Azalea (24 page)

The letter concluded with a reference to
"what would be best for the youngsters," which made Christian reach
for the final envelope in hopes that this curious "problem" and his
father's "solution" would be discussed more fully.

The last letter opened with the assurance
that Simpson and his granddaughter would be honoured by a visit
from Glaedon and his son, Christian, if the Earl would only name
the time. Reading further, Christian's interest turned to amazement
as he realized what the purport of this visit was to be: no less
than his own marriage to Azalea Clayton.

"I recommend that the young people be
allowed to meet and form some sort of opinion of each other before
any commitment be made," Simpson had written. "It is up to you
whether you wish to discuss our plan with Christian in advance.
Knowing Azalea as I do, it will probably be best on my part to wait
until she has met your son, so as not to prejudice her against him
at the outset. The girl has shown little inclination toward any
young man as yet, but I suppose that is not to be wondered at, as
she is barely thirteen at this writing."

It appeared obvious from the tone of this
last letter that his father had earnestly desired this match.
Christian had offered for Miss Beauforth thinking that his father
would have wanted him to take up Herschel's betrothal. But it would
seem the old Earl had made plans for both his sons.

Earlier, Christian had cursed the very
devotion to family honour and his father's memory that had led him
to betroth himself to Miss Beauforth. It suddenly struck him now
that it would be undutiful, as well as dishonourable, of him to
disregard what amounted to his father's dying wish.

So where did that leave him? Honour bound to
marry two different women? There could be no question where his
inclination lay. Unfortunately, it was equally clear which course
was the more honourable. He was already betrothed to Miss
Beauforth.

Christian rose. It was high time he returned
to London, for it seemed he had quite a lot to sort out.

* * *

CHAPTER 13

As it happened, several days passed before
Christian was able to leave for Town. After directing Lawrence, his
valet, to have everything ready for their immediate departure at
his word, the Earl went in search of the dowager in order to take
his leave of her and to acquaint her with his plans.

He found his grandmother alone in the small
parlour she habitually used as her private sitting-room. She had
decorated it herself many years before, and it had since become her
favourite retreat in the enormous, rambling manor house.

"Ma'am, I am off for London almost at once,
but I wished to speak with you first," he said, striding
purposefully into the room.

The dowager looked up calmly from her
needlework, apparently little perturbed by her grandson's
tempestuous entrance. "Certainly, Christian. Pray have a seat." She
gestured to the gilt chair opposite her.

Put off his stride by receiving none of the
resistance to his abrupt departure that he had expected, Christian
dropped into the chair and tugged at his collar, trying to decide
how best to begin. Now that it came to the point of actually
framing the words, he realized that his dilemma might sound vaguely
absurd.

"You wished to tell me something?" Lady
Glaedon prompted him.

"Yes. That is... you have expressed certain
misgivings about my betrothal to Miss Beauforth, as I recall. I
begin to think you may be right."

The dowager waited expectantly.

"In fact, I go to London to discover whether
I can honourably extricate myself from it. If I cannot, I suppose I
must marry her after all." A sudden depression seized him and he
looked pleadingly at his grandmother.

"Not if you do not care for her," the
dowager said placidly. "Your happiness has always been my foremost
consideration, Chris, and I have been doubtful all along that Miss
Beauforth would be likely to secure it. I am relieved you have come
to your senses in time." He shook his head disbelievingly,
wondering if his grandmother had actually uttered those words or if
he were merely hearing what he wished to. "There will be the devil
of a scandal if I cry off, you realize," he said cautiously.

"That is neither here nor there," she
replied, startling him again. "You had something else to tell me,
did you not?" she prompted.

"You know me far too well, I see. Yes, there
was something else."

"What is her name?"

Christian passed from surprise to
astonishment. "I did not realize that mind-reading was among your
many talents, ma'am. Her name is Clayton. Miss Azalea Clayton. She
is living in the Beauforth household, which makes the situation
doubly awkward."

Now, finally, it was the dowager's turn to
look surprised. "Clayton? But that is the Kayce family name, is it
not? Lord Kayce has no daughter that I know of. Pray explain
everything, Christian, from the beginning. Precisely who is this
Miss Clayton, and why is she staying with Lady Beauforth?"

At that, Christian took a deep breath to
organize his thoughts and proceeded to relate to his grandmother
all that he knew of Azalea: her parents and grandparents, her
history, and their few meetings, which had quickly grown into
friendship and affection, at least on his part. Finally, he showed
her the last letter from Reverend Simpson.

"If possible," he said, "I should like to
fulfill my father's final wish."

"Very noble!" said the dowager with barely
concealed amusement at the conclusion of his story.

She had watched Christian's face closely
during his recital and had a fair suspicion of what he had left
unsaid. He was obviously head over ears in love with the girl, but
she did not think he had yet admitted this to himself. He had
instead convinced himself that it was his "duty" to his late father
to offer for her—if he could extricate himself from his current
betrothal, also entered into in the name of duty and honour.

Lady Glaedon doubted that such an approach
would be likely to recommend his suit to the young lady in
question, whatever her feelings towards Christian might be. Not if
she had more sensibility than Miss Beauforth, which she must have
if Christian had fallen in love with her.

"What do you intend to do, precisely?" she
asked. "Hand her the letter and inform her that she owes it to her
grandfather and your father to marry you?"

"Of course not!" exclaimed Christian. "I
plan to... well, to continue our friendship and, eventually,
explain things to her. She seems a level-headed girl and is sure to
realize what a good catch I am." Christian grinned at his
grandmother. "Am I not?"

"And what of Miss Beauforth?" she asked
quietly, effectively removing all humour from his face.

"That is more difficult," he admitted. "I do
not believe her heart is affected, but her pride and ambition
assuredly are. Somehow I must convince her that she would not be
happy wedded to me. If I could persuade her to cry off, it would be
best for all concerned. 'Twill not be easy, however."

From what the dowager recalled of Miss
Beauforth, her grandson's words were likely all too true. "My boy,
you have a lot of work ahead of you, I can see. However, your
'plan' hardly requires you to rush off on the instant, offending
your house guests and placing the burden of entertaining them on
me."

This last was a shrewd stroke, for she knew
that Christian would never intentionally burden her with
responsibilities that should be his. It was rare that Lady Glaedon
resorted to guilt to influence her grandson, but she felt that in
this instance the stratagem was justified. A few days for thought
might significantly enhance his chances for lasting happiness with
this girl he had chosen.

Already she was delighted to see a
resurgence of his old sense of humour and had no doubt that this
Miss Clayton was the cause of it. A delay would also give the
dowager a chance to do a little research of her own concerning the
young lady involved.

"You are right, of course, Grandmother. I
would be the most selfish of beasts to leave you to entertain a
houseful of cousins —even if inviting them was your idea."

Christian was well aware that he was being
manipulated but he realized, now that the dowager had forced him to
look ahead, that he indeed needed some time to think. He knew why
the idea of fulfilling his father's wishes appealed so strongly to
him— Azalea was all he had ever dreamed of in a woman, and more.
But he had to consider how best to go about fulfilling those
wishes.

There was also the sticky matter of his
betrothal. And his grandmother was perfectly right. He knew very
little about how to court a young lady like Azalea. As evidence, he
had only to look at the mess he had nearly made of things already
with his prejudices. It would not surprise him if she never wanted
to see him again.

"Very well," he continued after a brief
pause. "I shall put off my departure until Thursday. I believe that
between us we can manage to rid ourselves of our guests by
then."

With this the dowager had to be content. She
knew that young love could not be delayed for long, however good
the reasons.

* * *

Azalea sat alone in the parlour, trying to
keep her mind on the embroidery before her despite her growing fear
that Lord Drowling might call at any moment. Lady Beauforth had
plainly considered it likely. That was surely why she had gone out
by herself, despite the chill drizzle, bidding Azalea to remain at
home to receive any callers.

Ever more worrisome, Azalea had overheard
her hostess telling Smythe that if her niece should have a
gentleman caller while she was out, they were not to be disturbed.
Clearly, Cousin Alice expected Lord Drowling not only to call, but
to make a declaration in form.

She would refuse him, of course, but how
might he react? And if the servants had been warned away, then
there might be no one near enough to come to her assistance should
he prove obdurate.

Perhaps he would not come at all, she
thought, attempting to calm her frayed nerves. Certainly she had
given him no encouragement yesterday when he had called. Perhaps he
had realized by now that she had no interest in furthering their
acquaintance. Somehow, though, she doubted whether that realization
would weigh much with Lord Drowling.

A knocking at the front
door brought her heart to her throat.
Don't be absurd,
she admonished
herself.
He will scarcely ravish you right
here in the front parlour!
So saying, she
was able to present a calm front when the door opened a moment
later so that Smythe could announce her caller.

"Lord Glaedon," he intoned.

Her relief, combined with the intense thrill
she experienced at her first sight of him in three weeks, took her
completely off guard. She was glad when the Earl spoke first,
giving her a chance to collect her suddenly scattered wits.

"Give you good day, Miss Clayton," he said
cordially.

"Good-good day, my lord. I fear my cousins
are from home just now. We... we were not aware that you were back
in Town."

"I returned last night," Lord Glaedon
informed her, his smile warm. He seemed not at all put out that
Marilyn was absent.

"I trust you enjoyed your stay in the
country?" Azalea enquired politely, trying to calm the rapid
beating of her heart.

"I found it most— informative," he replied
with an enigmatic smile, "but I was unaccountably anxious to get
back to London." There was no mistaking the significance of this
remark, or the glance that accompanied it. "I missed you."

"And I you, my lord," replied Azalea
somewhat breathlessly, scarcely daring to believe the evidence of
her ears.

"Please, Miss Clayton, my name is Christian,
and I make you free of it. And I've been dying to call you Azalea.
May I?"

"Certainly, my... Christian, I mean." Azalea
could feel a blush mounting her cheeks, and she hoped Lord Glaedon
would not notice it.

" 'My Christian.' I like that," he said
teasingly, but with an underlying tenderness that caused her colour
to deepen further.

"Oh, you know I did not mean..." she began,
then stopped. "You are trying to embarrass me, I think," she
finished severely.

"My apologies, Azalea," he replied,
obviously savouring her name. "I won't let it happen again."

"I take leave to doubt that, but your
apology is accepted." The warmth of her smile now matched his
own.

Again Christian felt that strong pull of
attraction to her. He had come to Beauforth House in hopes of
seeing Miss Clayton again and to discover whether he had imagined
her partiality to him. It was an unexpected boon to find her alone.
And because of that privacy, he'd said more than he had intended
—more than was probably wise. Sharply, he called himself to
task.

Their conversation after that became
general, focusing on stories of the Christmas just past, but the
physical awareness between them remained. It was several minutes
before Christian finally thought to ask about Miss Beauforth and
her mother.

"Oh, Marilyn spent the holidays at Alder
House with Mary Trentham, and has yet to return, though we expect
her daily. Lady Beauforth has gone out to visit Lady Billingsley,
but should return within the hour. She will be pleased to see you,
I am sure."

"I shall pay my respects as soon as Miss
Beauforth returns, of course," he promised.

He knew he should take his leave, but could
not quite bring himself to go. Out of the comer of his eye, he saw
that the parlour door was closed. Odd that the butler had shut it
with only the two of them in here. Slowly, reluctantly, he
rose.