Simply Scandalous Read online

  "No, don't," he said immediately. "Don't go!"

  She turned to look at him, wide-eyed.

  "You don't dare leave me alone in this place," he pointed out. "I'm sure to break something." With a sweep of his arm, he indicated the tall Wedgwood vases in various niches along the curved, pale blue walls.

  "Oh, break anything you like," she cried, darting toward the hall. "They're quite fake, you know."

  He stepped in front of her. "Fake vases? Can't put flowers in them or anything?" He stood with his arms behind his back, his face open and friendly, but he seemed determined not to let her leave. "How curious."

  "No, of course they're real vases," said Juliet impatiently. "I meant they're not real Greek vases. They're just plain, ordinary Wedgwood. If you break one, I'm sure the factory still has the mold. We could always replace it. They're reproductions, I meant. Not fakes."

  "Ah."

  He looked at her so sharply that her resentment was aroused. "I expect there are no reproductions at Auckland Palace," she said. "I expect that Wayborn is quite a cottage compared to Auckland Palace. Is there really a drawing room with walls paneled in amber?"

  "I daresay there is," he said, wrinkling his brow. "I know there is one in turquoise and one in malachite. Or is it lapis lazuli?"

  She laughed. "Don't you know?"

  "Auckland is so far north I go there but once or twice a year. You are fortunate, Miss Wayborn, to have two such charming places so near to London."

  "Yes, I have Tanglewood and Wayborn," she replied, giving up all hope of escaping. "You are interested in purchasing a small estate near London, as I recall."

  "Am I? Oh yes," he stammered, turning red.

  "Need it be small?" she asked curiously. "That is, Lord Skeldings might be persuaded to part with Silvercombe. It is very bad for the neighborhood that he lives now almost entirely in Bath. The house is so big it is rarely let for more than a month or two out of the year, and really, it is not modern. The plumbing is quite dreadful. But it is the only place in the neighborhood that might be available. Lord Redfylde has taken it through the end of the year, but I daresay he will give it up after Lady Redfylde is safely delivered."

  "I came to Surrey-" he began, then corrected himself. "One of the reasons I came to Surrey was to have speech of Lord Redfylde. Try as I may, I could not find him in London."

  "Unfortunately, his lordship is not at Silvercombe now," she told him. "He spends but little time there, though his wife is ill and she carries his child. I do not know when he means to return. It is said that business takes him to London, but you say he is not in London. I wonder where he could be."

  "Never mind-he will return eventually," said Swale quickly, guessing that the man had a mistress somewhere.

  "You mean to ask him about his wager," she guessed.

  "Certainly."

  She looked at him with approval. "I told Benedict to ask him, but he refused. He said it wouldn't be proper."

  Swale smiled. "There is some difference, I think, in my case. I may safely ask his lordship why he would hazard ten thousand pounds on me. Sir Benedict would look a damn fool asking Redfylde why he had wagered against his brother."

  "I suppose you are right," she said reluctantly.

  "Of course I am right," he told her as Billy appeared at last.

  "Your room is not quite ready," Juliet said quickly. "Billy will show you to Sir Benedict's dressing room. I will-shall I send his man to attend you?" she asked doubtfully, eyeing his disheveled clothes and wild hair.

  "Thank you, no," he answered. "Bowditch will have arrived by now."

  Juliet was startled. "Bowditch! Have you taken him back? But what about Fifi?"

  He was obliged to tell her of Fifi's perfidy. "She has betrayed my poor Bowditch just as she betrayed Mr. Wayborn's groom. So you see, my dear Miss Wayborn, she really was a shocking strumpet." He chuckled. "It must be rather tiresome to always be wrong. First, you misjudge me, then poor Bowditch."

  "If you think," Juliet said, her eyes flashing, "that your Bowditch will ever set foot in this house, you very much mistake the matter! I will send Pickering to you."

  His eyes flashed like emeralds. "Do it," he answered, considerably annoyed, "and I'll bloody well throw him at your head!"

  "'Ere now!" Billy objected instantly. "There's no call for your lordship to be using such language in front of Miss Julie! We don't go in for that sort of thing at the Hall."

  Juliet braced for an explosion of resentment from Swale, but he merely smiled. "You're quite right, Master Billy. My apologies, Miss Wayborn. Unforgivably rude." He gave Juliet a short bow and the impertinent Billy a pat on the head. "Send me all the Pickerings you like, my dear Miss Wayborn. Bowditch can sleep in the stable."

  "Well!" Juliet said to herself when he had disappeared with Billy. She did not know what to make of Swale's sudden reappearance in her life. She had assumed when she had first seen him, that he must be staying with his sister at Silvercombe and that he had only come to pay his respects. He would certainly have an added reason for wanting to stay at Silvercombe, since it was Serena's residence. But he was to stay at Wayborn Hall. She couldn't think of the events in Hertfordshire without profound embarrassment, and she supposed he must feel the same. After all, they might be engaged now or even married. And yet he had not seemed embarrassed. He seemed to be trying to make himself agreeable. He seemed ... happy.

  `Julie!" Cary shouted from somewhere above her. "Where is my tea?"

  Something must be done about the rat in Hastings immediately, she decided, hurrying off to find Sir Benedict's personal manservant. "I've two rather desperate cases for you, Pick," she apologized. "Lord Swale don't care how he looks, and Master Cary has grown a rat-I mean, a beard!" she corrected herself hastily before rushing off to find Mrs. Spinner.

  Sir Benedict's dressing room was a large compartment that smelled handsomely of cedar. Billy filled the basin with water, and Swale stripped to the waist to wash. Billy picked Swale's coat and shirt up from the floor, then obligingly poured icy cold water over his head with a suddenness that quite took Swale's breath away.

  "I am gratified, Master Billy. You have reminded me of my school days." ----- - - - -- - - -- - - -

  Billy began vigorously toweling the lord's shoulders, but Swale preferred to do this himself. "Don't worry," he told the disappointed boy. "There's a big tip in it for you if you don't mind earning it."

  Billy's eyes narrowed suspiciously. "How's that?"

  Swale finished drying off and hung the towel around his neck. "All I want is a little information."

  "Like what?" Billy wanted to know.

  Swale shrugged. "Like ... for example ... who's going to marry the daughter of the house?"

  Billy's eyes started from his head. "What, milord?"

  "Come now!" Swale said amiably. "The servants at Auckland Palace had a pool going on my sister. Robert, the second footman, made out with a hundred pounds, I understand, when his candidate won the fair Lady Maria Ambler."

  "A hundred pounds, milord! " Billy cried, adding an appreciative whistle.

  "The man she married was a bit of a dark horse," Swale explained. "So tell me, who's your money on, Master Billy?"

  Young Billy stuck his finger in his ear and performed a thorough and pleasurable search of its contours before answering. "Well, there's no pool or nothing, milord-Mrs. Spinner don't hold with servants gambling and all. But there's no law against speculating, now is there? Mrs. Spinner speculates herself."

  Swale, while having no idea who Mrs. Spinner was, asked solicitously, "And who does the good Mrs. Spinner favor?"

  "Mr. Calverstock," said Billy with a shrug. He leaned against Sir Benedict's dressing table and folded his arms, beginning to enjoy the man-to-man chat. "But he's only a younger son, and anyway, Miss Julie couldn't like his wet mouth. He's always licking his lips. See?"

  Billy was a gifted mimic. Swale made a note to himself never to lick his lips in Miss Wayborn's presence. "Mrs. Spin
ner is bound to be disappointed," he said. "Who do you favor, Billy?"

  "Captain Cary's coming on nicely," said young Billy, after a moment spent exploring his other ear. "He made his fortune in the war, and he's dead handsome into the bargain."

  "And what about me?" Swale demanded.

  "Cor!" said Billy, looking at the Marquess in cool surprise. "You, milord?"

  Swale tapped the side of his nose. "Remember the dark horse, Billy."

  Billy shook his head sadly. "I wouldn't give you false hope, milord. If Miss Julie put you in Hastings, she must have had her reasons."

  "Oh? Has-has she put me in Hastings?"

  "Aye, milord. So, you see, it seems hopeless."

  "Thank you, Billy," said Swale, producing a handful of small gold coins. Selecting one, he gave it to the boy. "You've been very helpful."

  The boy's eyes widened with new respect. "Are you rich, milord?"

  "I have twenty thousand a year," Swale told him.

  "Cor!" said Billy, shaking his head. "And not a farthing of it spent on clothes."

  "Moreover, in case you don't know this, Master Billy, I have expectations."

  "I thought you was a Marquess," said Billy suspiciously.

  "I am," said Swale. "But my father is a Duke and unlike the unfortunate Mr. Calverstock, I am not a younger son."

  "A juke is it?" said Billy with a sniff. "When her mother, Lady Wayborn, was on her deathbed, she made Miss Julie promise her she'd marry for love, so a juke is nothing to her."

  "Indeed," Swale said. "Then it would appear to be a hopeless case, Master Billy."

  Billy nodded sympathetically. "Not but that we wouldn't like to see our Miss Julie marry a Juke or even a Marquess," he said kindly. "And I don't much like Mr. Calverstock. As for the Captain-"

  "Oh? Don't you like the great Captain Cary?" Swale asked, grinning. "Hero of Trafalgar?"

  "I don't, milord, and that's a _fact," said Billy. "I don't hold with a man getting above himself, if you like, and this Captain is only the son of a clergyman, Trafalgar or no Trafalgar. Why should Miss Julie throw herself away on a sailor?" He looked at the Marquess frankly. "I'd say it's a bloody shame, milord, that you wasn't born with the Captain's looks."

  "I am glad you don't hold with a man getting above himself," Swale observed dryly.

  "No, milord," said Billy. "That I do not. No good ever comes of it." He looked at Swale shrewdly. "If Miss Julie was to marry you, milord, would the ladies at Silvercombe be at home to her?"

  Swale frowned. "What do you mean? What ladies?"

  "Lady Serena Calverstock and Lady Maria Fitzwilliam," Billy answered in a hard voice. "Very fancy ladies they are, from London. Damn them to hell."

  Swale was taken aback. "Maria is at Silvercombe? Maria Fitzwilliam?"

  "Aye, milord. And a very proud, disagreeable, nasty bit of goods she is too!" sniffed Billy. "Flouncing around the village with her nose in the air, speaking nothing but ill of poor Miss Julie, who never did a wrong deed in all her life."

  "Red hair, Billy? Pug nose and a rather tall, solemnlooking husband?"

  Billy nodded. "The Colonel. Do you know the lady, milord?"

  "My sister, Master Billy."

  "Gorblimey! " said Billy. "Is it any wonder Miss Julie put you in Hastings?"

  A tall figure dressed very correctly in black entered the room and cleared its throat.

  "You're Pickering?"

  "Indeed, my lord," Sir Benedict's valet answered, surveying with a cold eye the water dripping over the carpet of his master's closet. "Miss Wayborn asked me to offer my services in the absence of your man." His exacting blue eyes raked over Lord Swale's person. "I am a little acquainted with Mr. Bowditch, my lord."

  "Are you indeed?"

  "There was a time when Mademoiselle Huppert, Miss Wayborn's femme de toilette, regarded Mr. Bowditch as almost a gentleman. I was obliged to disillusion her."

  "Ali! The fatal Fifi strikes again," said Swale, pulling his shirt on over his head and raising his braces over his shoulders.

  "Indeed, sir. Mr. Bowditch will be quite comfortable with the coachman in the coach house," said Pickering, picking up Swale's coat and tossing it to Billy. "Take it away, William, and give it a good brushing," he instructed.

  "I could do with a good brushing as well," said Swale ruefully, "if I am to be presentable to the ladies. And I won't say no to a shave."

  "And a trim, my lord?" Pickering produced a pair of shears from his pocket.

  "I shouldn't think so," said Swale, gingerly touching the shaggy red hair covering his ears. "My crowning glory and all that sort of thing."

  "What do you think, Mr. Pickering," exclaimed the exuberant Billy. "His lordship wants to marry Miss Julie. He's a Marquess, but there's an expectation of a Jukedom, and he's got twenty thousand pounds a year."

  "Indeed, my lord?" Pickering smiled. "Miss Wayborn confided in me that she finds a cropped head enormously attractive."

  Swale recoiled. "What? A crop? What, bald?"

  "Yes, my lord."

  "I'll look a fool," Swale protested, eyeing his image in the mirror over the dressing table.

  "Yes, my lord."

  "I daresay a trim wouldn't hurt," he said, reluctantly taking the chair Pickering offered. "A little off here and there."

  "Yes, my lord," agreed Pickering, tying a cloth around his lordship's neck and going to work with the scissors.

  Benedict stood at the window in his half-brother's bedroom. For several moments, he stood there, but he was not admiring the view of the lake. Cary had removed his sling, and he was now sprawled across the bed, flexing his weak arm. "You must be mad to bring him here," Benedict said at last. "He is most unwelcome, Cary. If you don't care what he's done to your friend Mr. Calverstock, at least think of your sister."

  Cary scowled. It always chafed his pride to be scolded by his older brother. "Stacy Calverstock! I confess I am heartily disgusted with Stacy. He wouldn't even challenge Swale to a duel-after having his nose broke, if you please! I was never more sick in my life. Old Auckland sent him a fat cheque for his nose, and the nincompoop took it. Can you believe? I know he's desperate for money, but a gentleman does not accept a cheque for a broken nose." His scowl deepened. "But what has Swale done to Julie?"

  Benedict gave his brother a brief history of Lord Swale's activities in Hertfordshire. "Now you can see it's impossible for him to stay here. Juliet will be embarrassed-horribly embarrassed!"

  Cary was on his feet, striding from one end of the room to the other, his face dark with fury. "So Horatio thought they ought to marry, did he? Swale! Marry my sister? Not bloody likely! What does he mean, pretending he wants to buy Tanglewood-as though I should ever sell to the likes of him!"

  "Are you thinking of selling Tanglewood?" Benedict asked sharply. "Are you in debt?"

  "No, my dear brother, I am not in debt," said Cary bitterly. "That is, no more so than any other gentleman of my acquaintance. I wouldn't take a cheque from Auckland if Lord Swine broke my nose, I can tell you, however straitened I might be."

  "If you have bills-" Benedict began.

  "Naturally, I have bills," Cary haughtily interrupted. "But if I were to sell Tanglewood, the last thing I should do with the money is squander it by paying tradesmen's bills. I honor them with my custom. Is that not enough? If anyone asks for my tailor's name, I give it freely."

  "Then you are considering selling Tanglewood," exclaimed Benedict. "I can't believe it."

  "Why shouldn't I sell it if I wish to?" Gary demanded. "My grandmother left it to me. I own it outright. The house stands empty, and I have no wife and brats to put in it. All I want from it is the income."

  "Your mother was born at Tanglewood," Benedict chided him. "Your sister has some love for the place, if you do not. How will Juliet like it if you sell?"

  "She may like it very well," returned Cary, "if I sell it to Horatio. As a matter of fact, I told him I would sell it to him if he marries Julie. She'd be mistress of the manor."


  Benedict shook his head. "And how do you suppose your sister will feel when she discovers that Captain Cary wishes to marry her merely as the means of obtaining Tanglewood?"

  Cary was genuinely surprised. "What should it matter why he marries her if she loves him? The estate will be hers too, and as you pointed out, she loves Tanglewood."

  "It will be worse for her if she does love Horatio," said Benedict, raising his voice. "It will be agony for her when she discovers that he does not love her. "

  Cary scoffed. "You seem to think it impossible that anyone could love our sister. I tell you, she had half a dozen young pups falling at her feet in London, and since the race, it has only gotten better. Bosher has composed a sonnet in her honor called `The Chariotrix,' I'm sorry to say, and Lord Meadowsweet sent one of his American Indians to the house in Park Lane to be her servant. Don't fret-I sent him away," he added quickly.

  "Mr. Bosher and Lord Meadowsweet are of no consequence," said Benedict. "But Juliet may actually care for her cousin Horatio. Did you actually tell Captain Cary you'd sell him the estate if he marries Juliet?"

  "I don't see the harm," Cary said sullenly, breaking off abruptly as Juliet backed into the room with the tea tray. Juliet stood looking nervously from one brother to the other. Being so different in character, they were often at loggerheads, and she was a poor peacekeeper.

  "What harm?" she inquired, setting down the tray.

  "Prepare yourself, my dear," Benedict said gravely. "Your brother's guest is not Mr. Calverstock after all, but Lord Swale."

  "Yes, I know," said Juliet. "I've seen him. Swale has to stay with Cary until the race takes place. He's on probation with his club. But, Cary, does he have to stay in the same house with you? Couldn't he stay at Silvercombe? What am I supposed to do with him?"

  "What race?" Benedict demanded. "Good God, Cary! Haven't you had enough racing?"

  "I could never make you understand," Gary said airily. "But as soon as my arm is healed, the race will take place as originally conceived. Too right it will. My chestnuts against his lordship's grays from London to Southend. Until that time, Swale and I are chained together. Whither I goest, he goest too. And yes, Julie, he has to stay in this house with me."