, your verses do me more credit than I deserve. But surely, to do them justice, should you not set them down on parchment?” Anything was preferable to having them said aloud.
    The budding poet, young Mr. Rawlson, beamed. “Nothing would give me greater pleasure, Miss Arabella. I’ll away and transcribe them immediately. And dedicate them to your inspiration!” With a flourishing bow, he departed precipitately, leaving behind a silence pregnant with suppressed