Simply Scandalous (19 page)

"What of it?" Swale said as the curricle went over the
bridge.

"Honestly, Ginger," she said severely. "Are you a
simpleton?"

"I am not a simpleton," he said. "I suppose you think
me a simpleton because my blowhole don't spout
poetry like your precious Captain Phoebus."

"Horatio has had fewer advantages than you and has
accomplished considerably more," she said vehemently. "But even if you had all the Bard's plays and sonnets
learned by heart, I would still think you a fool. Let's
review the facts, shall we? Yesterday, you came to the
Vicarage looking like some wild Old Testament prophet
and told poor Mrs. Cary you had something particular
you wished to say to me. Today, you are clever enough
to be caught byjackey Lime kissing me in the private
parlor of the Tudor Rose. Now you are driving me at
what can only be described as a spanking pace through
the village in full view of one of the busiest bodies in
all Tanglewood Green. If I didn't know better, I would
think you were trying to force me to marry you!"

"You may wish."

Her curiosity was aroused. "Were you never in your
life warned against designing females? I have two
brothers. Benedict, of course, never gets into scrapes,
but Cary-well, even he knows better than to go about
the place kissing people unless he very much wishes
to marry them."

"Well, I don't wish to marry you, madam," he
snapped. "Depend on it!"

"Indeed, I hope I may," she shot back.

"As a matter of fact, I have already chosen my match."

"Indeed? Where does one find a female grotesque?"

"Female grotesque?" He laughed. "I wouldn't call
Lady Serena Calverstock a grotesque, would you?"

Juliet's mouth fell open, but she closed it with a
determined snap.

"She's quite twenty times as pretty as you are, Miss
Wayborn," Swale continued to goad her. "What is
the matter? Why do you not wish me happy? Dear me,
can it be that you actually entertained hopes of becoming Marchioness of Swale?"

"Not so much a hope as a nightmare! " she retorted.

"That's it," he responded cheerfully. "Save yourself for my aging father. He has two sets of teeth, you know.
One ivory and one wood. At night, he soaks them in
vinegar in a glass on his bedside table. Which do
you want him to wear when he kisses you?"

After that, they did not speak for a long time. As
they came upon the third mile, Juliet suddenly gave
a cry of surprise. Another curricle was in the road,
coming toward them from the opposite direction.

"Look, Ginger! Isn't that-aren't those-?"

"I see them," he said, shaking off her hand. "I
don't need you to tell me-"

"But aren't those Cary's chestnuts?" she cried.

Swale's head jerked around as the other curricle
passed them. It was unfortunate that at just that
moment, one of his grays would trod upon a stone and
stumble. In the next moment, the curricle sprang
several feet in the air, then came down with a crash on
its side. The grays inexplicably turned off the road and
fled a good twenty feet across the muddy meadow
before Swale was able to get them under control.

Juliet, who had been flung clear of the car, was already getting to her feet. Her face and clothes were
splashed with mud. "This would not have happened
if you had let me drive!" she shouted angrily as she
fought to keep her balance in the slick grass.

Swale's heart began to beat again. When he had
looked over and seen his passenger gone from the seat,
he had feared the worst. Nonetheless, he bristled at
the criticism. "Is that so?" he shouted. "If you had not
pulled my arm like the damn fool you are-!" He
climbed over the side of the curricle and jumped
down, sinking several inches in the squelching grass.

Juliet, reminded of why she had pulled his arm,
turned to look down the road. The driver of the other curricle had turned and was coming back up
the road toward them.

"Those are Cary's chestnuts!" she cried triumphantly. "It's Bernard! "Jumping up and down, she
began waving her arms. Then, with a sharp cry of
pain, she fell again. This time, she did not get up.

Swale, who had begun looking over the grays for
signs of injury, heard her cry out and ran to her.
Bernard heard her too and brought the chestnuts to
a stop. "I'm coming to you, Miss Julie!" he shouted, but
it was Swale's red hair that swam before Juliet's eyes first.

She said through gritted teeth, "My leg."

Swale's face, usually so ruddy, was almost white.
"Your head is bleeding, you damn fool!" he muttered. "Will you be still?"

"I tell you, it's my leg," she argued weakly. "I can't
stand up."

"You mustn't try," he said decisively. In the next
moment, he had flung her over his shoulder like a
sack of grain. "Go to the village at once and fetch the
doctor," he told Cary Wayborn's groom. "Miss Wayborn is hurt."

Bernard stood his ground. "Miss Julie?"

"What are you doing here, Bernard?" she asked, her
head somewhere beneath Swale's shoulder blades.

"Why, I came to see the wee Mademoiselle," he said,
surprised. "Did she not tell you, Miss Julie? I knew she
wouldn't like being stranded out here in the country.
But never mind all that. Himself is after sending me
for the doctor!"

"I am taking Miss Wayborn there, " said Swale, pointing across the meadow.

Bernard squinted and saw in the distance a snug
little farmhouse with a thatched roof and a reassuring curl of smoke coming from its chimney.

"Yes, Bernard," Juliet said, biting her lip. "I think
you had better get the doctor."

Swale picked his way across the meadow. It was
slow going. The ground was slick and treacherous, and
he did not want to risk a fall.

"I beg your pardon," Juliet gasped, acutely aware
that her bottom was bobbing up and down on Swale's
shoulder, "but all the blood seems to be rushing to
.."
my head.

With a groan of impatience, he shifted her from his
shoulder into his arms. "You are not the slender wisp
you appear," he said presently, grunting under her
weight. He was obliged to ask that she put her arms
around his neck as he foundered in the mud. She did
so, but only with her eyes closed.

"Try to stay awake. Force your eyes open," he advised.

But Juliet preferred to screw her eyes shut and grit
her teeth. The pain in her leg made her want to
scream, and her head had begun to ache as well,
but she would be damned before she broke down in
front of Swale. It seemed an eternity before he got her
to the farmhouse. He burst through the door unceremoniously, calling for the woman of the house.

Despite the fire and other signs of recent occupation, no one came forward to meet them. Swale found
a chair near the fire and placed Juliet in it. Her face
was ashen, and she was nearly unconscious. Her forehead was damp with perspiration, as though she had
just carried him across the field. Her eyelids fluttered.

"You're looking green, Miss Wayborn," he said. "No,
don't fall asleep on me! " He slapped her cheeks rapidly,
and her eyes snapped open. "Where does it hurt?"

"Your grays ... " she murmured, and he had to lean
close to catch the feeble words. "Your lovely grays ...

"Never mind the bloody cattle."

"Please," she moaned, "my leg. I can't bear it."

He was more worried about the cut on the side of
her head, just above the ear. Still calling for the
woman of the house, he searched for something to
stanch the flow of blood.

"Please! "Juliet was gritting her teeth. "Please help me!"

Swallowing a curse, he got down on his knees at her
feet. "Is your left ankle usually so fat?" he inquired
presently. "Have you a clubfoot?"

To his horror, she did not snap at him but silently
gave way to tears, her face white and drawn.

He found a knife to cut the buttons from her walking boot. When he pulled it off, Juliet cried out in
pain. He tore her stocking almost to the knee, noticing as he did so that she wore long, filmy lawn drawers trimmed with lace. From ankle to knee her leg was
puffed and bright red, rapidly turning purple.

"I think it may be broken, Miss Wayborn," he said
grimly. "Try and sit still. The doctor will be here
soon. Why are there never any peasants at hand when
one actually needs them?"

Suddenly, he thought of his flask. Quickly, he took
it out of his pocket and handed it to her. She turned
her face away, moaning.

"Drink it," he commanded.

"What is it?"

"Whisky," he told her, pressing it to her pale lips.
"It will make you feel better."

She drank it, spluttering. For a second, she felt as
if she had inhaled fire, then a pleasant, warm, tingling
sensation invaded her limbs. She took another drink,
then another. "I feel much better now," she said,
smiling dreamily. "I feel like dancing."

"That's wonderful," he said. "No, sit still. No dancing for you, my dear."

"But, Ginger, I want to," she said stubbornly.

"Your head is bleeding," he told her sharply, "and
your leg very likely is broken. Be a good girl, and sit
still while I find something to bind your head."

"May I have more whisky, please?" she asked hopefully.

"No!"

"But I want-" she began, trying to climb to her
feet.

"Dammit!" he said. "Will you do as you are told!"
Putting his arms around her, he dragged her back
down into the chair and held her there. She struggled
weakly, then relaxed, going quite limp beneath him.
He feared for a moment that she had slipped into unconsciousness, but he soon saw that her eyes were
fixed on something over his shoulder.

"Hullo, Horatio," she said very gravely.

Then she began to giggle.

Swale hurriedly disentangled himself from her and
turned to face the captain. Horatio Cary was staring
at him with cold blue eyes. In his mind, he was back
on the deck of his frigate about to order a round of
flogging for the crew.

"I have sent the groom for the doctor," said Swale.
"She is ... Miss Wayborn is hurt, as you see. Where is
the damned woman who lives here?"

Horatio continued to stare at him coldly.

"I daresay this appears worse than it is," said Swale.

"How so?" Horatio inquired.

"Well, you see, Cary, my Bowditch and her Fifi-"

"What?"

"My valet and Miss Wayborn's maid," he explained,
"have eloped. We were just attempting to retrieve
them when we met with an accident."

Horatio's eyes swept over him once more, then
moved to Juliet. "Is this true, Juliet?"

With effort, Juliet's eyes focused on her handsome
cousin. "He kissed me, Horatio," she blurted out,
her gray eyes wide and serious. "But he did not offer
me carte blanche."

Sir Benedict disliked anything that took him away
from his beloved Wayborn Hall, so to be called to
Hertfordshire because of his sister's wild behavior was
a severe trial for him. His resentment was tempered
only slightly by the fact that she was bedridden with
a badly bruised leg.

Upon arriving at the Vicarage, he spent half an hour
closeted with Dr. Cary and Horatio in the Vicar's study.
Both gentlemen assured the baronet that his sister
had been compromised very thoroughly by Lord Swale.

"He came here determined to marry Cousin Juliet,"
Dr. Cary said flatly, "and he did not mean to go away
without achieving his objective. A more determined
man I never saw! His lordship arrived on Thursday
and interviewed her alone in the drawing room and
then again in the shrubbery after a ... slight accident
involving my china shepherdesses. Dear Juliet, with
the usual feminine delicacy, swore she would not
have him. Why, Mrs. Cary swore the same to me, but
I didn't carry her off the next day! Anyone knows that
a gently bred girl will always profess to be amazed and
confused at the gentleman's first proposal. How would the world be if we men went about the thing
with special licenses in our pockets, and at the lady's
first refusal-"

"Had he a special license in his pocket?" Benedict
exclaimed.

"He did indeed!" said Dr. Cary. "The boy at the
Tudor Rose saw his lordship's valet unpacking the
damned thing. I don't much care for the special license, Sir Benedict. A Christian man ought to marry
in the parish of his baptism or in the parish of his betrothed's baptism. None of this gadding about the
country or making a spectacle of one's self in St.
George's! Vanitas, that is what I call these damned society weddings at St. George's."

Horatio intervened before his father's diatribe
against the special license began in earnest. "When I
confronted his lordship at Brisby's Farm, Sir Benedict,
his lordship claimed the special license was for his
manservant." Horatio's lips curled under his wellgroomed mustache. 'We are to believe that his lordship's valet and my cousin's maid were eloping. His
lordship has even gone so far as to have his man carry
off Juliet's maid. No one has seen either of them for
nearly two days."