Simply Scandalous

by Tamara Lejeune

  "She'll grow horribly fat," said Juliet, but weakly.

  "Billy will exercise her."

  "Look here," said Swale. "I am responsible for the newts. I saw that filthy rat, and all I could think of was newts. "

  "I thought you were on your way to put them in my room," said Juliet. "I never dreamed you had already put them in Cary's room."

  "I suppose you had Billy put the rat under my pillow," said Swale.

  "Certainly not," said Juliet, deeply offended. "I did it myself! I don't send servants to do my skullduggery for me. I did buy the rat," she added a little sheepishly.

  "Oh, I paid Billy for the newts," Swale admitted freely. "Couldn't risk being seen down by the lake. But I put them in your brother's bed myself. You see, Sir Benedict, I'm not the kind of man who pays people to do shady things on my behalf-and neither is Julie."

  "Congratulations to you both," Benedict said dryly. "Only consider my point of view. I don't actually consider my residence a suitable habitat for newts. Since you and I do not agree on this, my lord, I must respectfully ask you to leave."

  "But he only did the newts because of the rat," Juliet wailed. "You can't punish him for something I did! Besides, he has to stay. He has to remain with Gary until the race."

  "He can stay at the village inn," said Benedict inexorably.

  "They will say he left because of me,"Juliet objected. "You may as well turn Wayborn Hall into a leper colony."

  Lady Elkins added her lament. "I will never be invited to another card party as long as I live! "

  Swale drew himself up to his full height. "If I give you my word as a gentleman, Sir Benedict-no more newts or rats-and if I remove all the offensive little creatures from the house, will you allow me to stay?"

  Benedict looked in exasperation at his female relations and silently threw up his hands.

  "I'll help you with the newts, my lord," said Juliet, following Swale from the room. "It is only fair, Benedict. He disposed of my rat."

  "My dear aunt," said Benedict. "May l escortyou to your apartment?"

  In Gary's room, Juliet poured a little water into a basin with steep sides, and she and Swale began collecting the various members of the Triturus family that had taken up residence in the vicinity of the bed.

  "It's not going well, is it?" Juliet said worriedly.

  "Temporary setback," he assured her.

  Grimacing, she held up a wriggling aquatic salamander by its hind leg and threw it in the basin. "But what if it doesn't work?" she persisted. "What if my famous plan fails to free us of our present entanglement? Did you mean what you said about eloping with me?"

  "Of course," he said instantly. "I've a hunting box in Scotland, so establishing residency is no difficulty."

  'We wouldn't be able to come back to England until I'm twenty-one," she warned. "Benedict is perfectly capable of having the marriage annulled."

  "Has the man ever smiled?"

  "I don't really think Cary would shoot you, but. . .

  "Then you don't know him as well as I do," said Swale. "Don't worry about that though. I'll let him go first. With his shaky hand, he'll miss me, and I shall fire into the air."

  "You're rather a big target, my love," said Juliet. "Would you take me to Canada? Your cousin still has a house on the St. Lawrence River, doesn't he?"

  Swale nodded. "Whatever you want, Julie," he said cheerfully. "We'll paddle around in a canoe for a while until the dust settles, and then we'll come back to England."

  Juliet rubbed her temples. "It would be better for your father's sake if we were closer. Could Ireland possibly be as bad as they say?" She sighed. "I'm so tired I can't think."

  "Go on to your aunt then. I'll manage these little buggers."

  "No, don't," she murmured distractedly when he reached for her. "I'm all newty."

  "Don't care."

  "In my day," Lady Elkins greeted her niece as the latter finally came to bed, "one caught a good husband by not putting rats under his pillow. How times have changed!"

  "I know," said Juliet, changing into her nightgown under the cover of darkness. "I can't think why he puts up with me, actually. Since the moment we met, I have done him nothing but wrong. I've publicly accused him of underhanded perfidy. I threw yarn at him. Then I made him go after my worthless French trollop of a maid. When I hurt my leg, he came to the Vicarage every day to inquire after my health, and I wouldn't even see him. Then he comes here."

  She slid into the bed beside her aunt.

  "I put him in Hastings. Pickering scalped him. I fed him cheese for dinner. I put a rat under his pillow. When I found out he was engaged to Serena, I told him to hire men with sandwich boards to announce the match to the whole world by strutting around Hyde Park! And tonight, I nearly got him thrown out of the house. Tomorrow will be even worse. Tomorrow the announcement appears in the paper, and we will see how Serena likes it."

  "Well, for heaven's sake, keep it up," said her aunt, who was nearly asleep. "He seems to like it."

  "In fact," Juliet whispered, slipping out of bed, "I'd better go apologize in advance for tomorrow."

  "Yes, do," murmured Lady Elkins, rolling over. "He seems to like that too."

  While not without considerable advantages, being a rake certainly was a stressful business, Swale decided. The part where lovely maidens slipped into one's bed smelling like the Garden of Eden was all well and good, but in the cold light of day, one felt rather guilty.

  Marriage, one hoped, would be different. For one thing, the lovely maiden would not disappear in the morning like a wraith, and for another, one would not have to face the lovely maiden's brothers in the breakfast room.

  Swale cautiously looked into the room before entering, rejoicing to observe no brothers grazing among the chafing dishes on the sideboard. The room was full of food and devoid of humanity, exactly what he wished for. Thinking himself safe, he picked up a plate, murmuring happily to himself, "Delenda est Cathago."

  Why the immortal words of Cato the Elder should have such a remarkable effect on his Juliet he did not know, but for him, they were now forever associated with the most exquisite of all carnal delights. "Delenda est Cathago," he told the muffins on the sideboard. They seemed to quiver at his approach, reminding him of Juliet.

  Too late, he made the discovery that Cary Wayborn was seated on the floor in the corner of the room, his head on his knees. The sideboard had obscured him before, but now, he overflowed the eye.

  Awkward, to say the least. It gave one pause.

  Swale instantly retreated, the floor creaked, and Cary looked up. The Wayborn gray eyes were not flaying. Rather, they were bloodshot. His skin was pasty, and he evidently had slept in his clothes, ample proof of a royal hangover.

  "H-hullo," said Swale, trying to be civil.

  Cary winced in pain.

  Swale lowered his voice to a whisper. "Listen, Cary, about those newts-"

  "Hang the newts," said Cary in a surprisingly strong voice. "Bugger the newts!"

  "Actually I returned them to the lake," said Swale, a little surprised that Cary held such strong views on semiaquatic salamanders. "Not their fault, after all. Mere pawns."

  "Prawns?" Cary squinted up at him dully. "I thought they were newts."

  "They were newts," Swale clarified. "But they were also pawns in a sort of chess match I was playing. If you see what I mean."

  "No, I don't."

  "No?"

  "No."

  "I see your point. What I mean to say, old man, is that I put the newts in your room. Heartily sorry and all that, but it was a case of mistaken identity. I ought to have put them in Julie's bed."

  "Damn the newts," said Cary, expanding on his central theme. "Bugger the newts."

  "Full circle," Swale remarked as the other man climbed laboriously to his feet. There was a piece of paper crowded with peacock blue ink in his hand, and as he stood up, an envelope with a broken seal fell to the floor.

  Cary swayed dangerously and clutched
at the edge of the sideboard, causing the mountain of muffins to wobble. Swale was able to catch a few with his plate, but some were lost forever.

  Cary appeared to be fighting nausea. Sweat rolled down his face, though it was a cool morning. His lips were almost white. "Sir, will you do me the honor of reading this letter? I have just now read it, though I think it came for me yesterday. It contains news that may be of interest to you."

  "Thank you," Swale replied, "but I don't, as a rule, read letters addressed to other people, particularly when they are written in peacock blue ink."

  Cary blinked at him. "I'll read it to you."

  "I-I just wanted a muffin," said Swale, desperately wishing he could get away.

  Cary stared at the letter in his hand for a long moment, then solemnly turned it around. "Upside down," he explained in a hoarse whisper. "It is from Mr. Eustace Calverstock."

  "Oh?" said Swale. "My father has already paid him for his nose. He can have nothing more to say that will be of interest to me."

  Cary clutched at the other man's arm, jeopardizing the muffins on his lordship's plate. "It was him, Swale. He did this to me. He broke my arm. It wasn't you after all."

  Swale pulled out a chair and put Juliet's brother in it before seating himself. "Do you know, I never thought it was me, old man. I always thought it was someone else. It just doesn't seem like my style, somehow. My modus operandi, if you will."

  "I never suspected," Gary said bitterly, resting his head on the cool tablecloth. "I knew his debts were pressing, but ... this ... this betrayal. I called him my friend, the lying Judas."

  Swale took a bite of muffin. Still warm and oozing with butter, just the way he liked it. "A moneymaking scheme then," he grunted. "But how? Calverstock bet on you to win."

  Cary moistened his lips laboriously. "Redfylde. Redfylde would not pay Stacy's debts out of his own purse, but he agreed to place a dishonest bet for ten thousand pounds. Stacy was to be given half that amount, more than enough to cover the monkey he bet Mr. Devize."

  "So it was Redfylde after all."

  "Stacy convinced him that I had agreed to let you win the race." Cary threw back his head and howled, making Swale pause in the act of taking another bite of his muffin.

  Awkward.

  "As though I should ever do such a shameful thing!" cried Cary. "That is what I can never forgive, his telling Redfylde that. He has written to Redfylde as well, exonerating me-if that matters!"

  Swale poured out a cup of coffee. "And my name? How did my name enter into it?"

  Cary listlessly plucked at the tablecloth. "He claims that was completely the original idea of his partners in the crime. But then, he also claims that I was only ever to be kidnapped, then released after the race unharmed. His partners-to whom he was indebted for untold sums of money-thought kidnapping too risky and too bothersome. They opted merely to disable me. It is to be supposed that they profited from modest little wagers of their own amongst their own kind," he added bitterly.

  "Pretty sordid," Swale observed. "I took an instant dislike to Calverstock."

  "My friend! He might have sent it express," said Cary, tossing the letter aside. "But that might have jeopardized his escape. This was written before his departure for France, where your father's money has made it possible for him to go. He speaks of going to America."

  "He will never see England again," said Swale. "That is punishment enough."

  "The thing is," Cary said reluctantly, "I owe you an apology, old man."

  "I consider the matter closed," said Swale. "Just don't shoot me when I marry Julie. That is all I ask."

  Cary shook his head. "Sorry, old man, but I was telling the truth when I said she's going to marry Horatio. I told him I'd sell him Tanglewood Manor if he married her. Julie's always been keen on the place. He's made her an offer. She's probably giving him her answer now.

  "He's here?"

  "Yes, I saw him. It was he who brought my attention to this letter. He saw the London mark and thought it must contain the news of his elevation to the knighthood."

  "He's with Julie now?"

  "I sent him out to her," Cary replied. "Benedict has forbidden her to ride today. She was walking in the vicinity of the lake, if you wish to try and stop it-"

  Swale shuddered. "No, no. He's bound to cry when she tells him she's already engaged to me. Coffee, old man? I don't mean to criticize, but you look as though you might need it."

  "Will you shake my hand, sir?" asked Gary. "And I do believe that you must forfeit the race."

  "On no account will I forfeit," said Swale. "You shall forfeit "

  "But if I forfeit, Redfylde will be enriched by ten thousand pounds! " Cary objected.

  "Can't be helped," Swale responded. "My dear fellow, if you had heard the disgusting comments that Dulwich made about your sister after the race, you would know at once why you must forfeit the race. I'll be damned before I let Dulwich walk away with ten thousand pounds! "

  "Dulwich insulted Julie, did he?"

  "So we are agreed? When the time comes, you shall forfeit."

  They were shaking hands when Benedict came into the room, a newspaper folded under his arm.

  "I see you have taken all our muffins ... again, my lord."

  A pair of flaying gray eyes regarded Swale from the doorway. The baronet set the paper down next to his plate at his customary place at the table. He picked up his plate and, wandering over to the sideboard, began rooting around in the various chafing dishes.

  Swale waited in triumph, but Gary seemed lost in his thoughts. It was necessary to nudge him in the ribs.

  "Benedict, I've had the most shocking letter from London. Stacy Calverstock has confessed."

  Benedict sat down with his breakfast and listened without comment as Cary related the substance of Stacy's letter. "Hm-m. I confess I never suspected him for a moment. I'd make a poor magistrate."

  Swale tapped the table. "The point is, Sir Benedict, there is now no impediment to my marrying your sister."

  "There is one insurmountable obstacle, my lord," Benedict replied, taking a bite of ham. "My sister does not wish to marry you. It may seem a little thing to you, but I attach some importance to it."

  "Don't be absurd. Of course, she wants to marry me."

  "No, she doesn't."

  `Julie loves me. Ask her."

  "She put a rat under your pillow, my lord. Was that affection?"

  "She thought it was Calverstock's pillow."

  "And yet ... she still put you in Hastings, did she not? Knowing there was a rat under the pillow? After I told her to put you in Runnymede?"

  Swale frowned. "The important thing is that I am in Runnymede now, Sir Benedict."

  Benedict appeared smug. "I spoke to my sister last night, my lord. I asked her if she were engaged to you. She told me in no uncertain terms that she had no intention of marrying you, she does not love you, and neither your riches nor your title are enough to tempt her, and she has promised me she intends to refuse your offer of marriage ... today, as a matter of fact."

  Swale flung down his napkin and stood up, his face spattered liberally with nettlerash. "She said all that, did she?"

  "She also said you had a face that belongs in a grotto."

  "I already heard that one," Swale said with chilly dignity. "May I inquire if that is today's newspaper, Sir Benedict?"

  "As a matter of fact," Benedict affirmed. "Captain Cary brought along several copies. Apparently, the news that the Regent tapped him on the shoulder is contained within. Perhaps that explains why it seems unusually thick today."

  "You might want to take a look in the society section," Swale said, his face turning red. "When you are ready to apologize to me, I shall be down by the lake, wringing your sister's neck!"

  After fifteen minutes in her cousin's company without ever once being given the opportunity to speak, Juliet might have welcomed even such an unpleasant interruption as that proposed by Swale before he quit the house.

 
and His Royal Highness the Prince Regent turned to the Admiral and paid me the very great compliment of saying I was very gentlemanlike and he wished he could offer me a baronetcy! Imagine that, my dear Juliet. But I was presented with the Order of the Garter, which I thought pretty well, though I did think the Order of the Bath would have looked better against my coat. What do you think?"

  "I think-" Juliet began, sitting up straight on the little rustic bench near the water's edge where she had been sitting while glumly skipping pebbles across the water.

  "I think so too," said Horatio, accepting her answer without actually pausing to hear it. "But of course, I did not say so at the time. His Royal Highness keeps his rooms unnaturally hot," he went on. "You would have been most uncomfortable, though he did ask after you."

  Juliet was startled. "Did he?"

  Horatio put his booted foot on the bench perilously close to Juliet's battered straw hat, which she had placed on the bench beside her to prevent him from sitting down. "Remember his Highness's little joke that he would marry you when his divorce from the Princess was finalized by Parliament? I was able to tell His Highness that you were to be happily married to me, and he was gracious enough to wish me joy." "You had no right to do that! "Juliet cried angrily.

  "There is not the least reason to be coy," Horatio assured her. "I had it in my power to amuse my sovereign lord. He was delighted beyond anything to know that I was going to marry the famous Miss Wayborn that everyone calls Miss Whip. To be sure, it was only after I told him our little news that he mentioned the baronetcy. He expressed an earnest and very flattering desire to be acquainted with you. I invited him to our wedding."

  "Ugh!"

  Never having heard that word before, Horatio chose to ignore it. "He also gave me this little snuff box to give to you."

  He leaned over her to present a small green and gold enameled box, and Juliet defensively drew her shawl tightly around her shoulders. "See? It has a pretty little racehorse painted on the lid."

  Her disgust overflowing, Juliet refused even to look at it. What sort of man accepted gifts from the Prince Regent on behalf of his betrothed, even when the betrothal was wholly presumptive and not at all real? Was she supposed to be flattered by the Regent's insulting interest in her? Pretty little racehorse indeed! She'd had quite enough of the race-themed innuendo from Budgie and his nasty friend Lord Dulwich.