Simply Scandalous (27 page)

"I don't know what to say," she stammered, feeling
very much a coward. How many women, she
wondered, had begun from a desire not to injure the gentleman's feelings, only to find themselves married
to men whom they did not properly esteem?

"You need not say anything now," he assured her.
"May I have your answer in three days?"

"I would not dream of keeping you waiting so
long," she protested.

"Please do give my proposal the attention it deserves," he urged her. "It is a very important decision,
after all. You must consider the matter very carefully. Do me the honor of thinking about it while I am
gone. If you decide to have me, I should like to know
your decision was entirely rational and in no way
hurried by the violence of my own feelings or the suddenness of my declaration."

It would give her time, she reflected, to find the least
hurtful way of refusing him. In the course of three
days, she might compose a long, thoughtful letter in
which she somehow excused her own shameful behavior and lessened his pain.

"Of course," she said faintly. "I will consider it very
carefully, and you must know I am sensible-and
grateful-for the honor. But you have caught me in
surprise! "

"You have also caught me in surprise," he said
softly, making her blush. "My dear cousin, it was the
happiest surprise of my life when I realized my love
for you. I will leave you now to your thoughts. I shall
count the minutes until I am with you again."

With a bow, he left her.

The smart new barouche took her cousins away, but
the afternoon post brought a letter from London, so
the day was not entirely lost. Juliet did not recognize
the handwriting when Benedict handed it to her at luncheon. Opening it, she saw that it was from Cary. It was
not in Gary's hand or style, both of which were usually careless. Juliet at first supposed that a secretary had
written it out for him, but the first few lines informed
her that he had taught himself to write with his left
hand since his right arm still pained him.

"Why, he is coming home at last," she cried when
she had read it half through. It had been two months
since she had seen her brother. He had never been
a diligent correspondent, and despite his promise to
write every day, this was his first letter to her since she
had left London, though she had written him at least
twice a week during that time. "He will be here tomorrow. He means to bring someone with him, but
he don't say who."

"Doesn't say who," Benedict corrected her wearily.
He disliked the affectation of poor grammar that
seemed so prevalent among the youth of the day, so he corrected Juliet as solemnly as if she were truly
ignorant of proper speech.

"I daresay it's only Stacy Calverstock. I wish Gary
wouldn't bring him here."

"That is uncivil," remarked Lady Elkins, who was
pettishly toying with her cutlets. "Mayn't your brother
bring anyone he chooses to his own home?"

"Indeed he may," said Benedict, frowning.

"And, you know, my love," Lady Elkins added, "he
may be coming to ask you to marry him."

"Ugh!" said Juliet.

"I had thought you liked Mr. Calverstock, Juliet,"
said Benedict.

"Oh, I like him well enough," she said crossly. "But
you know he'll be obliged to call on his cousins and
their fine friends at Silvercombe. You know, the beautiful people who can't be persuaded that I exist?
Really, why doesn't he stay there with them?" she wondered aloud. "It is excessively annoying, you know, to
have one's guests always visiting at Silvercombe."

"It is quite your own fault if you are not welcome
there," Lady Elkins told her in a voice filled with injury.
Thanks to the neighborhood gossips, she was now in
possession of all the facts, as well as a great many of the
embellishments, concerning Juliet's exploits in London
and Hertfordshire, and she had vowed never to forgive
her niece. "Haring all over the country in your
brother's clothes! Shame on you! Shame on you!"

"Yes, yes, shame on me,"Juliet muttered. "You and
Stacy Calverstock will have a grand old time lecturing
me, Aunt. And I shall have a grand old time putting
newts in his bed."

Benedict set down his fork with a clatter. He knew
his sister well enough to know this was not an idle
threat. "No newts, Juliet! While Mr. Calverstock is our guest, you will make him welcome here. That means
no newts and no sulking-it doesn't become you."

"Very well," Juliet said, rising from the table and declaiming from Shakespeare: "`To beguile the time,
look like the time; bear welcome in your eye, your
hand, your tongue; look like the innocent flower,
but be the serpent under it!' Rest assured, I shall!"

Benedict did not particularly enjoy his sister in the
role of Lady Macbeth. "Really, Juliet," he said in a
despairing voice.

"The raven himself is hoarse that croaks the fatal
entrance of Stacy under my battlements!" replied his
theatrical sister as she left the breakfast room.

"No newts," she murmured thoughtfully as she
roamed the halls. Going into battle without newts was
a serious handicap, but it was not insurmountable.
There were things worse than newts, even in Surrey,
and she knew where they were to be found.

First, she hurried to the housekeeper's room with
the news that Master Cary was coming home. "And
make up the Hastings Room for Mr. Calverstock," she
added carelessly.

Mrs. Spinner frowned. "Hastings, Miss Julie?" she
said doubtfully. "Mr. Calverstock always stays in
Quebec. "

"Quebec is excessively comfortable," Juliet informed
her. "One night in Hastings, and poor Mr. Galverstock
will run to Silvercombe where he belongs. And you
needn't bother making up a fire-you know how
that chimney smokes."

Outside the stables, she bargained successfully for
a dead rat. Carrying the box in gloved hands, she
mounted the stairs to the Hastings Room, which was
situated most inconveniently underneath the servants' attics. There, she lifted the pillow on the narrow
bed and deposited the rat under it, her face turned resolutely away, then tossed the empty box into the
cold, black hearth. For good measure, she disconnected the servant's bell. Not as ideal as a bed full of
cold, wet newts, of course, but a good start.

Having prepared for the early departure of her guest,
she went to her own room, which afforded an excellent
view of the avenue. At last, her vigilance was rewarded
by the sight of a small cloud of dust moving very quickly
toward the house. She ran downstairs, flying past the
drawing room where her aunt was sitting, and nearly
collided with Benedict's page, a boy of ten. "He's come,
Miss Julie!" cried the boy. "Master Cary's come!"

Juliet grabbed his hand, and together they ran
outside. Two curricles were in the avenue, one drawn
by two perfectly matched chestnuts, and the other by
two perfectly matched grays. Juliet clutched the boy's
hand, her heart in her throat. She would know those
grays anywhere, and the bright red hair of the driver
could only belong to Swale.

Billy beamed with pride. "I'd know them anywhere,
Miss Julie. Beautiful steppers they are." He wrinkled
his nose. "But who's the other fellow? That's never Mr.
Calverstock! "

"No," Juliet said faintly. "No, it isn't."

"Funny-looking sort of cove," said Billy critically, his
lip curling as Swale brought his curricle up to the
steps. "Red hair like Judas Iscariot. What is he atall,
Miss Julie? A prizefighter?"

"That cove is the Marquess of Swale, Billy," she
told the page severely.

"That burly, red-haired cove is a lordship?" cried
Billy in unalloyed amazement. "They'll let anyone in
the House of Lords these days, won't they? There was
a time we had standards."

"That's quite enough, Billy," said Juliet crisply. "Even if his lordship were not a Peer, he's still my
brother's guest, and you will treat him with respect."

"Yes, Miss Julie," the boy said doubtfully.

"Now, go and tell Sir Benedict that Master Gary has
lost his reason and brought that burly, red-haired cove
to Wayborn!"

Billy flashed her a grin. "Yes, Miss Julie."

"Well, Juliet?" called a familiar voice, and she realized with a start that she had been staring at Swale
and completely ignoring her brother.

Bernard Corcoran, who was driving Cary's chestnuts, tipped his hat to her. "Good day to you, Miss
Julie, and is not himself looking better today than he
was when you did see him last?"

She looked at Cary now and released a hoot of
laughter. Cary was wearing a mustache and a neatly
trimmed goatee. With his dark good looks, it made him
appear faintly satanic, and he evidently felt its cultivation had been a valuable use of his time. Juliet supposed
that many ladies must find his new look very attractive,
but she did not agree. It reminded her of a rat.

A dead rat.

A dead rat under a pillow.

Cary's vanity would not be denied. "Well, Julie?"
he prodded her. "What do you think? Am I not
handsome?"

"At last! Some clever person has found a use for
small, furry dead animals," she said, acutely aware that
as she chattered brightly, Swale was looking at her with
steady green eyes. "I have often been grieved by the
appalling waste of merely shoveling them off to the
dustman! "

Cary's color was good; his eyes were bright; and with
his arm in a sling, he looked like some dashing war hero
returned victorious from battle. Cary frowned at her,
looking very much the dark angel. "Now is that a proper greeting? For your information, Miss Wayborn,
it is the fashion. Horatio wears small whiskers," he reminded her. "You don't seem to mind it."

"No, because he's fair-haired," she replied as
Bernard opened the curricle and Cary stepped out,
disdaining the helping hand his groom offered. Her
natural exuberance checked somewhat by Swale's
presence, she went down the steps and hugged her
brother. "Careful, child!" he protested. "My arm is far
from mended."

She sprang back, apologizing profusely, then demanded, "Where is your tricorn? Where is your purple
coat?"

"I have given all that up," he said airily. "A tiresome
affectation-makes it too easy for naughty young
ladies to assume my identity! May I present Lord
Swale to you?"

She turned and faced Swale for the first time, her
cheeks burning. She was not sure why she was blushing, she only knew she wished she had checked her
appearance in the mirror before dashing outside
with Billy. She managed to sketch a curtsey and said
faintly, "You are most welcome, sir."

"Miss Wayborn," he said, and she realized that he
must be as embarrassed as she was. "You're not limping. May I assume you're quite recovered from the
accident?"

"I am quite well, I thank you. And you are driving
your grays," she said with a forced smile. "I take it they
are fully recovered as well? Mercury and Jupiter?"

"Oh yes," he answered, shuffling his feet to rid his
boots of excess dust. "They're ready for the race.
When your brother's arm is completely healed-"

"The race!" she exclaimed. "You don't actually
intend to go through with that, do you?"

"Certainly," said Cary curtly. "The club has voted to honor all bets placed on the previous race, which as
I recall, you won, Juliet. Swale and I are to be constant
companions until I'm well enough to drive. That
way, if I am attacked, he will be with me and can
defend me." Cary's voice was laced with sarcasm.
"The members have voted to place his lordship on
probation."

"I see," said Juliet, wondering if Lord Redfylde had
participated in this vote.

"My bones are knitted," Cary told her. "I have only
to recover my strength. I drove part of the way here.
I had meant to go the distance ... but it was useless.
Bloody useless. I haven't the strength of a baby."
Before his sister could reply, he turned away to speak
to his groom.

Alone with Swale, Juliet felt unaccountably shy.

"How keenly you must be feeling the loss of your
Fifi," he said, smiling at her.

"What?" she said sharply, her color rising.

"Poor Miss Wayborn. You have no one to curl your
hair over your ears."

Self-consciously, Juliet touched her hair. Her new
maid was a local girl, who was so inexperienced she
could manage little more than a simple twist Today, her
hair was pulled back in a long queue and tied with a
smart blue ribbon. She would never dream of wearing
her hair loose in town, but it was not inappropriate for
the country, she thought. "My new maid wants more
practice before I let her near my hair with hot tongs,"
she said a little tartly as she started back up the steps.

"I like it," he said, following quickly. "I had a setter
with hair just like yours."

She looked at him incredulously, and he became
a little flustered.

"Well, I was damned fond of that little bitch," he
muttered. "Sweetest little bitch I ever had."