Simply Scandalous (43 page)

Too late, he made the discovery that Cary Wayborn
was seated on the floor in the corner of the room, his
head on his knees. The sideboard had obscured him
before, but now, he overflowed the eye.

Awkward, to say the least. It gave one pause.

Swale instantly retreated, the floor creaked, and
Cary looked up. The Wayborn gray eyes were not flaying. Rather, they were bloodshot. His skin was pasty,
and he evidently had slept in his clothes, ample proof
of a royal hangover.

"H-hullo," said Swale, trying to be civil.

Cary winced in pain.

Swale lowered his voice to a whisper. "Listen, Cary,
about those newts-"

"Hang the newts," said Cary in a surprisingly strong
voice. "Bugger the newts!"

"Actually I returned them to the lake," said Swale,
a little surprised that Cary held such strong views on
semiaquatic salamanders. "Not their fault, after all.
Mere pawns."

"Prawns?" Cary squinted up at him dully. "I thought
they were newts."

"They were newts," Swale clarified. "But they were
also pawns in a sort of chess match I was playing. If you
see what I mean."

"No, I don't."

"No?"

"No."

"I see your point. What I mean to say, old man, is
that I put the newts in your room. Heartily sorry
and all that, but it was a case of mistaken identity. I
ought to have put them in Julie's bed."

"Damn the newts," said Cary, expanding on his
central theme. "Bugger the newts."

"Full circle," Swale remarked as the other man
climbed laboriously to his feet. There was a piece of
paper crowded with peacock blue ink in his hand, and
as he stood up, an envelope with a broken seal fell to
the floor.

Cary swayed dangerously and clutched at the edge
of the sideboard, causing the mountain of muffins to
wobble. Swale was able to catch a few with his plate,
but some were lost forever.

Cary appeared to be fighting nausea. Sweat rolled
down his face, though it was a cool morning. His
lips were almost white. "Sir, will you do me the honor
of reading this letter? I have just now read it, though
I think it came for me yesterday. It contains news that
may be of interest to you."

"Thank you," Swale replied, "but I don't, as a rule,
read letters addressed to other people, particularly
when they are written in peacock blue ink."

Cary blinked at him. "I'll read it to you."

"I-I just wanted a muffin," said Swale, desperately
wishing he could get away.

Cary stared at the letter in his hand for a long
moment, then solemnly turned it around. "Upside
down," he explained in a hoarse whisper. "It is from
Mr. Eustace Calverstock."

"Oh?" said Swale. "My father has already paid him
for his nose. He can have nothing more to say that will
be of interest to me."

Cary clutched at the other man's arm, jeopardizing the muffins on his lordship's plate. "It was him,
Swale. He did this to me. He broke my arm. It wasn't
you after all."

Swale pulled out a chair and put Juliet's brother in
it before seating himself. "Do you know, I never thought it was me, old man. I always thought it was
someone else. It just doesn't seem like my style, somehow. My modus operandi, if you will."

"I never suspected," Gary said bitterly, resting his
head on the cool tablecloth. "I knew his debts were
pressing, but ... this ... this betrayal. I called him my
friend, the lying Judas."

Swale took a bite of muffin. Still warm and oozing
with butter, just the way he liked it. "A moneymaking
scheme then," he grunted. "But how? Calverstock
bet on you to win."

Cary moistened his lips laboriously. "Redfylde. Redfylde would not pay Stacy's debts out of his own
purse, but he agreed to place a dishonest bet for ten
thousand pounds. Stacy was to be given half that
amount, more than enough to cover the monkey he
bet Mr. Devize."

"So it was Redfylde after all."

"Stacy convinced him that I had agreed to let you
win the race." Cary threw back his head and howled,
making Swale pause in the act of taking another bite
of his muffin.

Awkward.

"As though I should ever do such a shameful thing!"
cried Cary. "That is what I can never forgive, his
telling Redfylde that. He has written to Redfylde as
well, exonerating me-if that matters!"

Swale poured out a cup of coffee. "And my name?
How did my name enter into it?"

Cary listlessly plucked at the tablecloth. "He claims
that was completely the original idea of his partners
in the crime. But then, he also claims that I was only
ever to be kidnapped, then released after the race unharmed. His partners-to whom he was indebted
for untold sums of money-thought kidnapping too
risky and too bothersome. They opted merely to disable me. It is to be supposed that they profited from
modest little wagers of their own amongst their own
kind," he added bitterly.

"Pretty sordid," Swale observed. "I took an instant
dislike to Calverstock."

"My friend! He might have sent it express," said Cary,
tossing the letter aside. "But that might have jeopardized his escape. This was written before his departure
for France, where your father's money has made it possible for him to go. He speaks of going to America."

"He will never see England again," said Swale.
"That is punishment enough."

"The thing is," Cary said reluctantly, "I owe you an
apology, old man."

"I consider the matter closed," said Swale. "Just
don't shoot me when I marry Julie. That is all I ask."

Cary shook his head. "Sorry, old man, but I was
telling the truth when I said she's going to marry Horatio. I told him I'd sell him Tanglewood Manor if he
married her. Julie's always been keen on the place.
He's made her an offer. She's probably giving him her
answer now.

"He's here?"

"Yes, I saw him. It was he who brought my attention to this letter. He saw the London mark and
thought it must contain the news of his elevation to
the knighthood."

"He's with Julie now?"

"I sent him out to her," Cary replied. "Benedict has
forbidden her to ride today. She was walking in the
vicinity of the lake, if you wish to try and stop it-"

Swale shuddered. "No, no. He's bound to cry when
she tells him she's already engaged to me. Coffee, old
man? I don't mean to criticize, but you look as though
you might need it."

"Will you shake my hand, sir?" asked Gary. "And I
do believe that you must forfeit the race."

"On no account will I forfeit," said Swale. "You shall
forfeit "

"But if I forfeit, Redfylde will be enriched by ten
thousand pounds! " Cary objected.

"Can't be helped," Swale responded. "My dear
fellow, if you had heard the disgusting comments
that Dulwich made about your sister after the race, you
would know at once why you must forfeit the race. I'll
be damned before I let Dulwich walk away with ten
thousand pounds! "

"Dulwich insulted Julie, did he?"

"So we are agreed? When the time comes, you
shall forfeit."

They were shaking hands when Benedict came
into the room, a newspaper folded under his arm.

"I see you have taken all our muffins ... again, my
lord."

A pair of flaying gray eyes regarded Swale from the
doorway. The baronet set the paper down next to his
plate at his customary place at the table. He picked
up his plate and, wandering over to the sideboard,
began rooting around in the various chafing dishes.

Swale waited in triumph, but Gary seemed lost in
his thoughts. It was necessary to nudge him in the ribs.

"Benedict, I've had the most shocking letter from
London. Stacy Calverstock has confessed."

Benedict sat down with his breakfast and listened
without comment as Cary related the substance of
Stacy's letter. "Hm-m. I confess I never suspected
him for a moment. I'd make a poor magistrate."

Swale tapped the table. "The point is, Sir Benedict,
there is now no impediment to my marrying your
sister."

"There is one insurmountable obstacle, my lord," Benedict replied, taking a bite of ham. "My sister
does not wish to marry you. It may seem a little thing
to you, but I attach some importance to it."

"Don't be absurd. Of course, she wants to marry me."

"No, she doesn't."

`Julie loves me. Ask her."

"She put a rat under your pillow, my lord. Was that
affection?"

"She thought it was Calverstock's pillow."

"And yet ... she still put you in Hastings, did she
not? Knowing there was a rat under the pillow? After
I told her to put you in Runnymede?"

Swale frowned. "The important thing is that I am
in Runnymede now, Sir Benedict."

Benedict appeared smug. "I spoke to my sister last
night, my lord. I asked her if she were engaged to you.
She told me in no uncertain terms that she had no intention of marrying you, she does not love you, and
neither your riches nor your title are enough to tempt
her, and she has promised me she intends to refuse
your offer of marriage ... today, as a matter of fact."

Swale flung down his napkin and stood up, his
face spattered liberally with nettlerash. "She said all
that, did she?"

"She also said you had a face that belongs in a
grotto."

"I already heard that one," Swale said with chilly dignity. "May I inquire if that is today's newspaper, Sir
Benedict?"

"As a matter of fact," Benedict affirmed. "Captain
Cary brought along several copies. Apparently, the
news that the Regent tapped him on the shoulder is
contained within. Perhaps that explains why it seems
unusually thick today."

"You might want to take a look in the society section," Swale said, his face turning red. "When you are ready to apologize to me, I shall be down by the lake,
wringing your sister's neck!"

After fifteen minutes in her cousin's company without ever once being given the opportunity to speak,
Juliet might have welcomed even such an unpleasant
interruption as that proposed by Swale before he
quit the house.

and His Royal Highness the Prince Regent
turned to the Admiral and paid me the very great
compliment of saying I was very gentlemanlike and
he wished he could offer me a baronetcy! Imagine
that, my dear Juliet. But I was presented with the
Order of the Garter, which I thought pretty well,
though I did think the Order of the Bath would have
looked better against my coat. What do you think?"

"I think-" Juliet began, sitting up straight on the
little rustic bench near the water's edge where she had
been sitting while glumly skipping pebbles across the
water.

"I think so too," said Horatio, accepting her answer
without actually pausing to hear it. "But of course, I
did not say so at the time. His Royal Highness keeps
his rooms unnaturally hot," he went on. "You would
have been most uncomfortable, though he did ask
after you."

Juliet was startled. "Did he?"

Horatio put his booted foot on the bench perilously close to Juliet's battered straw hat, which she
had placed on the bench beside her to prevent him
from sitting down. "Remember his Highness's little
joke that he would marry you when his divorce from
the Princess was finalized by Parliament? I was able to
tell His Highness that you were to be happily married
to me, and he was gracious enough to wish me joy." "You had no right to do that! "Juliet cried angrily.

"There is not the least reason to be coy," Horatio
assured her. "I had it in my power to amuse my sovereign lord. He was delighted beyond anything to
know that I was going to marry the famous Miss Wayborn that everyone calls Miss Whip. To be sure, it was
only after I told him our little news that he mentioned the baronetcy. He expressed an earnest and
very flattering desire to be acquainted with you. I invited him to our wedding."

"Ugh!"

Never having heard that word before, Horatio
chose to ignore it. "He also gave me this little snuff
box to give to you."

He leaned over her to present a small green and
gold enameled box, and Juliet defensively drew her
shawl tightly around her shoulders. "See? It has a
pretty little racehorse painted on the lid."

Her disgust overflowing, Juliet refused even to
look at it. What sort of man accepted gifts from the
Prince Regent on behalf of his betrothed, even when
the betrothal was wholly presumptive and not at all
real? Was she supposed to be flattered by the Regent's
insulting interest in her? Pretty little racehorse indeed!
She'd had quite enough of the race-themed innuendo
from Budgie and his nasty friend Lord Dulwich.

"I don't take snuff," she said coldly. "I think snuff
is disgusting. And you had no right to invite him to
my wedding. Indeed, I don't recall inviting you to my
wedding."

Chuckling, Horatio tossed the enameled box into
the air and caught it. "I hardly think I need to be invited to my own wedding, Juliet! I had the opportunity to offer the civility to my sovereign, and I did so
very creditably, and, I might add, in a manner highly
flattering to yourself."

"You are quite mistaken if you think you do not
need to be invited to your own wedding, sir!" Juliet
snapped. "If the bride don't ask you to put in an appearance, then it ain't very likely that the wedding will
proceed, is it? Not your wedding anyway."

"That is just the sort of clever repartee that appeals to His Highness!" said Horatio, opening and
closing the lid of his treasure. "That baronetcy is as
good as ours."

"No," said Juliet, rising from the bench and taking
up her hat. "That snuff box is as good as yours." With
her head high, she began walking back toward the
house, leaving the deep shade of the spreading oak.

"That is very handsome of you, my dear," Horatio
said, falling into step with her. "I confess I was loath
to let it leave my possession. I was with His Highness
as he was passing the little table where it was among
many other fine ornaments when he suddenly picked
it up and gave it to me, with an expression of the most
earnest desire that I present it to my future wife. My
hand, Juliet-my hand actually trembled as he gave
it to me. I was actually touched physically touchedby His Royal Highness. This little box passed from his
hand to my hand with no intermediary."