Simply Scandalous (12 page)

Swale scowled. "Don't tell me the old fool has offered to marry your sister!"

"Why, no," said Sir Benedict. "He has offered for you
to marry my sister."

"Bloody hell!"

"Naturally, I was pleased to entertain such a handsome offer on my dear sister's behalf."

"Naturally," said Swale bitterly.

"Unfortunately," Benedict continued, "your rank
and fortune are all that recommend the match.
Having met your lordship and spent an hour in your
company, I fear I must regretfully decline the honor. I have known Barbary apes with better conduct. You
would never suit my sister. I would rather see her married to a penniless clerk than to you."

Swale laughed. "I would not suit her? Let me tell
you, sir-your sister would not suit me, and I would
not ask for her hand if my life depended on it! My
father had no right to suggest such a thing. He must
have run mad."

"Indeed, it does not surprise me to learn that madness runs in your family."

Swale's eyes narrowed. "You think I will not knock
you down because of your arm?"

"I am sure you would not scruple to do so," returned Benedict, "for you have not one scrap of selfcontrol. You are a bully," he went on as Swale silently
glowered at him. "It sickens me to think of any gently
bred girl being forced to become your wife. I say
forced because that seems to be the only way your
lordship will ever acquire a wife."

"Is that so?" sneered Swale. "I will have you know,
Sir Benedict, that I am considered a matrimonial
prize. I can go to Almack's on any given night and
snap my fingers for a wife."

"Can it be," said Sir Benedict, "that your lordship
is unaware that yours is a face designed to repel,
rather than attract, the fair sex? If you were not a
Duke's son, I expect no one would take any notice of
you whatsoever."

"You mince words, Sir Benedict!"

"That will never do. Let me speak plainly, my lord.
You have the face and deportment of a baboon. A lady
prefers a gentleman to be handsome and graceful, but
she may be willing to overlook defects in these areas
if the man underneath is a gentle soul. In your case,
I fear the unwholesome crust hides something even more unpalatable. You have an evil temper, my lord.
When active, you are enraged; when in repose, sullen
and resentful. I would not see my sister marry a man
so singularly lacking in self-control. Also, your brain
has not impressed me this evening. My sister has a lively
intelligence. You would certainly bore her to sobs."

"Your sister-" Swale began harshly.

Benedict held up his hand. "Listen to me, you
young fool. The Wayborns are an unusual breed.
Consider yourself lucky. In other families, the elder
statesman would not hesitate to sacrifice a sister or
daughter for the sake of such a favorable alliance. I,
however, do not choose to see my beloved sister
chained for life to an animal."

"I am of age," Swale said, mustering his dignity. "My
father can't go about the place arranging marriages
for me. I will choose my own wife, sir, and I assure you,
your sister will not be among the candidates."

"Candidates?" Sir Benedict's scarred face contorted
violently, then composed itself. "Oh, you do see yourself as a prize! Undoubtedly, when the time comes,
you will choose a wife. She will not love you-how
could she? Even if she can bear your looks, she will
shrink from your vile personality. Her family will sell
her to you, and in a matter of weeks, your abuse will
break her spirit, if indeed she possesses any spirit. You
will both be miserable, but it will be Lady Swale
whom the world pities. Good night, my lord."

The baronet turned on his heel and left Swale
where he stood.

It took the Honorable Alexander Devize nearly
four hours to find his friend in the stews of London.
He had known Swale for many years, but he was ill prepared to find his friend in the back of what appeared to be a rag-and-bone shop, drinking gin and
ginger beer. The half-naked girl on his lordship's
lap was pockmarked, and the smell in the air was of
general unwashed decay.

"Good God, Geoffrey!" Alex cried, holding his
handkerchief to his nose. "What have you done to
yourself?"

Swale's bloodshot eyes fastened on him. "Sally thinks
me handsome, don't you, Sally?" he said blearily, the
words born aloft by a long, malodorous belch.

The pockmarked girl agreed wholeheartedly,
having been well-paid by his lordship. To her surprise,
she was promptly dislodged from her patron's lap. If
she had been clever enough to say, "It's not such a bad
face," she might have retained her seat. Swale knew
he was not handsome. He did not believe he had the
face of a baboon, but he knew he was not handsome.

"Liar!" he said bitterly and poured his gin and ginger
beer over her head.

The girl started up angrily, but Alex forestalled her
with a few coins and the gift of his scented handkerchief. "My friend is discomposed, my dear," he said
suavely. "When he is sober, I don't doubt he will beg
your forgiveness."

"Ha! " said Swale.

The girl flushed. For a girl with pockmarks, she
was surprisingly pretty. Indeed, were it not for the
scars of smallpox, she might have graced one of the
exclusive establishments near St. James's Street. "You're
a true gentleman, you are, sir," she told Alex, "and a
true friend."

"I must be," Alex replied, struggling to get his
bulky friend out the door.

It required three footmen to carry his lordship up
to his room.

In the morning, Alex gave him the bad news. "You
have been barred from White's for a year."

Swale blinked at him. "Do you know what he said?"

"Yes, I heard," said Alex. "But you can't go about
the place knocking a chap's head off, even if it is attached to a worm like Calverstock."

"I could murder him!" Swale said weakly, letting his
aching head fall into his hands.

"I shouldn't have thought Stacy Calverstock worth
the trouble," Alex observed dryly.

"Calverstock! " Swale sat up straight. "It is Sir Benedict I mean."

"Sir Benedict," Alex said gravely, "is the best of gentlemen. In the space of an hour, with no great effort,
he silenced a thousand tongues. Simply by having
dinner with you, he laid to rest the worst of the gossip.
If you had kept your temper with Calverstock-"

"The best of gentlemen!" Swale laughed unpleasantly. "He had the insufferable impertinence to say
that if I were not a duke's son, no one would take any
notice of me. He said that the only way I could get a
gently bred girl to marry me would be by force! He
said I had the face and manners of a baboon!"

"I daresay Sir Benedict did not admire you for
your dealings with Mr. Calverstock."

"My suit to marry his willful chit of a sister has
withered," said Swale.

"You asked for her! " exclaimed Alex. "After all you
said, you asked for her?"

"Why would I ask to marry a girl who has exposed
me to ridicule?"

"Come, come, Geoffrey! You must pity her a little."

"No! She is a hoyden, and a cheat besides. By
God, if she beat me, she bloody well knows it was by
that trick she served me-stopping dead in the
middle of the road!"

"And yet you asked her brother for her hand."

"No, indeed. He can keep her bloody hand, and all
the rest of her, too. My fool father has been matchmaking. He offered me up like the sacrificial lamb, and
what did Sir Benedict do? Was he sensible to the honor
being done his wretched sister? No! He said he would
rather see her married to a penniless clerk than my
Lord Swale! He said that I would not suit his belovedbeloved!-sister. He will pay dearly for this insult."

"Geoffrey, you cannot call out Sir Benedict," Alex
said sharply. "The man is a cripple."

"I don't mean to call him out," said Swale, his
green eyes gleaming. "I've a much better idea. And
he said my brain did not impress him! My brain is
bursting with brilliant ideas."

"What do you mean to do?" Alex asked anxiously.

"I cannot attack Sir Benedict," said Swale. "The
man's short an arm. But there's nothing to stop me
attacking that sister of his!"

Alex was appalled. 'What the devil do you meanthere's nothing to stop you from attacking his sister?
She's his bloody sister! That would be enough to
stop any gentleman from attacking her."

"I don't mean I shall attack her, ' said Swale impatiently. "I am a gentleman after all. What I mean to
do is make her fall in love with me."

Alex stared at him. "Have you gone mad? The girl
detests you."

"I shall make her love me," Swale said stubbornly.
"I shall wind my way into her heart like a serpent, and then, when I have that coal-black article in my possession, I shall tear it out of her manly chest and
grind it under my heel!"

"Rather harsh," Alex said, relaxing a little. An indulgent smile played on his lips. "But, as you say,
perfectly consistent with the actions of a gentleman."

Swale was impervious to sarcasm. "Wayborn the
elder said no woman could ever love me. I shall prove
him wrong with his own sister, by God. He will come
to me one day soon and beg me to marry the harpy.
I will not do it. I shall remind him of all my bad qualities and excuse myself. Let his sister's tears flow
freely onto her mustache. That will be my revenge
upon this pompous ass."

Alex vainly tried to hide a smile. "Yes, but, my dear
fellow, how do you propose to make the Wayborn fall
in love with you?"

"I assure you I do not lack charm! " Swale growled.
"And contrary to what Sir Benedict may think, I do
not have feathers for brains. I tell you I am a matrimonial prize, and I should be a matrimonial prize
even if I were not the Duke of Auckland's heir!"

"Of course you are charming," Alex said soothingly. "On any natural female your charm would work
its magic. But the Wayborn-"

"Leave the Wayborn to me," said Swale confidently.
"You will see, Alex. A few posies, a box of diamonds,
and the girl's heart will jump into my hand like a tame
bullfinch! By God," he added, smiting his open palm
with his fist. "I don't care if she bloody well keeps the
diamonds, as long as I blast a hole in her heart!"

Alex smiled indulgently, confident that when his
friend was entirely sober, the unworthiness, if not
the hopelessness, of this notion would impress itself
upon him and he would hear no more of it.

And it might have been so if not for Bowditch.

When his lordship laid out his idea to Bowditch, the
valet's admiration was very gratifying. He seemed to
have none of Mr. Devize's reservations. His views
were unmixed.

"Very good, my lord," were his exact words.

"Yes, yes," Swale said, impatiently brushing off the exuberant praise. "It is a magnificent idea. What I lack
is a plan. How is it to be done, Bowditch? I can't think
of a way of getting at her. If I am to break her heart, I
must be able to get at her."

"Quite so, my lord."

"She's left London. I should say, her deplorable conduct has made London too hot for her! Undoubtedly,
her brother has shut her up at the family estate, right
under his nose, so to speak."

"No, my lord."

Swale cast his valet a sharp look, suspicious of dissent.

"Mademoiselle Huppert and I-" Bowditch began
delicately. "That is, I had occasion to speak to Miss
Wayborn's maid before they left London. She hasn't
gone to Wayborn Hall, my lord. She's gone into Hertfordshire. Mademoiselle was very sorry to leave
London."

"Herts? Why, that is an easy distance," said Swale,
pleased. "What is in Herts, Bowditch? A gruesome, old
maiden aunt, I expect?"

"Cousins, my lord. Miss Wayborn is staying with
cousins at Tanglewood Vicarage."

Swale faltered. "Vicarage! Bloody hell! These
cousins are clergymen, I take it?"

"The Reverend Dr. Wilfred Cary is Miss Wayborn's
mother's cousin, I believe," Bowditch answered.
"Mademoiselle was uncertain about the rest of the
household," he added apologetically.

Though a little shaken to learn that his quarry was
under the protection of the Church, his lordship ordered Bowditch to pack for an extended stay in the
country.

"Have I got an old aunt or a cousin languishing in
Herts?" he asked hopefully.

"No, my lord."

The fact that he knew no one in the neighborhood did not deter his lordship; he was not too fastidious to stay in a local inn. If, as he could scarcely
believe, the Wayborn fortress withstood his siege for
more than a week, he might impose upon the local
squire for accommodation until the thing was done.

The next morning saw him driving his curricle
onto the Great North Road, his manservant in the seat
behind him, for Bowditch, though officially his lordship's valet, was not above assuming the chores of a
groom. Indeed, in many ways he was more suited to
groom horses than a marquess, but to Swale, he was
an indispensable factotum. He would cook breakfast if the cook were incapacitated or if his lordship had
neglected to bring one to the hunting box; he would
tend wounds and prepare baths; and he would even
oversee the pruning of the shrubbery, if required. That
he did none of those things more than adequately had
never troubled him or his master.