Simply Scandalous

by Tamara Lejeune

  `Juliet, slow down! You'll break your neck." He did not expect her to heed him, and she did not. With a sigh, he trudged down the stairs after her, carrying the bucket. He was astonished to find his sister listening at the doors of the drawing room, her face a mask of misery.

  "Are you sulking because Lady Serena has more talent at the pianoforte?" he teased her. "I doubt she sings as well as you do."

  "That is not Serena," she answered. "It's him. How I detest him!"

  "Who?"

  "Ginger! "

  Benedict was astounded. "Swale? Swale is playing the instrument?"

  "He plays like an angel," she said bitterly, clenching and unclenching her fists. "Couldn't you just strangle him? He said he was rather fond of music! Fond! "

  "Now, Juliet," he admonished her. "I know how you feel about him, but-"

  "I hate him!"

  "Quite," said Benedict. "But you can't stand out here in the hall. You must go in. It is not right that our aunt is left to entertain so many visitors."

  "I have to change my clothes," she said, running past him and up the stairs to the safety of her room and slamming the door. The sight of a smiling Swale bent over the instrument, with a smiling Lady Serena bent over him, had been more than she could endure when she had looked into the room.

  "How dare he play my piano?" she panted furiously as she tore off her scarlet jacket. "How dare he!"

  She wiped tears from her eyes and told herself firmly that they were tears of anger. If Ginger was content to be Serena's fool, it was nothing to her. If Serena wanted to be his wife, it was only his rank and fortune that attracted her, of course, but again, that was nothing to her. If they would only get out of her brother's house and not force her to watch the sickening progress of their romance, she would be quite content.

  That there might be a deeper reason for the turmoil of her emotions did occur to her, but it was ruthlessly suppressed as she recalled with loathing Serena's simpering expression as she was turning the pages of Swale's music. Her ladyship's ostrich plumes and rich attire Juliet thought rather ridiculous for the country. For herself, she chose a light green sprigged muslin and soft kid boots. She gave her hair a good brushing and tied it back with a green ribbon, then went down half hoping that the proud Silvercombe ladies had made the most of her absence and taken Ginger away.

  Her disappointment at finding him in the drawing room was not very pronounced, however. He smiled at her, and she smiled back with a queer little fluttering, melting sensation in her chest.

  "Here is Miss Wayborn," he said almost as if he had discovered her on the other side of the world and brought her back as his trophy. "May I present my brother to you? Colonel Fitzwilliam, this is Miss Wayborn."

  A gentleman she had not noticed before came forward. She wondered if he had been in the room earlier when she had met Lady Maria and decided that he could not have been. He seemed a mild gentleman of nondescript appearance, but there was something in his countenance that convinced her he would not stand by and allow his wife to be abused as she had abused Maria.

  "I have heard a great deal about you, Miss Wayborn," said the Colonel, bending over her hand. She detected a note of reproach in his grave, gentle voice and blushed.

  "And this is my sister Maria," Swale continued. "Serena you know, of course." He rushed over to the pianoforte where Serena was seated. "This is your instrument, I collect, Miss Wayborn?"

  She nodded, forcing herself to speak. "I did not know you played, sir. You put me to shame."

  "I learned chiefly to annoy Maria," he said. "How she struggled, poor girl, and how easily it came to me! It just sort of flows off my fingertips."

  Colonel Fitzwilliam interrupted as he saw his wife's temper rise. "I was hoping you could give me a game of billiards, Geoffrey," he said. "With Redfylde away, Silvercombe is a bit of a henhouse, I'm afraid."

  "Yes, Geoffrey, do come to Silvercombe for dinner, and give poor Henry a game afterward," cried Maria.

  "But Miss Wayborn plays billiards," said Serena with an impish smile on her lovely face. "Don't you, Miss Wayborn? Miss Wayborn could give you a game of billiards, Colonel Fitzwilliam."

  Juliet stiffened. "My brother Cary taught me," she said coldly, "but I only play against him."

  "Indeed," Lady Elkins cried. "It was very bad of Cary to have taught her, but as she only plays with him, I don't see the harm."

  "Why shouldn't he teach me?" Juliet said irritably. "Benedict can't play, and there are times when Gary would have no opponent if I hadn't learned."

  "You should teach Maria to play," Swale suggested to his brother. "Then you would never lack for a partner, Fitz. You'll give me a game after dinner, won't you, Miss Wayborn?"

  "You have been invited to dine at Silvercombe, my lord, and I only play with my brother," replied Miss Wayborn severely.

  "Oh, Maria can't invite me to Silvercombe," said Swale. "It ain't her house. I couldn't possibly accept an invitation from anyone other than Lord Redfylde."

  "Oh, but do come here for dinner, Colonel Fitzwilliam," cried Lady Elkins, recognizing her cue. "You and your lady wife and dear Serena. Dine here with us, and his lordship will give you a famous game of billiards. "

  "You forget, Aunt," Juliet said gently. "Tonight is Mrs. Oliphant's card party. Their ladyships are engaged for the evening."

  "But that's not for hours yet," said Swale, running his fingers over the keys. "We can invite them, can't we, Miss Wayborn, to come along with us on our excursion?"

  Juliet frowned at him. "What excursion?"

  "You did promise to take me to the church and show me the effigies of Baron Wayborn and his lady. You haven't forgotten?"

  "I seem to have forgotten the part where you expressed an interest in the scheme," she said. "I had the impression you were rather disdainful of our effigies."

  "A night in Runnymede has changed me forever," he said. "I feel very close to Baron Wayborn. I am agog with curiosity to see his effigy. This is the real twelfth century stuff, I trust?"

  "Certainly. "

  "You won't find any twelfth century effigies at Westlands," Lady Elkins smugly announced. "But we have some quite good effigies in the private chapel, and such beautiful stained glass windows too. There is scarcely a stone in the village church that doesn't have the name Wayborn carved into it."

  "I daresay the ladies are not at all interested in effigies," said Juliet doubtfully.

  "We were going to have a picnic in the meadow," said Lady Maria.

  "We were?" Lady Serena appeared startled.

  "Yes, we were," said Maria firmly. "Doesn't that sound nicer than exploring some moldy old church, Geoffrey? You won't mind relinquishing him, will you, Miss Wayborn? I haven't seen my brother in some weeks-I want his company. "

  Juliet realized with a sick thudding feeling in her belly that she did mind. She minded very much. "No, indeed, Lady Maria," she said faintly, meeting Serena's mocking smile with difficulty. "Take him away and feed him. He eats all our muffins here. It's very tiresome."

  "I could eat," Swale admitted. "But I'd like to see the chapel too."

  "Why can we not do both, my lord?" Lady Elkins brightly suggested that the young people walk down to the church to see the effigies. "I'll follow in the barouche with the picnic lunch. Juliet knows a shortcut through the meadow-it's scarcely above half a mile. Quite a pleasant, shady walk."

  Swale was all enthusiasm, Maria less so, and Lady Serena not at all, but the scheme was universally adopted when Colonel Fitzwilliam was promised a game of billiards afterward. "I'll get the key," Juliet said wearily, returning a few minutes later wearing the key to the Wayborns' private chapel on a ribbon around her neck and carrying a battered, broad-brimmed straw hat and a stout, straight limb of ashwood.

  Clapping her hat down over her head, she led them by way of the terrace down to the lake. Swale followed with Serena on his arm. She needed his arm, for the high-heeled slippers she was wearing did not agree with the trek through the woodland.
Behind them, Colonel Fitzwilliam gravely escorted his wife.

  Juliet had the pleasure of overhearing Serena's conversation with Swale. The lady was chiefly concerned with complimenting his lordship on his new head. "I have always preferred a cropped head, my lord, and yours is such a handsome shape."

  Juliet savagely stabbed the earth with her walking stick and was horrified when she couldn't pull it out again. A glance behind told her that Swale was much too occupied with Serena to notice her struggles, but Lady Maria was watching with amusement.

  "It feels like I've been scalped," Swale complained, running a hand over the short red stubble on his head. "But ... anything to please the ladies." He laughed pleasantly.

  The stick pulled free suddenly, almost sending Juliet sprawling. Grabbing it, she stomped off in the direction of the village.

  "Slow down, Miss Wayborn," Swale called to her presently. "Serena's thrown a shoe."

  Juliet waited, tapping her foot impatiently, as Swale knelt and restored Serena's pretty shoe to her pretty foot. "Thank you, my lord," said Serena softly, coloring up. "I didn't know I would be tramping through the fields when I left home this morning." She laughed prettily.

  Juliet, for no apparent reason, laughed too.

  "On a glorious day like this, with such pretty country all around you, the only place to be is outside," Swale told Serena. "Exercise and fresh air, that's what you need."

  "Yes, my lord," she agreed meekly, her lashes sweeping her cheeks.

  "Look at Miss Wayborn-she's brown as a berry," Swale added. "I'd be willing to bet Miss Wayborn could walk as far as Richmond without missing a breath. Show me a milkmaid who can do that!"

  Serena tittered. "I confess I am no milkmaid, my lord."

  "Perhaps my lady needs to sit down and rest now," Juliet said waspishly. "There's a bench just ahead if you are feeling faint."

  Serena, leaning heavily on Swale's arm, said she would adore a bench above all things.

  The bench, however, was occupied by a rather grubby young man with a bucket. He grinned at Swale. "Will you be needing any more newts, milord?"

  "No, Master Billy, thank you," said Swale, and Lady Serena hastily declared that she did not need to rest after all. She had found a hidden reserve of strength. The march continued, and several times, they were passed by villagers. Lady Maria withdrew from a particularly bucolic farmer driving a wagon. He respectfully took off his hat and greeted Miss Wayborn, guiding his mule off the track to allow them to pass.

  "Good heavens!" Maria cried loudly. "Does your brother know all these people are using his property, Miss Wayborn? I shouldn't allow it. That man looks like a gypsy! "

  "This is a common path, my lady," Juliet told her. "It has been used by the local people for centuries. Wexton is six miles out of the way by the King's road, less than two by this route. And that good man is no gypsy. That is Mr. Quince from our Home Farm."

  "That excellent fellow is responsible for the little white cheese?" exclaimed Swale. "I must speak to him." Matching deeds to words, he abandoned Serena and rushed over to the wagon, returning with a wheel of cheese wrapped in brown paper.

  "We'll add it to our picnic," he told Juliet as he tucked it into his waistcoat. "It is the nicest cheese I ever ate," he told the rest of them. "I'm sending them to everyone I know for Christmas, and Farmer Quince has promised to show me how they are made. He likes his toasted on a slice of crusty brown bread."

  Serena was clearly repulsed. "It has rather a strong smell, does it not, my lord?"

  "Wait until you taste it, my dear. It is exquisite."

  Serena's smile was forced, and she could not suppress a shudder. Despite her earlier lack of enthusiasm, she was now only too pleased to reach the church, having grown very hot on the walk. The sanctuary was dark and cool. Juliet led them to the small private annex where the Wayborns had honored their dead for centuries, propped her stick in the corner, and unlocked the door of carved oak. The miniature chapel was bathed in the light filtering through the brilliant stained glass windows showing the Wayborn coat of arms. The effect was dazzling, sheer drops of color dancing in the air like butterflies.

  Serena balked at the entrance. "Are there ... bodies in there?" she whispered in horror, clutching Swale's arm.

  "The crypt is underground," Juliet told her curtly. "This is our private chapel. These are merely statues, monuments. There's nothing to be afraid of."

  "Extraordinary," murmured Colonel Fitzwilliam, followingJuliet into the chapel. "I have never seen anything like it. So well-preserved! The colors in the windows are so rich. The blue is the true cobalt. It is quite as lovely, in its way, as Chartres."

  "Thank you, sir," Juliet said, rather surprised by his interest. She had never been very interested in it herself. She led him up to the altar where life-sized marble statues of Baron and Baroness Wayborn lay stretched at full length on a marble dais. Their hands were clasped in prayer, and from above, the rose window tossed dozens of brightly colored gems over their peaceful faces.

  "I detect a marked resemblance to the lady," Colonel Fitzwilliam said, looking from Juliet to the marble sculpture. "It must be a wonderful thing to have one's ancestors so close at hand. I have no record of my own ancestors until the early part of the last century," he admitted ruefully, "though my mother is very keen on inventing stuff for Mr. DeBrett and Mr. Burke! Don't believe half of what you read about the Matlock Fitzwilliams in the Peerage," he told her, chuckling. 'We are mere overnight mushrooms compared to the Wayborns."

  Behind them, Lady Serena sneezed, and Lady Maria called, "You have the bar sinister in your coat of arms, Miss Wayborn! Pray, why is that? Were not all of your ancestors above reproach?"

  "Evidently not," said Juliet dryly. "The name Wayborn is as much a clue to our history as the bar sinister, Lady Maria. The first Wayborn must have been just that, born by the way on the side of the road. But it was an English road and by the Grace of God, a Surrey road. For that, I'm thankful."

  "Bravo, Miss Wayborn," said Fitzwilliam, which did not endear him to his lady.

  Serena sneezed again. "The smell of... of death is everywhere," she complained.

  "Have you seen enough?"Juliet asked Swale. He was contemplating the crude medieval knights carved into the pillars of the altar. "We've got rubbings from those at the house, if you would care to study them."

  "They look very stern, don't they?"

  "Yes, and very short in stature, have you noticed? One wonders where they found the strength to walk around in all that chain mail."

  "From what I hear," said Swale, "Fitz would have been glad of a little chain mail at Waterloo."

  Juliet's eyes widened. "Were you at Waterloo, Colonel Fitzwilliam?" she exclaimed.

  He bashfully averred that he had been, just as his wife cried out in vexation, "I think we had better go, Henry! The air here is very cold and damp. Poor Serena is sneezing." It did not suit Lady Maria at all to see Miss Wayborn monopolizing both gentlemen in the party, and she demanded her due. "Geoffrey, help poor Serena."

  Swale caught Serena in his arms as the lady crumpled in a rather picturesque faint. `Julie!" he cried in astonishment. 'Julie, she's fainted."

  Miss Wayborn was unimpressed. "So I see," she said coldly.

  Swale lowered Serena, still holding her in his arms. "Give me your hat, Julie," he said, reaching out a hand without looking away from his charge. "I'd better fan her face."

  "You'll get more wind from her ladyship's hat than mine," Juliet objected sourly.

  "Fork it over, miss! And look sharp doing it!"

  Miss Wayborn angrily snatched at the green ribbons of her old straw hat and flung it at him. After being struck several times in the face during his lordship's zealous fanning, the lady was revived and helped to her feet.

  The chapel was cleared, and by the time Juliet had locked it up again and put the key back around her neck, the rest of her party had walked outside into the sunshine. Swale was speaking to Serena with real concern. "You should
not have gone from such a warm place to such a cold place all at once, Serena," he scolded her. "You'll jeopardize your health."

  "Oh, I can't bear places like that," she said. "It's so dark ... so ghoulish! I can hardly breathe. Look! I am trembling."

  It took all of Juliet's restraint not to swat the silly peahen. "We'd better dispense with the picnic then," she said, "if you're trembling, my lady, though I daresay you'll be excessively disappointed not to sample the cheese! Here is my aunt now. I'm sure she'll be pleased to convey you all back to Silvercombe in the barouche."

  "Yes, I think you're right, Miss Wayborn," Serena said faintly. "I hate to spoil the afternoon, but my head does ache so."

  Lady Elkins's driver brought the barouche up to the wall of the churchyard, and Juliet went to explain to her aunt that Lady Serena was too ill to consider picnicking in the nearby meadow. Lady Elkins, who had been looking forward to driving through the village in her barouche with Lady Serena and Lady Maria in full view of all her friends, like a Roman general at his triumph, gave up her carriage with very bad grace.

  "Help Serena into the carriage, Geoffrey," Lady Maria commanded, as if Lady Elkins's barouche were not equipped with a driver and two footmen.

  "Oh, you mustn't all forego the picnic just because of me," cried Serena. "Go and enjoy yourselves."

  "Geoffrey will see you home," said Maria. "Poor Serena! Make her lie down, Geoffrey, when she gets home, and bathe her temples in violet water. And send the carriage back to fetch us." Her instructions continued at length as Lady Elkins was handed down from her vehicle. The footmen unburdened the barouche of two large picnic baskets, and Swale and Serena set off for Silvercombe. "I do love a picnic," said Lady Maria, smiling meanly at Juliet. "What a treat!"

  The picnic was set out in the nearby meadow, and Juliet was obliged to help her aunt assume an undignified pose on the cloth spread on the ground. The pain had returned to Lady Elkins's legs with the relentless cruelty of a nemesis, and there was now absolutely no reason for Aunt Elinor to mention that her niece had made the salmon mayonnaise herself.