Simply Scandalous (37 page)

"I say, don't rush off," said Budgie, but he then was
overcome with giggling.

"I understand you have an interest in racing, Miss
Wayborn," said the other gentleman, drawing alongside Juliet. Without seeming to hurry half so much
as Budgie, he had easily reached her side. He was unknown to her, but he bore the unmistakable London mark in his clothes and address, and his cool blue eyes
moved up and down Juliet's figure in a speculative
manner that made her dislike him instinctively. "I
wanted to see for myself how fast you are, Miss Wayborn," he said warmly. He lifted his hat from his wellcoifed head, imbuing the respectful gesture with the
most unflattering irony. "I am disappointed to find
you so easily caught. Dare I hope you wanted to be
caught? But perhaps I flatter myself?"

Juliet gripped her stick tightly but made no reply.
She was not going to be provoked into an argument
with gentlemen who were determined to insult her,
and she certainly would not run away from them in
tears like-like some wretched, ignorant milkmaid.
She was a gentlewoman, a fact that was well-known to
Budgie. Her brother was a baronet and an MP; she
was not in any real danger; and only a perfect wet
goose would allow herself to be bullied.

As they neared the little bridge arching over the
brook, they were overtaken by a wagon. With relief,
Juliet recognized Mr. Quince.

"Drive on, man," said Budgie's friend with the impatient authority of a child used to getting his own
way. "This is a private conversation."

Farmer Quince seemed not to hear the fine gentleman from London. He halted his mule and raised
his hat respectfully. "Good afternoon, Miss Julie," he
said in his slow, stolid way.

"Good afternoon, Mr. Quince," she replied in what
she hoped was her normal, steady voice.

"I have it in my power to take you as far as your back
gate, if you please, Miss."

Juliet climbed up next to him gratefully, and Mr.
Quince drove on, forcing Budgie and his friend to
step aside. Mr. Quince drove over the bridge, then turned off the road onto the well-worn track leading
through the woods. As they drew away from the village, Juliet glanced back. A third man had joined
Budgie and his rude friend in the street. She had
almost convinced herself that she could not possibly
recognize him from such a distance when he suddenly
reached up and, in Lord Swale's characteristic way,
rubbed a hand across his head. His other hand, she
could not help but notice, was holding a battered
straw hat with green ribbons. She saw Budgie throw
back his head and laugh, and she knew her face was
burning.

"How is your wife, Mr. Quince?" she inquired
brightly. "And the new baby?"

She scarcely heard that good man's answers. What
she chiefly wanted was to sneak off somewhere and
have a good, purifying cry. Mr. Quince talked on in
a steady, even voice, almost a drone, as if he were
soothing a disturbed animal. Juliet heard only
snatches here and there until a name suddenly drew
her complete attention. "Swale! What about him,
Mr. Quince?"

If Farmer Quince was surprised by the young lady's
vehemence, he did not show it. "His lordship has
asked me for two hundred cheeses, Miss. What could
his nibs want with so much cheese? I didn't think the
gentry ate a deal of cheese. I'd have to take on a few
extra lads to fill the order, and even then ... where
am I to get my hands on so much milk? He's the sort
of man I'd never dare refuse anything, Miss Julie, but
I honestly don't know how it's to be done."

"You had better speak to Sir Benedict," Juliet advised him. "Two hundred cheeses! I daresay it is his
lordship's idea of a joke. You know how these highstrung Hanoverian aristocrats can be."

"Oh now, Miss Julie," he said mildly. "I'd say his lordship is a man who means what he says. But I'll speak
to Sir Benedict, I will, about taking on the extra lads
and maybe buying a few more milch cows."

As he spoke, Juliet became aware that someone was
running down the shady lane behind them and calling her name.

"Well, I'm blowed," said Mr. Quince, whistling for
his mule to stop. "'Tis the man himself."

Juliet sat up very straight and looked ahead resolutely. "Your hat, Miss Wayborn," said a breathless
Swale as he climbed up beside her. Juliet was obliged
to squash up next to Farmer Quince to make room
for him.

"You weren't very gracious to Serena," he admonished her as he arranged the straw hat on her head.
"I really expected better from you, my girl. Serena's
not like you, Julie. She's delicate. She needs someone
to look after her."

"Oh!" said Juliet bitterly. "Oh, it only needed that!
Why don't you go back to your friends, my lord? You
seemed to be having such a merry time."

"What? Oh, Budgie and Dulwich, you mean? Guess
my surprise when I met them in the street. What do
you suppose could have induced them to leave
London?"

"There was a bit of unpleasantness, milord," Mr.
Quince said quietly.

"What kind of unpleasantness?" Swale wanted to
know.

"Nothing to interest you, Ginger," Juliet snapped,
tying the green ribbons together under her chin
with trembling fingers. "And where, pray, is my aunt's
barouche?"

"Her footmen have taken it home," he answered. "I went to the church to fetch you, and they told me
you were on foot with no hat."

"What does it matter? I'm brown as a berry!"

Swale frowned. "Did I say that? I meant nut. You're
brown as a nut, Julie. A little color is good, but I
think perhaps you overdo it. Serena's skin is like alabaster or mother of pearl."

Juliet simmered in silence.

Farmer Quince cleared his throat. "I was telling Miss
Julie, please your lordship, that I'd have to take on
extra labor to fill the order for the cheese."

"Then do it," Swale replied carelessly.

"You can't actually want two hundred cheeses,"
Juliet protested.

"Oh, don't l?" he retorted, pulling something
wrapped in brown paper from his waistcoat. "Taste
this, Miss Wayborn, and tell me I don't want two
hundred wheels of it!" He unwrapped the cheese
and cut off a hunk with his pocketknife.

"Thank you," Juliet said coldly, "but I do not eat
cheese."

Farmer Quince confounded her by laughing.
"There was a time when you liked it well enough, Miss
Julie! When my mother was alive, milord, and this
young lady was only a bit lass with pigtails braided
down her back, she'd come clamoring at the back
door of our cottage, and my mother would give her
cheese until she was fit to pop!"

"Now I'm a grown-up lady, Mr. Quince,"Juliet said
primly. "And ladies don't eat cheese."

`Julie!" said Swale in a voice filled with reproach.
"Have you had it toasted on brown bread?"

"Oh, she has, milord," said Mr. Quince. "And she's
had it baked into an onion tart as well, and she used
to especially enjoy it with fried slivered apples."

"Now then, Mr. Quince," said Swale, laughing.
"You mustn't tell all a lady's secrets."

Eventually, the back gate was reached, and Mr.
Quince drove on without them. Juliet had no key for
the stout, iron-bound gate, so she was obliged to
seek Swale's assistance in climbing over the wall into
the orchard. "I can't think why Benedict keeps this
locked," she exclaimed in disgust as he knelt down
and allowed her to step up on his knee, then his
shoulder, to reach the top of the wall. "No one wants
to steal his nasty little apples."

Swale was obliged to give her rump a helpful push,
and she was over, falling unceremoniously into the
shrubbery on the other side of the wall. Almost
before she knew what was happening, her brother
Cary was hauling her to her feet. `Julie, where the
devil did you come from?" he demanded. Naked to
the waist except for a pair of leather gloves, he was
sweating profusely.

She gaped at him, her straw hat now hanging
under her chin by its ribbons. "What are you doing
here?" she cried, pulling at the ribbons that were
threatening to strangle her. "I thought you'd gone to
look at a horse."

"I did," he replied. "I've got a sweet little four-yearold half bought for you-I thought I would train her
myself. When I got back, everyone was gone, so I
thought I'd come out here and do some strengthening exercises." He picked an old sword up from the
grass where he had dropped it and gave it a halfhearted swing with his right arm before dropping it
in disgust.

"Uncle George's rapier!" she exclaimed, picking it
up. "So heavy!"

"I haven't the strength of a baby," Cary said
disgustedly, flexing his arm.

"You mustn't try to do too much," Juliet urged, resting the flat of the blade against her shoulder. "I'll
carry it back for you. Good heavens, you're sweating
like a racehorse. Where is your shirt?"

They were interrupted by a small cheese flying
over the wall.

"Excuse me," cried Swale from the other side.
Jumping up, he caught the top of the wall and began
struggling to throw his leg over.

"What the bloody hell are you doing here, Swale?"
Cary demanded as the Marquess was forced to relinquish his hold on the wall without making it over.
"Mind your language in front of my sister! " he added
as they heard Swale's muffled curses.

In the next moment, Swale was again hanging
from the wall, his chin planted on the top as he tried
in vain to haul his leg over.

"Cary, have you got a key to the gate?"Juliet asked,
just as the brick wall rather dramatically gave way
tinder Swale's weight. "Or ... he could just knock the
wall down and walk through it, I suppose!"

`Julie, I've cut my chin," Swale complained, holding a handkerchief to his jaw.

"You've broken the wall, sir," said Cary. "And my
sister's name, you ignominious oaf, is Miss Wayborn."

"Oh, don't be such an ass, Cary! Ginger, my foolish brother has been exercising too much. You see
how pale he is. Do you think you can carry him back
to the house?"

"I am perfectly capable of walking!" Cary protested,
shaking violently.

"Cary, do you feel light in the head?" Juliet inquired anxiously. "Oh, Ginger, I think he has a fever!" "I do not have a fever."

"The silly ass has given himself a fever," said Juliet
in fierce disgust, appealing to Swale. "You'll have to
carry him. You will, won't you?"

Cary snatched his shirt from the branches of a
nearby tree. "Don't you dare!"

"Go on up to the house, Julie," said Swale. "I'll get
him home. Go on, girl! No red-blooded Englishman
is going to allow his sister to watch him being carried
home like a baby."

Juliet bit her lip. "Very well," she said reluctantly.
"But I hold you responsible, my lord. If anything
happens to him-"

"Run along, Julie!" said Cary, harshly.

"All right, I'm going," she snapped back, marching
off into the trees with the rapier over her shoulder.

"Don't you dare," Cary said warningly.

"I wouldn't dream of it, old chap," Swale coolly
replied.

Cary pulled his shirt over his head and reached for
his coat. "As soon as my strength comes back to me,
I am going to shoot you, Swale. You have but to name
your second. And none of this Hyde Park nonsense.
I will shoot you right here, dig a hole, and bury you."

`Julie won't be very pleased if you shoot her
husband-to-be," Swale replied. "And between you
and me, the girl has a ruthless element to her personality that is more often found in people named
Genghis, Attila, and Tamerlane."

A vein pulsed in Cary's forehead. "You, Swale? You
expect me to believe that you're engaged to my
sister?" he sneered.

"I have an understanding with your sister, yes."

"Understanding? What the devil does that mean?" Cary scowled suspiciously. "What sort of understanding?"

'Julie has given me leave to buy her a house in the
country as a wedding gift," said Swale.

"Miss Wayborn would never do that!"

"I was rather surprised myself," Swale admitted,
"but she did it all the same. I'm perfectly happy to buy
her a house, you know. I have pots of money, and I
simply adore the little monkey."

"You're a damned liar, sir," said Cary. "My sister is
engaged to Captain Horatio Cary. Captain Cary is
going to buy Miss Wayborn a house in the country,
namely Tanglewood, which is the one place in the
world upon which you, for all your beastly money, will
never get your scabby paws!"

"I haven't seen an engagement notice in the
papers," said Swale belligerently, "and believe me, I
have been looking for it! Your sister is going to marry
me, Wayborn. Accustom yourself to the idea. I may
never get my scabby paws on Tanglewood Manor,
but your sister Julie is her name, by the way-that's
quite a different matter! "

Cary swung a fist unwisely, missed his mark, and
nearly fell.

"Don't try to hit me again," Swale advised him.
"I'm pretty handy with my fives."

"So am I," said Cary. "And I warn you, I don't take
cheques! You'll pay for that disgusting remark in
blood."

"I withdraw the remark," said Swale. "It was unworthy of Miss Wayborn's betrothed. I shall have to
endeavor to be a better man from now on, for Julie's
sake. I can see I'm going to have to put up with a great
deal of nonsense from my brothers-in-law."

"You'll marry Julie over my dead body," said Gary.

"No, I won't," said Swale, turning toward the house.
"I was thinking I'd marry her in the quaint little
church in the village, and we'd release a few doves afterward as a symbol of our ... what in hell's name are
doves a symbol of, anyway?"

"You bastard!" Cary leaped onto the bigger man's
back and tried to dig into his eyes with his fingers.

"Oh, did you want me to carry you up to the house
on my back, after all, Mr. Wayborn?" Swale inquired
solicitously.

Some time later, his lordship entered the house by
the French windows on the terrace. Inside, the housekeeper was changing the flowers. "Miss Wayborn?" he
inquired politely. "There is something particular I wish
to ask her."