Simply Scandalous

by Tamara Lejeune

  "Not now, Jackey!"

  "But he had a piece of paper, Miss Julie! When he spied me looking at it, he folded it up real quick-like and stuck it in his pocket."

  Juliet sighed. "What of it, boy?"

  "I asked him what that paper was, Miss Julie," Jackey went on enthusiastically. "And he told me it were a special license!"

  "Special license! " Swale was thunderstruck.

  Jackey grinned. "Aye, milord! Only I thought it was milord's!"

  "Oh?" said Swale. "I look like the sort of fellow who goes scampering about the country with a special license in his pocket, do l?"

  "Aye, milord!" said Jackey, unabashed.

  "Oh, dear God," cried Juliet, sinking into a chair. "He means to force her to marry him."

  Swale glared at her. "Why do you persist in this delusion that your Fifi was unwilling? She seems to me about the fastest bit of goods since-since that filly that won the Newmarket!"

  She flushed angrily. "That is a thoroughly commonplace thing to say. For your enlightenment, allow me to tell you that Mademoiselle Huppert has an understanding with Bernard, with Mr. Bernard Corcoran, my brother's groom. The attachment is deep and of long duration."

  "What?"

  "They are engaged, Ginger," she snapped. "So you see it's quite impossible that she would elope with your Bowditch."

  "I see nothing of the kind," he returned. 'Why, that worthless jade! My poor Bowditch has been deceived very thoroughly by your diabolical Fifi."

  "Nonsense! He has abducted her! Don't let's argue, Ginger," she added quickly. 'We agree on one thing, I hope-they must be stopped! I suggest we go after them at once."

  "Yes," he said grimly. "Then we'll see who's right. Jackey, go and ready my curricle."

  "If your Bowditch has a special license, he could marry her anywhere," Juliet pointed out. "He would hardly dare ask my cousin to perform the sacrament. The nearest village is Little Straythorne. If you've brought your grays, we may be able to catch them in time. My Fi Josephine was yet at the Vicarage when I left it at half-past nine."

  "We've already established who it was that gave you those ridiculous curls."

  "You ought to let me drive," she said, following him from the room. "I know the country better than you."

  The resourceful Jackey had brought the curricle into the yard. "Shut up," Swale replied to Juliet's suggestion, "or I shan't take you with me at all." He watched her climb up into the seat beside him but did not offer to help her. "You drive my precious grays?" he scoffed. "I had rather see them fed to my hounds."

  "In case you've forgotten, I drove my brother's chestnuts," she snapped.

  "Ha!" he replied. "And a fine mess you made of it too, you miserable brat. Stopping in the middle of the road like Balaam's ass! I nearly broke my neck getting 'round you. Which way do I go?" he asked abruptly, for the grays had reached the end of the yard.

  "South, down the High Street, over the bridge, then take the eastern fork. It's four miles to Little Straythorne. "

  As he took up the reins, she looked at his hands critically. In his haste, Swale had forgotten his gloves, if he had any. His hands were large, with red knuckles and thick, coarse fingers. They were not the hands of a gentleman. They did not appear capable of delicacy, but she had seen them very gently doctoring the paw of a hurt dog, and the horses seemed to respond to him gladly. He did not use the whip. "It may be of interest to you," she said slowly, "that I had no choice but to stop in the middle of the road."

  "Is that so?"

  "Indeed," she answered, "because, you see, I did not know where we were racing to."

  "What?"

  "I thought Southend," she went on blithely. "But then I thought, perhaps Colchester after all. What else could I do? I was obliged to stop at the crossroads and let you go first so that I could follow you."

  "Let me go first-!" he choked, then swore violently under his breath.

  "But then I saw you veer to the right, and I knew you were trying to get inside me-inside the right hand turn, I mean," she amended hastily. "So I-so then I knew it was Southend after all. It was just bad luck that you collided with me."

  "Damned bad luck," he agreed. "Damned, wretched bad luck. I should never have met you, let alone collided with you! "

  "What I mean to say is, if you were a very bad driver, you would have overturned. But you didn't," she added unnecessarily.

  "I expect you were sorry I didn't overturn and break my neck!"

  "Well, yes," she admitted. "At the time, I would not have been sorry to see you overturn. But that is when I thought..." She completed her sentence with a faint sniff.

  "First, a compliment, and now, an apology," he said mockingly. "It would appear, Miss Wayborn, that I have gentled you with a kiss."

  "I was gently born, Ginger," she informed him. "That is why I haven't slapped your horrifically ugly face. You only did it to embarrass me."

  "Succeeded too," he laughed. "You blushed to the roots of your hair."

  "I did not indeed," she said. "If I blushed, it was only for your stupidity. But tell me, why Southend? Cary always races to Brighton."

  "The turnpikes," he told her.

  "Of course," Juliet murmured. "There are none between London and Southend. Otherwise, I should have had Bernard with me, and he would have told me the way."

  "I would have gladly hazarded my grays against Mr. Wayborn's chestnuts," Swale said, "but I hadn't a decent groom to manage the turnpikes. Your brother was very fair to me when he hit on the Southend scheme. I'm as good a driver as he is," he added forcefully, anticipating argument.

  "Perhaps you are," she said thoughtfully and colored up as he flashed her a look of surprise. "You could never have beaten him though," she went on quickly. "You are a much bigger man. Heavier, I mean. You simply couldn't ask it of the horses."

  "You had a decided advantage there," he said irritably. "You weigh next to nothing."

  "Good morning, Mrs. Croft! "Juliet called out suddenly, waving to a grim-looking matron coming down the street with her two unmarried daughters. "I expect little Jackey Lime will be only too pleased to tell the world what he saw today at the Tudor Rose. And now Mrs. Croft."

  "What of it?" Swale said as the curricle went over the bridge.

  "Honestly, Ginger," she said severely. "Are you a simpleton?"

  "I am not a simpleton," he said. "I suppose you think me a simpleton because my blowhole don't spout poetry like your precious Captain Phoebus."

  "Horatio has had fewer advantages than you and has accomplished considerably more," she said vehemently. "But even if you had all the Bard's plays and sonnets learned by heart, I would still think you a fool. Let's review the facts, shall we? Yesterday, you came to the Vicarage looking like some wild Old Testament prophet and told poor Mrs. Cary you had something particular you wished to say to me. Today, you are clever enough to be caught byjackey Lime kissing me in the private parlor of the Tudor Rose. Now you are driving me at what can only be described as a spanking pace through the village in full view of one of the busiest bodies in all Tanglewood Green. If I didn't know better, I would think you were trying to force me to marry you!"

  "You may wish."

  Her curiosity was aroused. "Were you never in your life warned against designing females? I have two brothers. Benedict, of course, never gets into scrapes, but Cary-well, even he knows better than to go about the place kissing people unless he very much wishes to marry them."

  "Well, I don't wish to marry you, madam," he snapped. "Depend on it!"

  "Indeed, I hope I may," she shot back.

  "As a matter of fact, I have already chosen my match."

  "Indeed? Where does one find a female grotesque?"

  "Female grotesque?" He laughed. "I wouldn't call Lady Serena Calverstock a grotesque, would you?"

  Juliet's mouth fell open, but she closed it with a determined snap.

  "She's quite twenty times as pretty as you are, Miss Wayborn," Swale continued to goad her. "What is the
matter? Why do you not wish me happy? Dear me, can it be that you actually entertained hopes of becoming Marchioness of Swale?"

  "Not so much a hope as a nightmare! " she retorted.

  "That's it," he responded cheerfully. "Save yourself for my aging father. He has two sets of teeth, you know. One ivory and one wood. At night, he soaks them in vinegar in a glass on his bedside table. Which do you want him to wear when he kisses you?"

  After that, they did not speak for a long time. As they came upon the third mile, Juliet suddenly gave a cry of surprise. Another curricle was in the road, coming toward them from the opposite direction.

  "Look, Ginger! Isn't that-aren't those-?"

  "I see them," he said, shaking off her hand. "I don't need you to tell me-"

  "But aren't those Cary's chestnuts?" she cried.

  Swale's head jerked around as the other curricle passed them. It was unfortunate that at just that moment, one of his grays would trod upon a stone and stumble. In the next moment, the curricle sprang several feet in the air, then came down with a crash on its side. The grays inexplicably turned off the road and fled a good twenty feet across the muddy meadow before Swale was able to get them under control.

  Juliet, who had been flung clear of the car, was already getting to her feet. Her face and clothes were splashed with mud. "This would not have happened if you had let me drive!" she shouted angrily as she fought to keep her balance in the slick grass.

  Swale's heart began to beat again. When he had looked over and seen his passenger gone from the seat, he had feared the worst. Nonetheless, he bristled at the criticism. "Is that so?" he shouted. "If you had not pulled my arm like the damn fool you are-!" He climbed over the side of the curricle and jumped down, sinking several inches in the squelching grass.

  Juliet, reminded of why she had pulled his arm, turned to look down the road. The driver of the other curricle had turned and was coming back up the road toward them.

  "Those are Cary's chestnuts!" she cried triumphantly. "It's Bernard! "Jumping up and down, she began waving her arms. Then, with a sharp cry of pain, she fell again. This time, she did not get up.

  Swale, who had begun looking over the grays for signs of injury, heard her cry out and ran to her. Bernard heard her too and brought the chestnuts to a stop. "I'm coming to you, Miss Julie!" he shouted, but it was Swale's red hair that swam before Juliet's eyes first.

  She said through gritted teeth, "My leg."

  Swale's face, usually so ruddy, was almost white. "Your head is bleeding, you damn fool!" he muttered. "Will you be still?"

  "I tell you, it's my leg," she argued weakly. "I can't stand up."

  "You mustn't try," he said decisively. In the next moment, he had flung her over his shoulder like a sack of grain. "Go to the village at once and fetch the doctor," he told Cary Wayborn's groom. "Miss Wayborn is hurt."

  Bernard stood his ground. "Miss Julie?"

  "What are you doing here, Bernard?" she asked, her head somewhere beneath Swale's shoulder blades.

  "Why, I came to see the wee Mademoiselle," he said, surprised. "Did she not tell you, Miss Julie? I knew she wouldn't like being stranded out here in the country. But never mind all that. Himself is after sending me for the doctor!"

  "I am taking Miss Wayborn there, " said Swale, pointing across the meadow.

  Bernard squinted and saw in the distance a snug little farmhouse with a thatched roof and a reassuring curl of smoke coming from its chimney.

  "Yes, Bernard," Juliet said, biting her lip. "I think you had better get the doctor."

  Swale picked his way across the meadow. It was slow going. The ground was slick and treacherous, and he did not want to risk a fall.

  "I beg your pardon," Juliet gasped, acutely aware that her bottom was bobbing up and down on Swale's shoulder, "but all the blood seems to be rushing to .." my head.

  With a groan of impatience, he shifted her from his shoulder into his arms. "You are not the slender wisp you appear," he said presently, grunting under her weight. He was obliged to ask that she put her arms around his neck as he foundered in the mud. She did so, but only with her eyes closed.

  "Try to stay awake. Force your eyes open," he advised.

  But Juliet preferred to screw her eyes shut and grit her teeth. The pain in her leg made her want to scream, and her head had begun to ache as well, but she would be damned before she broke down in front of Swale. It seemed an eternity before he got her to the farmhouse. He burst through the door unceremoniously, calling for the woman of the house.

  Despite the fire and other signs of recent occupation, no one came forward to meet them. Swale found a chair near the fire and placed Juliet in it. Her face was ashen, and she was nearly unconscious. Her forehead was damp with perspiration, as though she had just carried him across the field. Her eyelids fluttered.

  "You're looking green, Miss Wayborn," he said. "No, don't fall asleep on me! " He slapped her cheeks rapidly, and her eyes snapped open. "Where does it hurt?"

  "Your grays ... " she murmured, and he had to lean close to catch the feeble words. "Your lovely grays ...

  "Never mind the bloody cattle."

  "Please," she moaned, "my leg. I can't bear it."

  He was more worried about the cut on the side of her head, just above the ear. Still calling for the woman of the house, he searched for something to stanch the flow of blood.

  "Please! "Juliet was gritting her teeth. "Please help me!"

  Swallowing a curse, he got down on his knees at her feet. "Is your left ankle usually so fat?" he inquired presently. "Have you a clubfoot?"

  To his horror, she did not snap at him but silently gave way to tears, her face white and drawn.

  He found a knife to cut the buttons from her walking boot. When he pulled it off, Juliet cried out in pain. He tore her stocking almost to the knee, noticing as he did so that she wore long, filmy lawn drawers trimmed with lace. From ankle to knee her leg was puffed and bright red, rapidly turning purple.

  "I think it may be broken, Miss Wayborn," he said grimly. "Try and sit still. The doctor will be here soon. Why are there never any peasants at hand when one actually needs them?"

  Suddenly, he thought of his flask. Quickly, he took it out of his pocket and handed it to her. She turned her face away, moaning.

  "Drink it," he commanded.

  "What is it?"

  "Whisky," he told her, pressing it to her pale lips. "It will make you feel better."

  She drank it, spluttering. For a second, she felt as if she had inhaled fire, then a pleasant, warm, tingling sensation invaded her limbs. She took another drink, then another. "I feel much better now," she said, smiling dreamily. "I feel like dancing."

  "That's wonderful," he said. "No, sit still. No dancing for you, my dear."

  "But, Ginger, I want to," she said stubbornly.

  "Your head is bleeding," he told her sharply, "and your leg very likely is broken. Be a good girl, and sit still while I find something to bind your head."

  "May I have more whisky, please?" she asked hopefully.

  "No!"

  "But I want-" she began, trying to climb to her feet.

  "Dammit!" he said. "Will you do as you are told!" Putting his arms around her, he dragged her back down into the chair and held her there. She struggled weakly, then relaxed, going quite limp beneath him. He feared for a moment that she had slipped into unconsciousness, but he soon saw that her eyes were fixed on something over his shoulder.

  "Hullo, Horatio," she said very gravely.

  Then she began to giggle.

  Swale hurriedly disentangled himself from her and turned to face the captain. Horatio Cary was staring at him with cold blue eyes. In his mind, he was back on the deck of his frigate about to order a round of flogging for the crew.

  "I have sent the groom for the doctor," said Swale. "She is ... Miss Wayborn is hurt, as you see. Where is the damned woman who lives here?"

  Horatio continued to stare at him coldly.

&
nbsp; "I daresay this appears worse than it is," said Swale.

  "How so?" Horatio inquired.

  "Well, you see, Cary, my Bowditch and her Fifi-"

  "What?"

  "My valet and Miss Wayborn's maid," he explained, "have eloped. We were just attempting to retrieve them when we met with an accident."

  Horatio's eyes swept over him once more, then moved to Juliet. "Is this true, Juliet?"

  With effort, Juliet's eyes focused on her handsome cousin. "He kissed me, Horatio," she blurted out, her gray eyes wide and serious. "But he did not offer me carte blanche."

  Sir Benedict disliked anything that took him away from his beloved Wayborn Hall, so to be called to Hertfordshire because of his sister's wild behavior was a severe trial for him. His resentment was tempered only slightly by the fact that she was bedridden with a badly bruised leg.

  Upon arriving at the Vicarage, he spent half an hour closeted with Dr. Cary and Horatio in the Vicar's study. Both gentlemen assured the baronet that his sister had been compromised very thoroughly by Lord Swale.

  "He came here determined to marry Cousin Juliet," Dr. Cary said flatly, "and he did not mean to go away without achieving his objective. A more determined man I never saw! His lordship arrived on Thursday and interviewed her alone in the drawing room and then again in the shrubbery after a ... slight accident involving my china shepherdesses. Dear Juliet, with the usual feminine delicacy, swore she would not have him. Why, Mrs. Cary swore the same to me, but I didn't carry her off the next day! Anyone knows that a gently bred girl will always profess to be amazed and confused at the gentleman's first proposal. How would the world be if we men went about the thing with special licenses in our pockets, and at the lady's first refusal-"

  "Had he a special license in his pocket?" Benedict exclaimed.

  "He did indeed!" said Dr. Cary. "The boy at the Tudor Rose saw his lordship's valet unpacking the damned thing. I don't much care for the special license, Sir Benedict. A Christian man ought to marry in the parish of his baptism or in the parish of his betrothed's baptism. None of this gadding about the country or making a spectacle of one's self in St. George's! Vanitas, that is what I call these damned society weddings at St. George's."