Azalea (10 page)

Azalea thanked the older man warmly and
rose. Nothing of substance had been accomplished yet, but her
spirits were higher than they had been half an hour earlier. Merely
sharing her dilemma with the capable solicitor was a vast relief,
and it was with a renewed lightness in her step that she left Mr.
Timmons's offices.

Smiling brilliantly at Mr. Greene simply for
the pleasure of watching him stammer in confusion, she tripped out
the door and down the stairs to the waiting carriage.

* * *

CHAPTER 5

Azalea's relief was short-lived, for
Marilyn's greeting upon her return to Beauforth House served to
remind her of the difficulties she had yet to overcome.

"Cousin, I thought you would never return!
Have you forgotten that my dear Glaedon is to call on us this
morning?" she exclaimed as Azalea took off her cloak. "He would
find it most odd, even rude, if you were out when he arrived. You
would not wish to give him an even lower opinion of Americans, I am
sure."

"Oh, heavens no," replied Azalea, but her
sarcasm was lost on her cousin.

"I thought not," Marilyn said with a
satisfied nod. "And pray try as much as possible to refrain from
speaking while he is here," she added. "I saw yesterday how little
he liked hearing your accent. Oh! One of my curls is come
undone!"

Marilyn hurried upstairs to find her maid
before Azalea could respond to her outrageous suggestion. It was
probably just as well, she realized belatedly. The retort she'd
almost made would not have contributed to cousinly feeling at all.
But neither that nor any other consideration would persuade her to
apologize for her nationality!

She was still seething when Lord Glaedon was
announced a moment later.

"Good day, Miss... Clayton, is it not?" he
said as he entered the parlour behind the butler.

"Yes, that's right. Good day, my lord. And
how are you this fine morning?" Marilyn's recent caution prompted
her to intensify her accent. She was rewarded by a slight
tightening around Lord Glaedon's mouth.

"Very well, I thank you," he replied
tersely. "Is Lady Beauforth not in?"

"Oh, yes. She and Miss Beauforth should be
down at any moment, I should think. They have been kindness itself
to me since my arrival from America," Azalea said deliberately. His
presence was unsettling, especially now that she knew who he was.
But that did not stop her from baiting him. She had to know just
how deep his animosity went. And talk of America must surely make
him realize who she was—and recall the claim she had upon him.

"You arrived only a few days ago, I
believe?" was all he said, however.

"The day before yesterday. And already I am
finding that England is vastly different from America."

"I would imagine so," he said before she
could elaborate. "We have had the benefit of several more centuries
in which to become civilized. But then, our civilization is one
thing you colonists fought so hard to free yourselves from, is it
not?"

Azalea blinked at this sudden attack.
"Indeed—" she began indignantly, but broke off at the sound of
Cousin Alice's voice.

"Good afternoon, my lord. I hope you haven't
been waiting long," Lady Beauforth called out. She was dressed
today in varying shades of bright pink silk. "Ah, but I see Miss
Clayton has been here to keep you company. You two met in the Park
yesterday, I believe?"

Marilyn came in on her mother's heels with a
brilliant smile for Lord Glaedon and a breathless reply to the
offhand compliment he made her. Both ladies had eyes only for their
gentleman caller, allowing Azalea a chance to compose herself and
subdue her sudden anger.

Ringing for tea, Lady Beauforth waved Lord
Glaedon into the most ornate —and least comfortable —chair in the
room. Marilyn lost no time in seating herself by his right hand
while her mother, chattering gaily, moved to his left. Azalea was
left to shift for herself.

"Do you still leave for your estates
tomorrow, my lord?" asked Marilyn as soon as her mother paused in
her recital of the past week's scandals. "I do hope you will return
to Town in time for our theatre engagement the week after
next."

Her fluttering lashes and shy smiles amused
Azalea, for they had plainly been cultivated for his lordship's
benefit —or perhaps for the benefit of gentlemen in general. The
effect was undeniably attractive and for a moment Azalea toyed with
the idea of learning to emulate this behaviour before regretfully
deciding that it simply wasn't her style.

Watching Lord Glaedon as he responded to
Marilyn's flirtatious sallies, Azalea found it hard to believe that
this was the same man she had befriended, married and, yes, even
loved, six years ago. This Christian was solemn, almost dour,
rather than laughing and carefree, as she remembered him. Could the
deaths of his father and brother have wrought such a change in
him?

Realizing that she was staring, Azalea
pulled her attention back to the conversation, hoping to gain some
useful insight into the intricacies of London Society.

"...and Lady Gascombe cut
her
dead,
can you
imagine?" Lady Beauforth was saying, "Because her sister had become
engaged to a merchant! But then, everyone knows what a high
stickler Harriet Gascombe is—not that that's a bad thing in itself,
of course. But poor Miss Fenworth is lost now, I fear. No one will
receive her after that, I daresay."

Despite her intention to listen quietly,
Azalea burst in on the conversation. "I cannot believe anyone of
sense would hold a young lady responsible for her sister's actions!
Surely others have survived worse family connections than a
merchant."

Everyone round the tea table started as
though one of the chairs had spoken. After a slight, uncomfortable
pause, Marilyn tittered and Lady Beauforth answered, "Not after
being cut at a public theatre by someone of Lady Gascombe's
standing, I assure you, my dear. Though it is possible that her
ladyship had another motive for her actions, I admit. It is
rumoured that her own daughter and Miss Fenworth are rivals for at
least one titled gentleman."

"But how infamous!" exclaimed Azalea,
forgetting that her purpose was to learn London customs rather than
condemn them. "Surely anyone who knew that would see Lady
Gascombe's actions for what they were?"

"Now, now, my dear," Lady
Beauforth said soothingly. "Remember, you are new to London and our
ways. Marilyn, you must be sure to acquaint Azalea with some of the
more notable names before we spring her on Society. We don't want
her to offend." Lady Beauforth looked alarmed at the mere
possibility of such a
faux pas.

But Lord Glaedon was looking at Azalea
rather strangely. "Azalea?" he repeated when Lady Beauforth fell
momentarily silent. "What an unusual name. I believe I once knew
someone with that name —as a child, perhaps." He was frowning
slightly in concentration.

"My mother named me so, after a flowering
shrub native to Virginia," she offered, hoping to jog his memory.
Marilyn, however, glared at her.

"Azalea, dear, would you be so kind as to
pour out for us?" asked Lady Beauforth hastily, intercepting the
glare.

"Yes, they still teach that skill in the
colonies, do they not?" said Marilyn with a honeyed smile.

So much for avoiding all
mention of my origins,
thought Azalea
cynically, though her smile of acquiescence matched her cousin's
for sweetness.

As she poured, Azalea realized that her own
personality was as far removed from what it had been six years ago
as Christian's appeared to be. Glancing involuntarily at him at the
thought, she found him regarding her intently, his black brows
drawn down in a frown.

"Oh! I do beg your pardon, Cousin Alice,"
Azalea exclaimed as she sloshed a little tea into Lady Beauforth's
lap. "The— the pot was hotter than I expected." She cursed her
inattention, especially when she saw Marilyn's smirk.

"Mama, your faith appears to have been
misplaced," Miss Beauforth commented liltingly. "I suppose I'd best
do the honours myself. You'd not wish to risk hot tea on your own
person, would you, my lord?" she cooed, fluttering her lashes at
the Earl as she wrested the pot from Azalea's hands.

For an instant, Azalea considered
deliberately spilling the remainder of the tea over Miss Beauforth.
As it was, she resisted just long enough so that when she released
it, Marilyn narrowly escaped spilling it herself. Quickly, Azalea
turned to Lady Beauforth.

"I'm truly sorry, ma'am. Do allow me to blot
that from your gown before it sets." Her irritation towards Marilyn
was swallowed by dismay at the sight of the brown rivulets on
Cousin Alice's fuchsia day dress. Ineffectually, she dabbed at the
stains with her napkin.

"Pray do not regard it, my dear." Lady
Beauforth pushed her hands away gently. "Cartwright will have it
good as new by morning."

Azalea resumed her seat, trying vainly to
control the colour she could feel rising to her face. Perhaps she
hadn't grown up so much after all. Another quick glance at the Earl
showed that he was studying her again, but now his look was
thoughtful rather than forbidding.

She immediately returned her gaze to her
lap, but that brief glimpse had done nothing to calm her rapid
pulse. Those blue-grey eyes, which had affected her so deeply when
she was a girl, had a far stronger and more profound impact on her
as a woman.

"Well, this has been delightful," said the
Earl before she could think of anything else that might remind him
of his time in Virginia, "but I really must be going. I have
several matters to attend to before leaving London. I shouldn't
have spared even this much time, but I did promise to call."

A polite smile at Marilyn accompanied this
statement, and she simpered back at him.

"Very well, if you must," said Lady
Beauforth with a slight pout, "but we shall hope to see you at Lady
Burnham's card party, if not before. Oh, and Christian, give my
regards to your grandmother. It has been an age since we've seen
her in Town."

"Of course, my lady. Miss Beauforth, Miss
Clayton." Bowing to all of them collectively, he departed.

* * *

"Welcome home, my boy!" The Dowager Countess
of Glaedon greeted Christian at the door of Glaedon Oaks the next
day, unwilling as usual to await him in the parlour. "I have missed
you. Do you stay through the Christmas season?"

"I fear not, though I shall return for it,"
Christian replied. "I have another week's worth of business
awaiting me in Town before then."

"To do with your recent betrothal, no
doubt." The dowager, undisputed matriarch of the family, put her
head on one side as she gazed lovingly up at her grandson. "What is
this I hear about a February wedding? Dare I hope that means you
are truly smitten with the girl?"

"Come, Grandmother, let us go in by the
fire. I am chilled from my long ride."

Though she docilely allowed herself to be
led back into the parlour, the dowager did not relinquish her topic
so easily. After ringing for a bowl of hot punch, she returned to
the attack. "Well? And how goes your courtship of Miss
Beauforth?"

Christian blinked. "Courtship? It is done, I
imagine, as we are betrothed; Now I have merely to do the pretty by
her until the wedding."

His grandmother's face fell noticeably. "So
that is the reason for the early date? I had so hoped—"

"Don't be absurd," he said, more sharply
than he had intended. "I have known Marilyn Beauforth most of my
life, and she is still the vain, silly thing she ever was. I only
offered for her because it seemed the honourable thing to do, now
that Herschel is gone."

"Goodness, Christian, you were in no way
bound by that old promise your father made to Sir Matthew
Beauforth! Herschel planned to offer for the girl because he wanted
to, I assure you. If you do not care for her there is no need for
you to wed her. The family honour will not suffer in the least —or
would not have, had you not offered."

Christian shrugged, though in truth his
grandmother had hit on the heart of the matter. He had done enough
to blacken the family honour already without disregarding old
promises. " 'Tis as good a way to ensure the succession as any," he
said negligently, "especially as it will unite our two
estates."

The dowager frowned.
"Christian, I do not like to hear you speak so. I shall be the
first to admit that in many, if not most, marriages, love follows
later rather than coming before. But I cannot think it proper to
enter the married state without
some
degree of affection for one's
future spouse."

"I apologize, Grandmother.
Miss Beauforth has grown into a diamond of the first water, and I
would be blind not to appreciate that fact. Perhaps my admiration
of her person will later develop into something stronger, as you
suggest. It is not as though I harbour a
tendre
for another."

He paused, suddenly recalling another young
lady he had met lately.

From the moment he had first laid eyes on
Miss Clayton, something about her had profoundly disturbed him. She
was lovely, certainly, even more striking than Miss Beauforth with
her unusual colouring, but that was not it—or at least he didn't
think so. He'd never been particularly swayed by mere beauty
before.

At any rate, Miss Clayton's beauty could
hardly make up for her origins. Doubtless it was her accent
combined with that beauty that had so unsettled him. That must be
why he had allowed himself to be goaded into open criticism of her
homeland on the second occasion they'd met.