“Us?” Maggie asked, the pitch of her voice rising, aghast at the thought of taking on any responsibility for small children. “How old are the little tykes?”

“You needn’t worry, Maggie; Teddy and Jessica Fitzhugh are almost your age. They will both turn eighteen in a matter of months.”

“They’re twins?”

“Quite so, and given this tragic turn of events, they are dependent on our kindness. I expect you will treat them with the same warmth and hospitality as members of our family receive.”

Members of our family receive about as much warmth as a snowstorm, Maggie considered, but decided not to voice her thoughts. “I’m sorry to hear of their father’s death. But certainly, they must be perfectly capable of living on their own at their age?” she asked instead.

“Their fortune is being held in trust until they turn eighteen,” Lord Darlington answered. “Their father made the contract iron-clad, I’m afraid. No way to get them any money a day before their birthdays.”

“Ahh,” Maggie said, amused that the plot had just thickened. It certainly explained her father’s sudden and uncharacteristic benevolence.

“And what, might I ask, is meant by ahh?” Lord Darlington asked.

“Oh, nothing,” Maggie replied with a cagey smile. He knew what she meant. The Darlington fortune was not what it once had been. The trappings were still there: the immense grandeur of Wentworth Hall, the staff of servants, the expensive clothing. But Maggie wasn’t blind… or deaf… or dumb… and you would have to be all three to live in Wentworth Hall and not see that the family funds had been overspent and badly invested. A fresh infusion of a South African diamond fortune would be just the boost they needed. She wondered how her father planned to get his hands on the Fitzhugh fortune. Perhaps Wesley would have to return from Oxford and wed Miss Diamond Mines? She only hoped Jessica Fitzhugh was passably attractive, for her elder brother’s sake.