Simply Scandalous

by Tamara Lejeune

  "Oh no," his sister replied, looking rather flustered. "If he did call, it was only from a sense of obligation, I'm sure. I daresay he has no wish ever to see me again. It would be terribly awkward if we were to see each other again. But do please inquire after his horses, Benedict. Cattle, he calls them."

  Juliet looked down at her hands in embarrassment. "And will you please tell him that I'm excessively sorry? I may have said some very foolish things when we were in the cottage ... I never meant to cause him so much trouble. It must have been the whisky. "

  Benedict sighed and, with an air of weary detachment, resumed his seat. "Whisky?"

  "Does this mean our Miss Julie is going to be a Duchess?"Jackey Lime inquired excitedly as he polished Lord Swale's boots in the private parlor of the Tudor Rose.

  "She will be a Marchioness," Swale told the boy. "She won't be a Duchess until my father shuffles off the mortal coil, and between us, the old fool plans to live forever."

  "A Marchioness." Jackey appeared doubtful. "Is that good, milord?"

  Swale smiled at the boy. It was remarkable, really, how calm he was in the face of impending doom. "It's very, very good, Jackey," he assured the boy.

  ,,Will she have jewels and carriages?" Jackey demanded.

  "She will have all the jewels and carriages she can eat," Swale promised.

  Mrs. Sprigge came in and glared at Swale. "Sir Benedict Wayborn is here to see your lordship," she said. "He don't look happy," she added with a malicious gleam in her eye.

  The man himself appeared in the doorway, pallid with anger.

  "This is a respectable establishment," Mrs. Sprigge said, lingering. "That Miss Julie should be insulted in my parlor is intolerable, sir! You mustn't blame Mr. Sprigge, Sir Benedict. How was he to know the lordship would be so naughty? You're a wicked, wicked lordship," she scolded Swale, "and I don't mind telling you there's no place at the Tudor Rose for a rake's progress!"

  This was not the first time it had been suggested to Swale that he leave the inn, but he did not take it seriously since no shortage of rabbit pie had developed. He ignored Mrs. Sprigge and addressed himself to Juliet's brother. "Is she well, sir? Is Miss Wayborn quite well? Those damned Carys won't let me near her! They won't tell me a thing. Should I send to London for my family's surgeon? Mr. Norton would come at a moment's notice."

  "Will you leave us, please, Mrs. Sprigge?" said Benedict. For a moment after she had left, taking Jackey Lime with her, he seemed busy fiddling with his stick, polishing its silver head obsessively with his thumb. In reality, he did not trust himself to speak. He seated himself and said quietly, "There are surgeons enough in Hertfordshire, my lord."

  "Dammit, man!" Swale exploded. "Is she all right?"

  "My sister need not concern you, my lord," Benedict informed him coldly.

  "Not concern me? Sir Benedict, I was driving. I accept full responsibility for the accident. Naturally, Miss Wayborn's injuries concern me. They concern me very much."

  "First, my brother's arm, and now, my sister's leg," Benedict remarked in exasperation. "Are we never to be rid of you, sir? You destroy all in your path. You cling like ivy. You persist like the plague. I heartily wish you to the devil."

  "If we're to be brothers, you mustn't wish me to the devil, Sir Benedict."

  Benedict lifted a brow. "Brothers, my lord? Why should we be brothers?"

  "Come now," said Swale, shrugging his shoulders like a pugilist preparing to enter the ring, "I know perfectly well I'm caught like a rat in a trap. If I'm to marry your sister-"

  "You must allow me to tell you that you will never marry my sister," said Benedict.

  Swale was taken aback by this calm statement. "But haven't I ruined her or something?" he demanded. "Your sister, of course, is quite innocent, but the Carys seem to think I've compromised her. Dammit, man! Is her leg broke? Is she crippled?"

  "My sister will make a full recovery, as I hope, my brother will." Benedict looked at him coldly. "I am Juliet's guardian. I value her happiness above the opinion of the world. I won't be bullied by this shabby trick into giving my sister to you, my lord, particularly since the marriage is disagreeable to her."

  "What shabby trick?" Swale's face was red, and his green eyes narrowed dangerously. "I used no trick. All of my dealings with your sister have been honest, which is a sight more than she can say about her dealings with me! Did she say the marriage was disagreeable to her? Not half as disagreeable as it is to me, let me tell you!"

  "Do you deny that you came to Hertfordshire to make my sister marry you?"

  "I do deny it," said Swale hotly. "I never had the least intention of marrying your sister."

  "No, indeed," Benedict murmured. "Milord is here looking for a house within easy distance to London!"

  Confronted with the lie, Swale blushed a dark red. "As a matter of fact," he said with dignity, "I do want a house within easy distance of London. Doesn't everyone?"

  "It seems to be quite the thing indeed," said Sir Benedict with a very grave expression. "My Lord Redfylde is also seeking a house within a few miles of London."

  "Redfylde!" Swale's eyes narrowed to slits.

  "Yes, my lord," said Benedict. "Redfylde."

  "Is he in Hertfordshire?" Swale demanded. "Lead me to him. I have a crow to pluck with my Lord Redfylde! "

  "And yet," Benedict observed, "rather than stay in London and pluck it, you chose to pursue my sister into Hertfordshire. Is that not a trifle curious?"

  "I told you," Swale said coldly, "I was interested in purchasing a country estate within

  "Easy distance of London," Benedict finished. "Very well, my lord. My sister's being in this very place, in her cousins' house, must have been a very shocking coincidence for you."

  "Well," said Swale, wilting beneath Benedict's fierce gaze, "I had an idea she was here. I had an idea of seeing her. I had an idea that things must have been very rough on her after the race."

  "And you came here to smooth out the rough?" Benedict snorted unpleasantly. "Well done, my lord. She is now much better off."

  "I didn't mean to make things worse, you know," Swale said. "I've ... I've no animosity toward her. She owned her mistake, and she has apologized to me. Well, perhaps I exaggerate when I say she apologized. But, at any rate, if she wants me to marry her, I will. Reluctantly."

  "That is handsome of you, my lord," said Benedict, "but, alas, you must seek some other young woman upon whom to practice your amazing condescension. My sister seems to prefer the ignominy of being known forever as the Young Lady Who."

  "Your sister, if you don't mind my saying so, is an ass," said Swale. "And if you were any sort of guardian, you would make her marry me. She has been alone with me here in this very room. That infernal boy saw us together. You know we were seen driving through the village together. We were quite alone at that bloody farm, and when that ass Captain Cary walked in, she was in my arms. Well, dammit! Who's going to marry her now?"

  "Since it is definitely not to be Lord Swale," Benedict replied, "the question does not overly concern me. But, in case it concerns you, my lord, you should know that Captain Cary has asked my permission to marry Miss Wayborn. So you needn't worry she will die an old maid."

  "She's going to marry him?" Swale scowled. "The man is a pompous ass and a dead bore."

  "That will be my sister's decision," Benedict replied.

  "That is a great relief to me," Swale said after a moment. "Yes, she should marry him, and quickly too, before he changes his mind. He'll make her a famous husband. They will suit very well indeed-they have matching coats with shiny brass buttons already."

  "I'm excessively glad your lordship approves."

  "Let me be the first to toast the happy couple. I suppose he is with her now, holding her little hand and reciting Shakespeare's poetry in the original Danish. I daresay he wouldn't know what to do if a snake got inside her clothes!"

  "I have nothing more to say to you, my lord." Benedict seemed about to leave, but he hesi
tated. "My sister, however, asked if I would inquire after your horses."

  "My grays?" Swale appeared distracted. "She asked after them, did she? You may tell her that Jupiter has quite a nasty scratch, and Mercury has a big knee."

  "Will they recover? It would grieve my sister if they had to be put down."

  "Put down? Oh, no. The curricle was smashed, of course-"

  "Miss Wayborn did not inquire after your curricle, my lord," Sir Benedict informed him curtly, then coldly took his leave.

  In the elegant reception room of her London town house, Lady Maria Fitzwilliam extended her hand to Mr. Alexander Devize.

  "Good evening, my lady. My mother and my sister have asked me to convey their regrets."

  Lady Maria inclined her head. She was a snubnosed, red-haired young woman of twenty-eight. If she was considered attractive, it was chiefly due to a pair of mischievous, laughing dark eyes, but when she was angry, the nostrils of her snub nose tended to flare and her expressive eyes grew very cold. The nostrils flared now as Alex bent over her hand.

  "Indeed?" she said in a rather hard voice. "What excuse did they give? Headache? A sick relative? Believe me, I have heard every possible excuse in existence tonight!" With an angry snap, she opened her painted ivory fan. "Though I did expect more from my Lady Devize and my Lady Cheviot! "

  Alex's face reddened with embarrassment as he looked around the elegant ball room. By ordinary standards, the ball was well-attended, but the very best Ton were conspicuous by their absence. This was the Fitzwilliams' first ball as a married couple, and the Duke's daughter was livid. It ought to have been a runaway success. But the only ladies in attendance were the wives of the officers of her husband's former regiment, many of whom she had invited merely as a courtesy to her husband. And she very much suspected that many of these ladies had attended only as a courtesy to their husbands and that they would have preferred to stay away.

  Having never supposed that the spurious accusations leveled against her brother by people she had never heard of would ever affect her own family's consequence, Maria was seriously vexed. Who were the Wayborns? Old County, she was told, which she took to mean little country nobodies. Her husband could never explain to her how a mere baronetcy-and a Surrey baronetcy, at that!-could trump all the wealth and influence of the Duchy of Auckland.

  "Well?" she demanded of Mr. Devize. "They asked you to make their excuses. Make them!"

  "It's little Harry Cheviot, I'm afraid," the baron's son was obliged to say. "My nephew is quite ill, and his Mamma and Grandmamma have stayed at home to nurse him."

  "Are you quite certain he did not fall out of a tree?" Maria inquired coldly. "Quite a few children appear to have fallen out of trees today."

  The lady's husband, Colonel Fitzwilliam, coughed lightly. "My dear, it's not Mr. Devize's fault."

  "My brother," Maria said in a low, stifled voice, "does not cheat! It is my opinion that Mr. Wayborn was set upon by footpads and only concocted this bizarre story because he knew he would lose the race by default!"

  "Mr. Wayborn did lose by default," Alex reminded her. "Miss Wayborn conceded."

  "Oh, the despicable sister." Perhaps it was unreason able, but Lady Maria held Miss Wayborn entirely responsible for her brother's disgrace and the poor turnout at her ball. "Miss Whip, they call her! I do not know the young woman, Mr. Devize. I was away on my honeymoon when she came out, though I understand this is her second season. No surprise she was unable to find a husband in her first season," Maria added spitefully, quite forgetting that she herself had enjoyed nearly ten Seasons as a spinster before finally leading Colonel Henry Fitzwilliam to the altar. "Are you at all acquainted with Miss Wayborn, Mr. Devize?"

  "I know her a little," he admitted.

  "I hear such things as make me shudder," said Maria. "She crops her head like a boy, smokes cigars, wears trousers, and takes snuff!"

  "I have never observed the lady engaged in any of those activities," said Alex, and Maria heard the slight stress he placed on the word `lady.'

  "And the lady's family?"

  "The Surrey branch of the Wayborn clan. That is all I can tell your ladyship."

  "There is an Earl Wayborn," said Colonel Fitzwilliam. "His lordship's seat is at Westlands, not far from my own boyhood home of Matlock."

  "I expect his Surrey relations trade freely upon Earl Wayborn's good name," Maria said scornfully. "Let us hope Miss Wayborn does not drag them all under. Miss Wayborn herself is quite sunk. All good society must be closed to her now."

  "She is to be pitied," the Colonel murmured.

  "Pitied?" Maria frowned. "Rather, she is to be ostracized. She is to be punished for her impropriety, her insolence, her impudence ... her willful disregard of civility and the deference due my brother's rank!"

  Alex was taken aback. "You are aware, are you not, that your father has been at some pains to arrange a marriage between your brother and Miss Wayborn?"

  Maria was appalled. "My brother marry Miss Wayborn?" she cried. "I don't think!"

  "You needn't worry anything will come of his Grace's efforts," Alex assured her. "Sir Benedict Wayborn, the lady's brother, strangled the idea at birth. Apparently, he does not desire my Lord Swale as a brother. He would not confide his sister's happiness into your brother's keeping."

  Maria's cheeks reddened with the Ambler nettlerash. "How dare he say such a thing!" she cried, trembling with rage. "My father honors him too much, and this is his answer? Insupportable! Insufferable conceit!"

  Alex chuckled. "Swale was also enraged. You will laugh, my lady, when I tell you the revenge your brother is plotting against that family."

  "Well?" said Maria, her nostrils flaring.

  "Geoffrey means to find Miss Wayborn wherever her family has hidden her and make her fall in love with him. Then he'll spurn her, breaking her heart." Alex's eyes danced at the absurdity of his red-haired friend in the role of Casanova, but Maria recoiled in alarm.

  Colonel Fitzwilliam frowned. "That is very bad of Geoffrey. Miss Wayborn must be wretched enough without he makes her a figure of fun."

  "But-where is my brother?" Maria demanded. "I haven't seen Geoffrey since the damnable race. I expected him to attend my ball, you know. He does not even send his regrets."

  "Perhaps," Alex said, "he has fallen from a tree."

  "I had rather he were dead at the bottom of the Thames than anywhere near Miss Wayborn," Maria declared stoutly.

  "My dear, you do not mean it," Fitzwilliam murmured.

  Maria seemed about to defy her husband and say that, Yes, she did mean it, but she was forestalled by the unexpected arrival of Lord Redfylde and his sister-inlaw, Lady Serena Calverstock. There was a stir among the little gathering of ladies and gentlemen as the raven-haired beauty with shining violet eyes entered the room escorted by the tall, fair-haired Marquess.

  Lord Redfylde bowed over his hostess's hand and apologized for the absence of his wife, who was awaiting the birth of their third child. Lady Maria civilly offered her wishes that the child would be a boy this time. Redfylde needed an heir, and his wife seemed to breed only daughters, and these with the greatest of difficulty. Redfylde then presented his sister-in-law.

  Lady Serena greeted Maria with a degree of familiarity that the Duke's daughter might have found objectionable at another time, but on this occasion, she was so pleased Lord Redfylde had not snubbed her that she accepted Serena's effusive compliments on her ballroom decorations almost with pleasure.

  The two ladies knew one another slightly, and they had shared a number of London Seasons but had never been friends. Maria had been clever enough to realize that all her own vivacity and wit would be as nothing compared to Serena's exquisite beauty and taste, so she had always avoided the lady celebrated with the sobriquet of La Serenissima.

  Serena was dressed very simply in a white pleated dress with a spray of spotted orchids on one shoulder and diamond pins sprinkled in her jet black hair. Maria felt overdressed and stuffy in her own
gown of garnet velvet, as dumpy and out of date as any poor lieutenant's wife. Whatever they felt, the two ladies studied each other's gowns, correctly identified the modistes who had made them, and with brilliant smiles, pronounced their creations universally charming. Maria then politely inquired after the health of Serena's sister, Lady Redfylde.

  "Dear Constance," murmured Serena. "She is not at all well. Mr. Norton has advised a remove from London-and in the midst of the Season. So inconvenient! My Lord Redfylde has been very busy this week seeking a comfortable house within easy distance of London."

  "It is most inconvenient at the top of the Season," Redfylde added, "but it cannot be helped."

  Serena spoke in a lowered tone to Maria. "Please do not be offended if we don't stay long, my lady. Indeed, I was determined to stay at home with my sister all evening, but Redfylde insisted we come. My lord feels very keenly any slight upon the honor of a fellow nobleman, and he hopes that these dreadful rumors about your brother may be crushed at once. If it were not for her condition, do please know that Lady Redfylde would be here herself."

  -thank you, my dear," said Maria with real gratitude. "We are discovering now who our real friends are."

  "Did you not attend the race, my lord?" Alex asked, turning to the Marquess of Redfylde. He cast into his memory, but he could not recall seeing Lord Redfylde's proudly sculpted face and ash-blond hair either at the Black Lantern Inn or at the finish line in Southend. Surely, that was a curious lapse in a man who had hazarded ten thousand pounds on the outcome!

  Incredibly, Lord Redfylde begged to know which race, as Ascot had not yet taken place. When told Mr. Devize was referring to the infamous curricle race from London to Southend, he coolly replied, "I haven't time for such nonsense, Mr. Devize. I have been looking for a country house. Redfylde, for all its beauties, is too far from London to be of any use to us on this occasion."

  "My Lord Redfylde has just taken Silvercombe in Surrey," Serena told the company. "I wish he had not! We will be rubbing shoulders with the Wayborns, for Sir Benedict of Wayborn Hall is to be our nearest neighbor."