When Horatio asked to take his leave of Juliet in private, there could be no mistaking his intentions, but despite her niece's frantic and surreptitious signals, Lady Elkins cheerfully agreed. Avery faint and unhappy Aunt Elinor had been carried out onto the terrace to recover from her disappointment at not being taken for a ride in Captain Gary's barouche, but she happily returned to the house quite under her own power, leaving Juliet no choice but to hear Horatio's proposal.
"My dear Juliet," he began, "I have been separated from you too much, and here I am taking leave of you again. I wish-"
"Indeed, it must be Fate keeping us apart," Juliet said quickly and emphatically.
Horatio did not take the hint. "I do not believe in fate," he replied, seizing her hands. "I believe it is up to us to order and arrange our lives in such a way as to secure our future happiness. To secure my future happiness, I would make a life with you. In this new life, I would never again take leave of you. I know my happiness would be safe with you, and I believe, dearest, loveliest Juliet, that I could make you happy too. Will you consent to be my wife?"
Juliet bit her lip. Anything she said would be certain to cause him pain. He clearly had no inkling she meant to refuse him, and that too was her fault.
"Do not answer me now," he quickly begged. "Do me the honor of considering my proposal with the same sober thoroughness with which I decided to make it. I am leaving now to bring Cynthia back to my mother, but I will return in three days. Dear Juliet, may I have your answer then?"
"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, an
d 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."
Juliet tried not to laugh and very nearly succeeded. "I think perhaps you are ill, my lord," she said. "You have not shouted at me yet or thrown anything at my head, except this truly amazing flattery."
"But I never threw anything at your head," he protested. "And, what's more, I never would. I-I like your head."
She laughed. "You had a setter with a head like mine, I daresay."
"What's all this?" Cary demanded suddenly, and Juliet, remembering that he was hampered by his injury, hurried down the steps to help him.
"I was just telling your sister I brought her some new books from London," Swale lied.
"Did you?" asked Cary with a slight frown.
"What books, my lord?" asked Juliet curiously.
Swale snapped his fingers, and a servant brought the package from his curricle.
"It was very good of you to think of me, my lord," Juliet said doubtfully as she helped Cary up the steps, "but you need not have troubled yourself. We do have books in Surrey, you know."
"The clerk at Hatchard's said they were very new and smart," Swale said, shrugging. "You would not let me do anything for you after the accident, but I did want to do something. I'm sorry to say Mr. Shakespeare's output is not what it ought to be. Nothing at all new from him this year or last year either. Probably, he will never recover from the whole Hamlet fiasco."
Recognizing that he was making a joke, and a joke at his own expense, Juliet stared at him openmouthed.
"What room have you made up for Swale, Julie?" Cary interrupted. "His lordship will want to make himself presentable before he meets my aunt."
Juliet's eyes were big and round. "I have made up Hastings, but-oh, Cary! You don't mean-He's not staying here?"
"He has to stay here," Cary told her grimly. "God help us."
She gulped as she thought of the disabled bell; the hideous furniture; the cold hearth; the general disorder; and, above all, the RAT. "Perhaps another room-"
Cary's lip curled beneath his mustache. "Hastings will do nicely, Julie. Billy will see to you, Swale," he added, looking around. "Where is that infernal boy?"
Juliet felt her cheeks reddening. Ca
ry knew as well as anyone that Hastings was the worst room in the house, even without the charming modifications she had made to it. It had the most hideous, stiff Restoration furniture. Prisons boasted more comfortable beds. Swale would think the Wayborns were povertystricken! "I could have Quebec made up," she whispered to her brother.
"No, indeed," Cary snorted. "Hastings will be quite good enough for him. We ain't friends, Julie. We're tied together until this bloody race is over."
`Just put me anywhere, Miss Wayborn," Swale said cheerfully. "I'm not particular. And do please take the books. I always fork over a little present when I make an extended visit. And if you find I've caused any damage, do please present me with a bill."
Cary looked at him with contempt and strode into the house, leaving them to follow-or not.
"I will give them to my aunt, sir," Juliet said, accepting the little package. "And thank you. My lord," she remembered to add.
Inside the house, four curved walls formed a grand circular entrance hall. A star-shaped pattern was laid out on the floor in black and white marble. The walls were painted pale blue, and they looked even paler in the brilliant sunlight spilling from the glass dome far overhead. Matching staircases flanked the hall, one curving east, the other curving west.
A footman appeared in the hall to help Cary up the eastern stairs. Swale started up the staircase after him, but Cary said rudely, "You're on the other side of the house, Swale. I'm going to my room, Julie. Send some tea up to me right away, will you? And make sure you cut the crusts off the sandwiches; otherwise, I won't eat them."
Swale frowned up at him. "Does he always order you about like a servant?" he asked Juliet.
"Certainly he does," she replied, covering her nervousness as best she could, "but I never attend him. Billy went to tell Sir Benedict you have arrived, my lord. He'll be back directly to show you your room. Please excuse me," she added, desperate to get away and speak to the housekeeper.
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