Simply Scandalous Read online

  Benedict sighed. "I would say that Lord Redfylde makes an excellent suspect."

  "If Reddy has done this," said Swale, "I will flatten him again, and this time, he won't get up to shake hands."

  "My dear Swale," said Alex mildly, "we shall never be able to prove it."

  "I daresay you are right, Mr. Devize," said Sir Benedict. "And even if we could, what would it cost us to prosecute a Peer of the Realm? A nasty business. No good can come of it and a great deal of harm. We have only just managed to return the King of France to his throne. We should do nothing to undermine our own British nobility. Think of the scandal. We must satisfy ourselves that my brother will recover and that no lasting harm has come to Lord Swale's honor."

  "That's the lump sum of it," said Alex gloomily. "Reddy gets away with it."

  "You've already convicted him then?" said Benedict. "Now that is hardly fair, Mr. Devize."

  "There's one good thing," said Swale. "It must be killing Lord Redfylde not to collect his ten thousand pounds. But, thanks to your sister, Sir Benedict, no one is collecting on their wagers."

  "Quite," Benedict murmured. "And now, my lord, I must ask you to step outside with me. There is something particular I wish to say to you, and it is of an intensely private nature."

  Swale looked up, surprised. Sir Benedict was on his feet.

  "You don't mean you want me to step outside with you," he said. "We were having such a pleasant time. I was starting to like you."

  "I should be obliged to you, my lord," replied Benedict, moving smoothly away.

  "He don't mean to fight you, Geoffrey," Alex explained.

  "What does he want then?"

  "Go and find out," Alex advised. "I confess, I am curious myself."

  Geoffrey tore the napkin from his neck and stood up. "Tiresome fellow," he observed. "Stiff-necked and shirty, if you see what I mean."

  Outside, he found Sir Benedict in conference with that ass, Eustace Calverstock. His temper boiled over at the sight. So the stiff-necked Sir Benedict was not above trying two on one, was he? Well, they would find Lord Swale equal to both of them.

  "Ah," Benedict said mildly as he advanced on them, his fists clenched and murder in his eye. "There you are, my lord. I believe you are acquainted with Mr. Calverstock? Mr. Calverstock, would you be good enough to leave us? I would speak to his lordship in private."

  "I heard," said Stacy, his thin face-red-with anger. "I heard but did not believe that you were dining with the fellow, Sir Benedict! I should not have thought you capable of such toadeating as this. You know what his lordship did to Cary! Your own brother, man!"

  "I am properly addressed as Sir Benedict, Mr. Calverstock," the baronet said icily.

  "You mean to accuse me?" cried Swale, his face mottled. "You insolent puppy!"

  "Mean to?" cried Stacy, his own mild face contorting. "I do accuse you, sir! You are a coward and a villain. If you were not the Duke of Auckland's heir, you would have been barred from White's long ago. You are unfit for respectable society! I advise you to take yourself to America where your madness will go unnoticed amongst the savages."

  Lord Swale did not even think of honoring Mr. Calverstock with an invitation to a dawn meeting. Instead, he planted his fist in the man's face. There was a sickening crunch of bone, and Stacy doubled over in pain, his fingers clutching his nose. Blood spattered the cobbles outside of White's.

  "You hit me! " Stacy exclaimed in disbelief.

  "If you prefer to be shot," Swale replied, "you have only to name your second."

  Such an event could not escape the notice of White's members. They came pouring out of the club, and to a man, they sided with Calverstock. Whatever transpires between two gentlemen, it is never excusable for one to bludgeon the other with his fists. Even Alexander Devize shook his head at the sight.

  Benedict turned away with a sigh. He seemed to regard the unpleasant incident as closed. So did Swale until Stacy Calverstock flung up his head. "The only gentleman whom I would care to name as my second lies in his bed with a broken arm, thanks to you, my lord. You, sir, are an uncivilized baboon!"

  A cool man such as Sir Benedict or even Mr. Devize might have pointed out that there is no such thing as a civilized baboon. Lord Swale was not a cool man. Before no less than fifty members of his club, he kicked Mr. Calverstock in the ribs. He would have done it again if Sir Benedict had not intervened by stepping into the fray.

  The baronet's empty sleeve worked on Swale like the Medusa's gaze, which turns men to stone. "That is quite enough of that, my lord!" Benedict said sharply. "I beg you to remember that this gentleman is half your size."

  Swale was breathing heavily. "He should have grown," he said through gritted teeth. "He should have grown before he called me a coward!"

  "The man has no conduct," said someone in the crowd. "No more conduct than a fishmonger."

  "You insult the fishmongers," someone else replied.

  Swale angrily jammed his fists in his pockets and strode away at a sharp clip.

  "My lord."

  He turned and saw that Sir Benedict was attempting to keep up. "You had better see to your friend's nose," he growled at the baronet.

  "There is something I wish to say to you," Benedict called to him. "It concerns the letter I received this morning from my lord Duke, his Grace of Auckland."

  Swale stopped in his tracks. "Are you acquainted with my father, sir?"

  "Not at all," Benedict replied. "Indeed, I was all astonishment when I realized his Grace was proposing an alliance between my family and his. It seemed rather too spontaneous."

  Swale scowled. "Don't tell me the old fool has offered to marry your sister!"

  "Why, no," said Sir Benedict. "He has offered for you to marry my sister."

  "Bloody hell!"

  "Naturally, I was pleased to entertain such a handsome offer on my dear sister's behalf."

  "Naturally," said Swale bitterly.

  "Unfortunately," Benedict continued, "your rank and fortune are all that recommend the match. Having met your lordship and spent an hour in your company, I fear I must regretfully decline the honor. I have known Barbary apes with better conduct. You would never suit my sister. I would rather see her married to a penniless clerk than to you."

  Swale laughed. "I would not suit her? Let me tell you, sir-your sister would not suit me, and I would not ask for her hand if my life depended on it! My father had no right to suggest such a thing. He must have run mad."

  "Indeed, it does not surprise me to learn that madness runs in your family."

  Swale's eyes narrowed. "You think I will not knock you down because of your arm?"

  "I am sure you would not scruple to do so," returned Benedict, "for you have not one scrap of selfcontrol. You are a bully," he went on as Swale silently glowered at him. "It sickens me to think of any gently bred girl being forced to become your wife. I say forced because that seems to be the only way your lordship will ever acquire a wife."

  "Is that so?" sneered Swale. "I will have you know, Sir Benedict, that I am considered a matrimonial prize. I can go to Almack's on any given night and snap my fingers for a wife."

  "Can it be," said Sir Benedict, "that your lordship is unaware that yours is a face designed to repel, rather than attract, the fair sex? If you were not a Duke's son, I expect no one would take any notice of you whatsoever."

  "You mince words, Sir Benedict!"

  "That will never do. Let me speak plainly, my lord. You have the face and deportment of a baboon. A lady prefers a gentleman to be handsome and graceful, but she may be willing to overlook defects in these areas if the man underneath is a gentle soul. In your case, I fear the unwholesome crust hides something even more unpalatable. You have an evil temper, my lord. When active, you are enraged; when in repose, sullen and resentful. I would not see my sister marry a man so singularly lacking in self-control. Also, your brain has not impressed me this evening. My sister has a lively intelligence. You would certainly bore her to
sobs."

  "Your sister-" Swale began harshly.

  Benedict held up his hand. "Listen to me, you young fool. The Wayborns are an unusual breed. Consider yourself lucky. In other families, the elder statesman would not hesitate to sacrifice a sister or daughter for the sake of such a favorable alliance. I, however, do not choose to see my beloved sister chained for life to an animal."

  "I am of age," Swale said, mustering his dignity. "My father can't go about the place arranging marriages for me. I will choose my own wife, sir, and I assure you, your sister will not be among the candidates."

  "Candidates?" Sir Benedict's scarred face contorted violently, then composed itself. "Oh, you do see yourself as a prize! Undoubtedly, when the time comes, you will choose a wife. She will not love you-how could she? Even if she can bear your looks, she will shrink from your vile personality. Her family will sell her to you, and in a matter of weeks, your abuse will break her spirit, if indeed she possesses any spirit. You will both be miserable, but it will be Lady Swale whom the world pities. Good night, my lord."

  The baronet turned on his heel and left Swale where he stood.

  It took the Honorable Alexander Devize nearly four hours to find his friend in the stews of London. He had known Swale for many years, but he was ill prepared to find his friend in the back of what appeared to be a rag-and-bone shop, drinking gin and ginger beer. The half-naked girl on his lordship's lap was pockmarked, and the smell in the air was of general unwashed decay.

  "Good God, Geoffrey!" Alex cried, holding his handkerchief to his nose. "What have you done to yourself?"

  Swale's bloodshot eyes fastened on him. "Sally thinks me handsome, don't you, Sally?" he said blearily, the words born aloft by a long, malodorous belch.

  The pockmarked girl agreed wholeheartedly, having been well-paid by his lordship. To her surprise, she was promptly dislodged from her patron's lap. If she had been clever enough to say, "It's not such a bad face," she might have retained her seat. Swale knew he was not handsome. He did not believe he had the face of a baboon, but he knew he was not handsome.

  "Liar!" he said bitterly and poured his gin and ginger beer over her head.

  The girl started up angrily, but Alex forestalled her with a few coins and the gift of his scented handkerchief. "My friend is discomposed, my dear," he said suavely. "When he is sober, I don't doubt he will beg your forgiveness."

  "Ha! " said Swale.

  The girl flushed. For a girl with pockmarks, she was surprisingly pretty. Indeed, were it not for the scars of smallpox, she might have graced one of the exclusive establishments near St. James's Street. "You're a true gentleman, you are, sir," she told Alex, "and a true friend."

  "I must be," Alex replied, struggling to get his bulky friend out the door.

  It required three footmen to carry his lordship up to his room.

  In the morning, Alex gave him the bad news. "You have been barred from White's for a year."

  Swale blinked at him. "Do you know what he said?"

  "Yes, I heard," said Alex. "But you can't go about the place knocking a chap's head off, even if it is attached to a worm like Calverstock."

  "I could murder him!" Swale said weakly, letting his aching head fall into his hands.

  "I shouldn't have thought Stacy Calverstock worth the trouble," Alex observed dryly.

  "Calverstock! " Swale sat up straight. "It is Sir Benedict I mean."

  "Sir Benedict," Alex said gravely, "is the best of gentlemen. In the space of an hour, with no great effort, he silenced a thousand tongues. Simply by having dinner with you, he laid to rest the worst of the gossip. If you had kept your temper with Calverstock-"

  "The best of gentlemen!" Swale laughed unpleasantly. "He had the insufferable impertinence to say that if I were not a duke's son, no one would take any notice of me. He said that the only way I could get a gently bred girl to marry me would be by force! He said I had the face and manners of a baboon!"

  "I daresay Sir Benedict did not admire you for your dealings with Mr. Calverstock."

  "My suit to marry his willful chit of a sister has withered," said Swale.

  "You asked for her! " exclaimed Alex. "After all you said, you asked for her?"

  "Why would I ask to marry a girl who has exposed me to ridicule?"

  "Come, come, Geoffrey! You must pity her a little."

  "No! She is a hoyden, and a cheat besides. By God, if she beat me, she bloody well knows it was by that trick she served me-stopping dead in the middle of the road!"

  "And yet you asked her brother for her hand."

  "No, indeed. He can keep her bloody hand, and all the rest of her, too. My fool father has been matchmaking. He offered me up like the sacrificial lamb, and what did Sir Benedict do? Was he sensible to the honor being done his wretched sister? No! He said he would rather see her married to a penniless clerk than my Lord Swale! He said that I would not suit his belovedbeloved!-sister. He will pay dearly for this insult."

  "Geoffrey, you cannot call out Sir Benedict," Alex said sharply. "The man is a cripple."

  "I don't mean to call him out," said Swale, his green eyes gleaming. "I've a much better idea. And he said my brain did not impress him! My brain is bursting with brilliant ideas."

  "What do you mean to do?" Alex asked anxiously.

  "I cannot attack Sir Benedict," said Swale. "The man's short an arm. But there's nothing to stop me attacking that sister of his!"

  Alex was appalled. 'What the devil do you meanthere's nothing to stop you from attacking his sister? She's his bloody sister! That would be enough to stop any gentleman from attacking her."

  "I don't mean I shall attack her, ' said Swale impatiently. "I am a gentleman after all. What I mean to do is make her fall in love with me."

  Alex stared at him. "Have you gone mad? The girl detests you."

  "I shall make her love me," Swale said stubbornly. "I shall wind my way into her heart like a serpent, and then, when I have that coal-black article in my possession, I shall tear it out of her manly chest and grind it under my heel!"

  "Rather harsh," Alex said, relaxing a little. An indulgent smile played on his lips. "But, as you say, perfectly consistent with the actions of a gentleman."

  Swale was impervious to sarcasm. "Wayborn the elder said no woman could ever love me. I shall prove him wrong with his own sister, by God. He will come to me one day soon and beg me to marry the harpy. I will not do it. I shall remind him of all my bad qualities and excuse myself. Let his sister's tears flow freely onto her mustache. That will be my revenge upon this pompous ass."

  Alex vainly tried to hide a smile. "Yes, but, my dear fellow, how do you propose to make the Wayborn fall in love with you?"

  "I assure you I do not lack charm! " Swale growled. "And contrary to what Sir Benedict may think, I do not have feathers for brains. I tell you I am a matrimonial prize, and I should be a matrimonial prize even if I were not the Duke of Auckland's heir!"

  "Of course you are charming," Alex said soothingly. "On any natural female your charm would work its magic. But the Wayborn-"

  "Leave the Wayborn to me," said Swale confidently. "You will see, Alex. A few posies, a box of diamonds, and the girl's heart will jump into my hand like a tame bullfinch! By God," he added, smiting his open palm with his fist. "I don't care if she bloody well keeps the diamonds, as long as I blast a hole in her heart!"

  Alex smiled indulgently, confident that when his friend was entirely sober, the unworthiness, if not the hopelessness, of this notion would impress itself upon him and he would hear no more of it.

  And it might have been so if not for Bowditch.

  When his lordship laid out his idea to Bowditch, the valet's admiration was very gratifying. He seemed to have none of Mr. Devize's reservations. His views were unmixed.

  "Very good, my lord," were his exact words.

  "Yes, yes," Swale said, impatiently brushing off the exuberant praise. "It is a magnificent idea. What I lack is a plan. How is it to be done,
Bowditch? I can't think of a way of getting at her. If I am to break her heart, I must be able to get at her."

  "Quite so, my lord."

  "She's left London. I should say, her deplorable conduct has made London too hot for her! Undoubtedly, her brother has shut her up at the family estate, right under his nose, so to speak."

  "No, my lord."

  Swale cast his valet a sharp look, suspicious of dissent.

  "Mademoiselle Huppert and I-" Bowditch began delicately. "That is, I had occasion to speak to Miss Wayborn's maid before they left London. She hasn't gone to Wayborn Hall, my lord. She's gone into Hertfordshire. Mademoiselle was very sorry to leave London."

  "Herts? Why, that is an easy distance," said Swale, pleased. "What is in Herts, Bowditch? A gruesome, old maiden aunt, I expect?"

  "Cousins, my lord. Miss Wayborn is staying with cousins at Tanglewood Vicarage."

  Swale faltered. "Vicarage! Bloody hell! These cousins are clergymen, I take it?"

  "The Reverend Dr. Wilfred Cary is Miss Wayborn's mother's cousin, I believe," Bowditch answered. "Mademoiselle was uncertain about the rest of the household," he added apologetically.

  Though a little shaken to learn that his quarry was under the protection of the Church, his lordship ordered Bowditch to pack for an extended stay in the country.

  "Have I got an old aunt or a cousin languishing in Herts?" he asked hopefully.

  "No, my lord."

  The fact that he knew no one in the neighborhood did not deter his lordship; he was not too fastidious to stay in a local inn. If, as he could scarcely believe, the Wayborn fortress withstood his siege for more than a week, he might impose upon the local squire for accommodation until the thing was done.

  The next morning saw him driving his curricle onto the Great North Road, his manservant in the seat behind him, for Bowditch, though officially his lordship's valet, was not above assuming the chores of a groom. Indeed, in many ways he was more suited to groom horses than a marquess, but to Swale, he was an indispensable factotum. He would cook breakfast if the cook were incapacitated or if his lordship had neglected to bring one to the hunting box; he would tend wounds and prepare baths; and he would even oversee the pruning of the shrubbery, if required. That he did none of those things more than adequately had never troubled him or his master.