"Why on earth did you bring him here?" Benedict said sharply. "You couldn't stay in London?"
"I don't care to practice my driving before a London audience," Cary replied. "My bloody arm shakes! Do you think I want all of London gawping at me when I drop my own bleeding ribbons?"
"Mind your language," Benedict snapped. "Why didn't you take Swale to Tanglewood?"
"Tanglewood!" Cary scoffed. "The house is in disrepair. I wouldn't trust the roof as far as I can throw it."
"Whose fault is that?" said Juliet angrily. "I wish Grandmamma had left it to me-I'd make something of it!"
"And there's no housekeeper," Cary continued breezily. "Swale might enjoy camping out in a ruin, but I'm a civilized fellow. I like my meals on time. In any case, he'll have a devil of a time hiring ruffians to disable me in my own neighborhood."
Juliet bit her lip. "But, Cary," she said, "Swale didn't do that. We think it was Lord Redfylde, and he is at Silvercombe. All the bets are to be honored in the new race," she told Benedict. "Lord Redfylde still stands to lose ten thousand pounds if Cary beats Swale. Which he is certain to do," she added for her brother's encouragement, "as soon as his arm is completely healed."
Gary sniffed. "I've heard this crackbrained theory that Lord Redfylde is behind the attack on me. It's rubbish. "
"What?" cried Juliet. "Indeed, it is not rubbish. Lord Redfylde bet ten thousand pounds on Swale to win. He must have known something was going to happen to you, Gary. How else do you explain it?"
"Simple, my dear infant," her brother replied. "I had the whole story from Stacy. Lord Dulwich goaded Redfylde into taking that absurd bet, saying he was too chickenhearted or too straitened to hazard a mere ten thousand on the outcome. Redfylde was provoked into taking it, and of course, ten thousand is nothing to him."
A plausible enough explanation, she supposed, given male vanity, and yet every feeling rebelled against it. Swale must be innocent. "Benedict," she pleaded, "tell him he's wrong."
Cary's lip curled. "So Swale has deceived you as well. Poor Julie! Just you look at this note he sent mealong with Bernard's money-then tell me I'm wrong." Reaching into his wallet, he almost flung the scrap of paper at her.
It was a pompous and condescending communication; she could scarcely believe that Ginger had written it.
His lordship, the Marquess of Swale, sent his compliments to Mr. Cary Wayborn and trusted that the latter's touch of influenza made him not too uncomfortable.
It is to be regretted that such a trifling illness must prevent you from keeping our appointment, sir, and even more regrettable that you must choose to take the ungentlemanlike step of sending an imposter in your place. I daresay you instructed Miss Wayborn to cheat as well, and the abominable transvestite was more than happy to comply, but I must remind you that our wager was upon a race between myself and yourself, and while I congratulate you on having a mustachio d amazon for a sister, I cannot, in good conscience, keep your five hundred pounds. Therefore, I am returning your money until such a time as you are recovered from your sickness and may meet me in person at the Black Lantern Inn. I urge you to leave your unnatural sister at home where she belongs.
Cordially,
Geoffrey Ambler, Lord Swale
Juliet's face was scarlet by the time she finished reading this.
"He has me struck down like a dog in the street," Cary said through clenched teeth, "then he taunts me with this! And he dares to insult Julie-abominable transvestite! Mustachio'd amazon!"
Juliet tore the note into tiny pieces and flung it into the fireplace. "That is an unforgivable letter, and I will make him pay for it, but it don't signify his lordship's guilt. He was angry when he wrote those words, and you know, we did put it out for Aunt Elinor's sake that you had influenza."
"Listen to the poor lamb defending the wolf! " said Cary. "If you like him so well, why did you not marry him when you had the chance?"
"I never said I liked him," she protested. "He is coarse and rude, and-and let me tell you, his face belongs in a grotto! Indeed, I do not like him."
"Let us be thankful for that!" said Cary. "If you ever start to feel you might like him, just remember that note, my dear, sweet mustachio'd amazon. He accuses you of cheating too, my dear, sweet, unnatural sister. My abominable transvestite!"
"Oh! cried Juliet furiously.
"His lordship is here now, Juliet," said Benedict, giving her shoulder a sympathetic pat. "Whatever we feel, we must afford him the dignity and respect due to a guest."
"Does that include you, Sir Benedict?" she responded.
The baronet raised his brows. "What have I done?"
"It's what you will do that worries me," she retorted. "And that is provoke Lord Swale with your cold disdain! I expect you to be an amiable host. And though it costs me, I shall be an amiable hostess. I've decided to put him in-in Quebec."
"I put my friends in Quebec," Cary objected. "Put him in Hastings."
"I can't put him in Hastings," Juliet cried.
Benedict shuddered. "Certainly not! I had understood Hastings to be unsuitable for all human habitation. The servants use it as a sort of a storage cupboard, I think."
"I might put him in Agincourt," she said slowly.
"Certainly not! " both her brothers cried at once.
"I'm sure we have no reason to show off for Lord Swale," said Benedict. "Runnymede will be more than sufficient for his lordship's needs, and it has the advantage of being on the other side of the house from the family's rooms. Put him in Runnymede."
Juliet looked mutinous but said nothing.
"Go on, Juliet," said Benedict. "See to your guest."
"And send up more tea," Cary added imperiously. "This has grown cold, my girl. Did you even boil the water?"
In the hall, Juliet nearly collided with Pickering, who was leaving Sir Benedict's dressing room. "Ah, Pickering," she said, giving him the tea tray. "Have you finished his lordship?"
"Yes, Miss Julie," he replied. "I sent him down to Lady Elkins on the terrace."
"And?"
"I think you'll be pleased, Miss Julie."
"Master Cary wants more tea," she told him. "And see if you can't get him to shave that fungus. If he refuses, we can always do it while he's sleeping."
"Yes, Miss Julie."
"Thank you, Pickering," she said, running down the hall to the stairs. "Pickering?"
"Yes, Miss Julie?"
She chewed on her bottom lip for a moment, then said decisively, "I'm moving his lordship to Agincourt. Will you please inform Mrs. Spinner?"
Pickering was startled. "Agincourt, Miss?"
"Yes, Pickering," she said testily. "Why shouldn't I put him in Agincourt if I wish? I'm the mistress of this house until my brother marries, and I shall put him anywhere I please. I defy anyone to question my right to do so!"
"Yes, Miss Julie."
"Inform Mrs. Spinner there's to be a fire and fresh flowers and every good thing. Except-and I am firm on this, Pickering-under no circumstances is his lordship's man Bowditch to be admitted into the house."
"Yes, Miss Julie," said Pickering with unusual fervor.
Feeling rather flustered, she paused at the mirror in the hall to smooth her hair before descending the stairs to the drawing room. It was a mild spring afternoon, and the French windows all stood open, and she could see the terrace beyond. Lady Elkins was seated outside with a shawl wrapped around her shoulders, her face set in an expression of peevish disgust.
"More tea, my lord?"
Juliet was startled by the coldness in her aunt's voice. What on earth had Swale done to Aunt Elinor? It was not in Lady Elkins's nature to be anything but amiable to a young bachelor of great fortune and rank.
But perhaps, Juliet thought with a smile, Lady Elkins had accepted that Lord Swale was beyond her niece's grasp, so she very sensibly had decided to hate the very man she would have delighted in calling nephew.
`I wouldn't say no, Lady Elkins," Swale replied cheerfully. A
t first, Juliet could not see him, but then he crossed the terrace to hand his cup to his hostess, stopping in front of the open window.
"Oh, my dear, sweet Lord!" Juliet murmured, shocked into blasphemy.
His head was bare, almost completely bare. Less than a quarter inch of red hair covered his skull in the severest crop she had ever seen. She could only stare, stupefied, as he turned, and catching sight of her standing within the house, he smiled.
"Here she is, Lady Elkins. Miss Wayborn, will you not join us?"
Juliet stepped onto the terrace, moving automatically, her eyes trained on Swale's shorn head.
He ran his hand across the stubble self-consciously. "She's speechless, Lady Elkins. That's a good sign, isn't it?"
Once the shock had faded, she discovered that the cut actually suited him. It made him look more gentlemanlike, and his skull had a good shape. His ears were rather long, but they did not stick out too much. All the same, much to her own surprise, she missed the rumpled red mop. She did not, however, miss the rumpled clothes. Thanks to Pickering, his lordship was neat without being fastidious in a dark blue coat and buckskin breeches.
"He scalped me, Miss Wayborn," said Swale, rubbing his shorn head. "Not so much as an inch of stubble did he leave me. But I was told that a certain lady preferred a cropped head, and ... one must make sacrifices when one is"-he cleared his throat in embarrassment"in love."
Juliet's mouth was suddenly as dry as a desert.
"Lord Swale," Lady Elkins said icily, "has come to Surrey to make himself agreeable to a certain lady. I think we can guess who that lady is."
"You see the lengths to which I am willing to go to please her," said Swale.
Juliet's breath caught in her throat. She now understood her aunt's coldness, but strangely, she was not amused. So Swale really had come to fix things between himself and Serena Calverstock! Perhaps they were already engaged. If Juliet knew anything about Serena, she would certainly seize the chance to become Lady Swale. Maria Fitzwilliam would be pleased in her new sister, and she supposed his Grace of Auckland could have no real objection to the lady, who was beautiful and well-bred and rich.
But Swale! Could he be taken in by a phony like Serena? Did he truly believe that the lady, after loving Alex Devize, then Cary Wayborn, two very handsome and dashing young bucks, could suddenly transfer her affections to Swale, who was neither handsome nor charming?
And how dare Swale come to Wayborn Hall and use her home as a base of operations for his pursuit of another woman, and a woman she detested too!
She had no claim on him of course, but she considered it inexpressibly rude of him to court another woman under her very nose-and to brag about it to her face. Had he so little regard for her dignity as that? The knowledge that Serena could not possibly return his affection and that she would certainly make him miserable did not console her in the least.
"The Beast has come to claim his Beauty, in fact," she said lightly.
"Precisely!" he said, holding out his cup to Lady Elkins and beaming proudly.
"I seem to be out of tea, my lord," snapped Lady Elkins bitterly.
Juliet folded her hands and said with tolerable nonchalance, "I had understood, my lord, that you had quite a different reason for coming into Surrey. I had understood that you are on probation with your club and that one of the terms of your probation is that you stay near my brother and make sure no harm comes to him until the race."
'Well, yes," he admitted. "But the neighborhood has another attraction for me. I think you know me well enough, Miss Wayborn, to know that I'd tell every man jack of my club to go hang himself. But for my own reasons, I want to be here. This lady ... well, London is pretty flat without her, let me tell you! Life, Miss Wayborn, is pretty flat without her, to say the truth."
"Excuse me,"Juliet said in a strangled voice. "I've only just remembered-I must speak to Cook about the savory."
He bowed to her. "I'll eat anything you put in front of me, Miss Wayborn. Even if you set it on fire! "
"I remember," she said coldly.
He called after her as she made her escape. "I'll even eat cheese with pleasure."
"Odious, odious toad!" she muttered, mounting the stairs that led to the splendid guest suite that bore the name Agincourt. She could scarcely believe that for one half moment, she had actually thought she was glad to see him! That, as Cary had accused, she liked him!
"Toad! " she cried aloud.
"Miss Julie?"
The two footmen carrying Swale's trunk into Agincourt's dressing room looked at her curiously. "Are you all right, Miss Julie?" asked Albert. "You look a mite feverish."
"Take that back to Hastings at once!" she snapped. "Agincourt would be quite wasted on a philistine like Lord Swale! I will teach him to make love to another woman right under my nose! I will teach that bald man to tell me life is pretty flat without Serena Calverstock! "
The footmen exchanged bewildered glances. "Yes, Miss Julie."
"And if a dead rat was good enough for Stacy, it's more than good enough for him!"
Returning to the terrace, she found Swale alone and the servants clearing the tea away. "Where is my aunt?" she asked him in an accusatory tone.
"I didn't break her, if that's what you mean," Swale answered, laughing.
"Lady Elkins has the headache, Miss Julie," one of the servants told Juliet. "Miss Huddle is with her now."
"Thank you, jem." She waited until the servants were gone before she said, "Cary is resting, and Sir Benedict is with his estate agent, my lord."
"And Lady Elkins has the migraine. If you wanted to be alone with me, Miss Wayborn, you only had to say so! " He smiled, but inwardly, he was rather nervous.
He had arrived uncertain of his reception and anxious to please. The sight of her waiting on the steps-fleetingly he had fantasized that she waited for him-had firmed his resolve. Really, until that moment, he had almost convinced himself that his sudden desire to marry her was a fancy that would soon pass. But it was all he could do not to rush up the steps and carry her off in his arms. Life was pretty flat without her.
She had received him civilly at first, but in the entrance hall, he could not help but notice her evident desire to get away from him. Indeed, he had been on the verge of offering to go if his presence was so unpleasant to her. But that would never do-if she accepted his offer, then he would have to leave Wayborn Hall, and that would be the end of a very good thing.
He had succeeded at least in making her laugh, and that was his only encouragement.
Her aunt he had found rather cold to him, even after he had confided to her that his purpose in coming to Surrey was marriage. But that coldness, he supposed, was to be expected after his conduct in Hertfordshire. Lady Elkins was a good aunt, not one of these ambitious, matchmaking females who look only at a fellow's fortune in judging his worth. He would have to work hard to gain her good opinion. He congratulated himself on his suavity in that initial interview.
And he must have made some inroads into the old lady's heart, for had she not excused herself, giving him the chance to be alone with Juliet?
Dear Juliet! The poor girl was trying very hard to maintain her composure, he could tell, but clearly, she was deeply affected by his declarations of love. Cutting off his hair merely to satisfy her whim-that was pure genius. The poor girl was trembling, but she clung to her pride and tried to appear aloof.
"Being alone with you is precisely what I don't want," she retorted, tossing her head. "But since no one else can stomach you, Ginger, I suppose it is my duty to entertain you. Or, perhaps you would prefer to go now to pay your respects at Silvercombe? Our stable is far from complete here, but I'm sure we could manage to find something for you to ride."
"Silvercombe?" he repeated innocently. Thanks to Billy, he was ready for this test of his mettle. "But you said Lord Redfylde is not at home. Why should I go to Silvercombe?"
Juliet frowned at him. "Redfylde isn't there, but Lady Serena is and
your sister, of course, and her husband, Colonel Fitzwilliam. Indeed, I wonder if you would not be more comfortable staying at Silvercombe."
"I have not been invited to stay at Silvercombe," he pointed out. "I have been invited to stay here, and I have accepted your brother's kind invitation. Besides, you have already spoken to the cook about the savory. It would be churlish of me to leave you now."
"No one could ever say Lord Swale was churlish," she remarked dryly. "It is three hours until dinner ...
"I am at your disposal, Miss Wayborn," he said quickly.
Was he practicing lines on her that he meant to use later on his ladylove? she wondered in a fit of ill temper. `Would you care to see the house and grounds, my lord?" she asked stiffly.
He accepted the grudging offer with enthusiasm. "I've already seen the terrace. Most impressive. Another few days and the rhododendrons will give a lovely dis play. Remember the rhododendrons at Tanglewood Vicarage? Where you explained to me the folly of having something particular to say? I think of those rhododendrons fondly."
"Actually, we have two terraces," she told him briskly. "But this one has a view of the lake."
"Man-made?" he inquired politely, following her back into the house.
"I have no idea," she sniffed. "It is simply the lake. It's always been there. This is the drawing room," she continued, moving quickly through the room. "These are the tables. Those are the chairs. Paintings, as you see, on the walls. That one is Benedict's prizea Constable. Rugs on the floor."
"A Constable, Miss Wayborn?" he said, squinting at Sir Benedict's prize painting. "I think not. It appears to be a landscape with some sheep."
"Constable is the name of the painter," she told him acidly. "Don't you know anything about the arts?"
"I'm fond of music," he answered, "but I daresay I couldn't tell you a thing about art."
She rushed out of the room before he could betray any more of his appalling ignorance. In similar style, she showed him the morning room, the breakfast room, the dining room, the main library, and then she brought him upstairs to show him the smaller informal library.
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