Azalea (20 page)

"You wished to say something, my lord?"
prompted Azalea, when Christian made no move to speak
immediately.

"Yes, Miss Clayton," he responded,
collecting his thoughts. "First, and most importantly, I humbly beg
your forgiveness for my unpardonably rude behaviour this morning.
Is it too much to hope that we may put the incident behind us?"

The mute appeal in his eyes caused Azalea's
heart to dance. "I have forgotten it already, my lord," she said
breathlessly, hoping he would not notice the flush she could feel
mounting in her cheeks.

His sudden smile at her words was so
dazzling that she felt almost faint, though whether from relief or
some other emotion, she could not be sure.

"Secondly," the Earl continued, "I wished to
take leave of you, as I am going into the country tomorrow and will
probably not return until after the first of the year. Family
Christmas and all that. I did not want to depart with any ill will
between us."

Azalea felt a surge of
disappointment that he would be leaving, almost, but not quite,
undermining the joy imparted by his previous words. She
simply
must
tell
him the truth before he left. By the time he returned, the wedding
would be little more than a month away.

"I shall miss riding with you in the Park,
my lord," she said, knowing she must sound forward. But she would
have to be more forward still if she was to stop him from marrying
Marilyn. She would have to tell him that she was his wife.
Desperately, she tried to form the words that would sound so
unbelievable to him.

"I, too," replied Christian before she could
speak. "I hope we may resume the practice when I return."

He felt a sudden resurgence of the
temptation that had assailed him that morning, now stronger than
ever. With her so near, his senses fairly swam at the thought of
his lips upon hers.

Azalea's eyes locked with his for an instant
as she swayed ever so slightly forward, then were quickly veiled by
those glorious lashes. "I—I hope so also." She looked back up at
him then and spoke in a stronger tone. "Lord Glaedon, I—"

"Well!" Marilyn Beauforth's voice
interrupted them.

Christian stepped hastily away from Azalea,
for he'd been standing closer than was strictly proper. She looked
guilty, too, cheeks suffused with colour.

"And what topic, pray tell, can be so
fascinating that you two must steal away from that wonderful
performance to discuss it?" his fiancée enquired in a shrill
tone.

Not for the first time Christian wondered
whether it was solely patriotism that had driven Herschel away from
England before formally betrothing himself to Miss Beauforth. "I
was merely apologizing to Miss Clayton, my dear," he replied
smoothly. "In the past I have been less than cordial to your
cousin, and I did not wish to leave London with any ill feeling on
that score." That much was true, he told himself.

Marilyn's demeanour changed immediately.
"How thoughtful of you, my lord, to attempt to overcome your very
natural aversion to an American for my sake!" She simpered up at
him in a way that he found more irritating than usual.

"Yes, quite," he said shortly, torn between
annoyance at her phrasing and guilt over what his thoughts had been
a moment ago. He noticed that Azalea did not meet his eyes.

"Well, then, shall we return for the
remainder of the performance now?" Marilyn asked brightly.

"No, I fear I must prepare for my departure
tomorrow. I came tonight so that I might take my leave. Pray give
my regards to your mother, Miss Beauforth."

"I will. And now, if you will excuse me, I
would prefer not to miss any more of the performance." Marilyn
hurried away to resume her seat, which Christian had noticed
earlier was quite near to that of Mr. Plummer.

"Good evening, Miss Clayton," he said to
Azalea as she turned to follow her cousin. "I must admit that I
scarcely regret missing the remainder of that soprano's offerings,"
he added lightly, wishing to see her smile once more. "I hope for
your sake that the pianist is of better calibre."

She flashed him the smile he'd hoped for.
"Thank you, my lord. I—" she glanced over her shoulder to where
Marilyn had paused to wait for her "—I hope you have a safe journey
and a pleasant holiday season," she said quickly, then hurried
away.

Christian watched her thoughtfully for a
moment before heading for the door. There was no denying that Miss
Azalea Clayton attracted him, in more ways than he cared to admit.
But it was an attraction he would have to subdue ruthlessly. He had
entered into his betrothal with Miss Beauforth for the sake of his
family's honour. If he were to cry off, or worse, to betray his
promised wife, that would be more dishonourable than if he had
never made the offer at all.

He still mourned his father and brother, but
now, for the first time, he cursed the tangle they had left behind.
Was his whole life to be lived fulfilling plans they had made?
Scowling darkly, he left the house, too preoccupied with his
thoughts to notice the thin, shadowy figure that ducked into a
doorway as he approached his carriage.

Azalea, meanwhile, returned thoughtfully to
the music-room. Later, she could not have said whether the pianist
lived up to Lord Glaedon's hopes or not, for she attended to his
performance even less than she had to the soprano's.

She had failed in her intention to tell him
the truth, but she could not manage to feel depressed as she
thought over their brief conversation. Surely she had not imagined
the warmth in his eyes as he had looked at her? Nor his coolness
towards Marilyn.

Azalea felt badly for her cousin. While she
no longer believed that Marilyn actually loved Lord Glaedon, she
could not doubt that the proud young lady would be hurt when the
truth came out. Marilyn, she'd come to realize, had as few close
female friends as Azalea herself had. She had felt that the two of
them were coming to terms, but this matter was likely to destroy
their budding friendship entirely. Surely there must be a way to
avoid that.

During the dancing and late supper that
followed the recital, Azalea attempted to shake off her pensive
mood. When she did manage to notice her surroundings somewhat, it
was to realize that Jonathan seemed to be dividing his time fairly
equally between herself and her cousin, though his manner with her
could hardly be mistaken for anything but that of an old
friend.

He appeared to be more smitten with Marilyn
each time he saw her, and it was increasingly clear that his
feelings were returned to some degree. Azalea allowed herself a
small hope.

However, on the carriage ride home, Azalea's
hope became fainter. It was clear that Marilyn had not forsworn
Lord Glaedon and his wealth for the sake of the intriguing American
—at least not yet.

"I still think it odd that Lord Glaedon
should have felt it necessary to take particular leave of you,
Cousin," she said. "It would have been more seemly had he asked me
to convey his apology for him. How vexing that he could not stay
for the dancing after all."

Azalea couldn't resist saying, "You seemed
to have no lack of admirers, Marilyn. I noticed that Mr. Plummer
enjoyed your company exceedingly this evening." She had the
satisfaction of seeing her cousin start, then look noticeably
guilty.

"He is a very good dancer, and his
conversation is always interesting," was Miss Beauforth's only
reply before she lapsed into silence.

Lady Beauforth, whom Azalea had assumed to
be dozing in her corner of the carriage, sat up a little at her
daughter's words and directed a penetrating gaze in her direction.
Plainly, Azalea was not the only one who had noticed Marilyn's
apparent preference for Mr. Plummer. She hoped that Lady
Beauforth's silence on the matter meant that she did not find the
discovery distressing.

For Azalea herself, it seemed the only
possible solution to the problem of how she was to prevent
Marilyn's marriage to Lord Glaedon without losing her friendship.
If that preference could be encouraged to the point where Marilyn
herself might cry off from their betrothal, then half of Azalea's
problem would be solved.

On this happy thought, Azalea settled back
in her seat to doze for the remainder of the drive home.

* * *

CHAPTER 11

The next morning Azalea slept late, partly
due to her late night but also because she felt no particular
inclination to ride. With Lord Glaedon gone from London, her
virtuous plan of taking exercise in the Park every day seemed
rather tedious. Thus, it was near noon when she and her cousins
finally broke their fast, all together in the breakfast-parlour for
a change.

They were just rising from the table when a
footman delivered a large parcel for Azalea. It was from Lord
Kayce. Distracted for a moment from her apathy, she rose to take
the package to her bedchamber to open, but was forestalled by Lady
Beauforth.

"Why, how curious!" her cousin exclaimed.
"What do you suppose it is, Azalea?"

"I don't know, Cousin Alice, but we can
certainly find out." She proceeded to remove the paper right there
so that Lady Beauforth's curiosity might be assuaged
immediately.

A moment later Azalea was startled by a
flash of gold within the box and held up the gift for her cousins'
inspection. It was a gown —but what a gown! Designed in the height
of fashion, it was of a light, sheer material that seemed to have
been spun of incredibly fine gold thread. Its overskirt of gossamer
net was liberally sprinkled with tiny topazes, and several tiers of
outrageously expensive gold lace graced the hem.

The three ladies gasped in unison. "Straight
from Paris, without a doubt!" Lady Beauforth was the first to catch
her breath. "My dear, you will look positively divine in it!"

"It should suit your colouring admirably,"
added Marilyn with more than a touch of envy in her voice.

"I—I've never seen such a fabric before."
Azalea finally found her voice. "It doesn't seem quite real. Why
should my uncle give me such a gown?" She was genuinely
bewildered.

"Did he enclose a card?" asked Marilyn
practically.

Azalea looked into the box. "Yes, here it
is. And a matching fan, as well. Oh! He wishes me to wear it Friday
night. It seems rather... extravagant for a private dinner party,
though, don't you think?" She directed her question to Lady
Beauforth.

"Oh, certainly you must wear it, my dear,"
that lady advised. "He obviously sent it for just that purpose —and
why not? I should say it means that, as your new guardian, he
intends to do well by you."

Azalea could well believe that Lord Kayce
wished the world to think this, but it did not allay her
uneasiness. During the past two days she had nearly forgotten her
worries about her uncle, so absorbed had she been by her other
problem. Now her anxiety rushed back.

Still, as long as she could decipher his
motives and plan her next move to counter his, she should be all
right. But exactly what gambit was this dinner party a part of?

"Try it on, my dear," Lady Beauforth
insisted, breaking into her thoughts. "Let us see if it fits, so
that we can make any necessary alterations."

Nodding absently, Azalea replaced the gown
carefully in its box and carried it upstairs.

"Why do you frown so, miss?" asked Junie
curiously as Azalea gazed into the mirror a short time later. "Why,
you look like a golden goddess in that gown! True, it's two or
three inches too long, but that's easy enough to fix."

It was not the length that was bothering
Azalea, however. The tissue-thin fabric clung to her figure
seductively, even over the cotton chemise she had insisted on
wearing underneath. The bright gold set off her colouring just as
Marilyn had predicted, emphasizing the rich auburn of her hair and
the creamy whiteness of her throat and bosom.

And that was the problem: entirely too much
of her bosom was displayed. She was conscious of a sudden wish that
Lord Glaedon could see her like this. If he had looked at her with
admiration and warmth last night when she wore her demure blue
silk, how might he react to her in this gown? Sternly, she pushed
such indecent thoughts from her mind.

Since coming to London, Azalea had already
managed to overcome modesty to the extent of wearing the evening
gowns Lady Beauforth had deemed appropriate for a girl her age,
though even some of those had seemed rather risqué to her
less-than-sophisticated tastes. But this gown was positively
obscene. Another half an inch and she would fall right out of the
top of it!

For some reason, it seemed that her uncle
wanted her to project the image of a golden seductress, but she
would not oblige him willingly. Azalea surveyed the gown
thoughtfully for a moment.

"All right, Junie, help me out of this while
I tell you what alterations will need to be made," she said.
"Removing the bottom flounce should make it just the right length,
but it seems a shame to waste so much of that beautiful lace, don't
you think?"

Junie nodded. "I thought maybe an
arrangement for your hair—" she began, but her mistress waved her
to silence.

"No, I have a better idea," said Azalea. "I
want you to work it into a ruffle for the neckline."

Junie looked doubtful. "Are you sure, miss?
Them things really aren't in style anymore, you know, though I'll
grant you, the top of this gown is a bit revealing, even by this
year's standards."

"And much too revealing by mine," said
Azalea decisively. "Fashionable or not, if my uncle wants to see me
in this gown, it will be with ruffles above as well as below. Can
you do it, do you think?"

"Oh, certainly, miss, as long as you're sure
that is what you want."