Azalea (5 page)

Her eyes remained the deep grey-green of the
Atlantic, but six years had ripened her figure until, at nineteen,
Azalea was endowed by nature with the full bust and tiny waist that
so many women of her time used padding and corsets to achieve.

"Breakfast is ready, girls!" called Mrs.
Swann from the foot of the stairs.

Azalea thought the housekeeper looked
younger, somehow. Perhaps it was the excitement of setting out on a
journey that had put the sparkle in her eye; that, or the knowledge
that she was going back to her homeland and a reunion with her two
sisters.

Looking at Mrs. Swann,
Azalea felt a small stirring of anticipation in her own breast.
Maybe she
had
been cloistered away in this house for too long. Feeling
suddenly more optimistic, she went down to breakfast.

The hired coach drew up to the front of the
house just as the travellers finished breakfast. In a final flurry,
cloaks, hats and gloves were found, and Mrs. Swann ushered the two
girls out the door and down to the waiting coach.

American to the core, Azalea had never made
much distinction of rank. She felt more as if she were travelling
with an older and younger sister than with two servants. This was
fortunate, as it made her departure from all she had ever known
much less frightening.

With only a brief stop for refreshment at
midday, they made good time over the surprisingly well-maintained
roads, one of the few benefits of the recent war. They arrived at
Hampton just after four o'clock.

Azalea was struck immediately by the unusual
appearance of the town, which brought home to her the suffering
caused by that second conflict with England, during which Hampton
had been burned to the ground. In the intervening year much
reconstruction had taken place, but stark, blackened ruins still
dominated the scene.

Passing a large cathedral, she saw that some
of the original structure remained, its red brick bell tower
discolored by smoke, while two wooden wings were obviously newly
built. The same combination of charred stone and recent woodwork,
still under construction, could be seen throughout the busy
town.

She realized how very fortunate they had
been in Williamsburg to have escaped the worst ravages of this
"Second War of Independence." Even there, though, where no English
troops had come, the townspeople had not gone unscathed. Several
sons of local farmers and merchants, and even two students she had
known, had departed to join the defending army and never
returned.

A sudden surge of resentment against the
British startled her with its violence. How dared they! Her resolve
to openly acknowledge herself an American became stronger,
regardless of Cousin Alice or any other squeamish family
members.

The coach finally stopped in front of The
Republic Inn, a large, partially rebuilt house within sight of the
docks. The glass windows and fresh paint proclaimed it a prosperous
establishment and a well-maintained one.

Alighting from the coach before the coachman
could climb down to assist her, Azalea turned to help Millie and
Mrs. Swann descend.

"Let's get inside for a hot meal and a good
night's sleep on dry land," Mrs. Swann recommended cheerfully.
"We've got quite a day ahead of us tomorrow."

* * *

Gazing around the drawing-room of the
Beauforth Town house on Curzon Street, Azalea was overcome by
depression. She did not doubt that this was one of the finer houses
in London, as Sir Matthew Beauforth had possessed a fortune of no
little consequence. But the cold formality of the chamber, with its
gilt chairs and white upholstery, did nothing to lift her spirits,
now weighed down by apprehension, loneliness and fatigue.

Immediately upon her arrival nearly an hour
ago, Mrs. Swann and Millie had been ushered off to the servants'
quarters by a housekeeper so stiff and fastidiously dressed that
Azalea had at first mistaken her for Lady Beauforth.

The butler, Smythe— if possible even more
coldly formal than Mrs. Straite (whose name Azalea found peculiarly
appropriate) —had shown her into this room with the intimation that
Lady Beauforth would see her shortly.

Azalea's stomach growled. She was just
wondering whether "shortly" meant something different in England
than it had at home when a short, fat, gaudily gowned lady swept
into the drawing-room, her bejeweled hands outstretched. An
overpowering cloud of violet fragrance enveloped Azalea as the
woman advanced.

"You must be little Azalea
Clayton! Have you been
very
bored, my dear? I only just finished dressing
after my afternoon nap."

Azalea was torn between an urge to laugh at
the lady's voice and appearance and a reluctance to breathe in her
sickly sweet perfume. Collecting herself, she rose and extended her
own hand.

"Lady Beauforth?" she asked uncertainly.
After her experience with the housekeeper, she was afraid to jump
to conclusions.

"Cousin Alice, my dear,
please! Let us not stand on ceremony —we are kin, after all. Was
your journey
dreadful?
You'll want to go straight to your room and sleep for
days,
I am certain. I
was so sorry to hear about poor Uncle Gregory! You must feel the
loss just
dreadfully,
my dear."

Azalea nodded noncommittally, wondering if
this could possibly be her cousin's real speaking voice. Surely no
one could feign that high-pitched tone indefinitely.

"Lady— Cousin Alice," Azalea said when it
appeared that her hostess had temporarily run out of words, "I want
to thank you so much for your willingness to take me in and sponsor
me. I hope I won't be obliged to impose upon your kindness for too
long."

"Tut, tut, my dear! What is family for?
Besides, there is very little generosity in this case, as Uncle
Gregory insisted on paying all of your expenses himself."

Azalea winced at this reminder of the terms
of her grandfather's will, which she had not been certain Lady
Beauforth understood. She was relieved to find that apparently she
did, which meant there was no chance of her being mistaken for a
charity case.

Meanwhile Lady Beauforth, who was not quite
so shatter-brained as she appeared, was making some calculations of
her own regarding Azalea. With her air of maturity and grace, her
unusual colouring and striking beauty, the girl was bound to cause
a stir in the fashionable world of the ton. At first glance, she
might not take— that gown was positively dowdy —but in a new
wardrobe, with her hair stylishly cut...

"Now, my dear, I
absolutely
insist
that you rest until tea," she said firmly. "If you're asleep,
we shan't wake you till dinner, or even breakfast, if you prefer."
Lady Beauforth needed some time to reorganize her thinking before
her darling Marilyn made Azalea's acquaintance. This was not the
rough savage they had both expected.

"Thank you, Cousin Alice, I am a bit
fatigued. But please do not let me sleep through dinner, or I might
well starve before breakfast." Azalea rose with a smile and
followed a hovering maidservant out of the room.

As she climbed the curving oak staircase,
she was struck again by the elegance of the furnishings she could
see from this vantage point. Obviously someone other than Lady
Beauforth had been in charge of decorating the house, unless her
cousin's eccentricities were limited to matters of dress and
speech, which Azalea somehow doubted. Most likely the bulk of it
had been done by generations past, or perhaps by hired
professionals.

"This here's your room, miss," the young
maid said, interrupting Azalea's musings. "Her ladyship let Miss
Marilyn choose the room, and she must have thought you'd be most
comfortable here." She opened the door to the chamber and stepped
aside. "My name's Junie, if you should be needing anything."

Azalea smiled warmly at the girl. "Thank
you, Junie. I'm afraid I'm not very good company right now. I'm
very tired. We'll have time for a good talk later, I'm sure."

"Of—of course, miss," the girl said, plainly
disconcerted. "Will you be needing anything now? Her ladyship said
as how I should unpack for you and act as your abigail, if you
approve, of course." She smiled tentatively.

"That's very sweet, Junie, but I've already
promised Millie, who travelled all the way from America with me,
that she should have that post. I hope that won't cause a
problem?"

"Oh, no, miss, I don't see how it would,"
Junie replied, though she looked a bit disappointed. "I'll just
tell Mrs. Straite you've brought your own abigail. I'll continue on
as upstairs maid. I was promoted just last month," she added
proudly, with another shy smile.

Azalea realized that becoming her personal
abigail would have represented an even greater promotion and
thought she understood the girl's disappointment.

"How wonderful for you," she said warmly.
"But I've just had an idea. Millie is an American, like myself, and
has no real experience as a fashionable lady's maid. Do you suppose
Mrs. Straite would consent to your training her? Both she and I
would be very grateful, I assure you."

Junie's face broke into a delighted smile.
"I'll ask her right away, miss! And thank you, miss!" she
exclaimed, fairly skipping from the room.

Alone, Azalea finally had an opportunity to
look about her room. Even at first glance it was apparent that the
furnishings were not quite up to the standard of the rest of the
house, though they were still far finer than any she had been used
to. Azalea guessed that furniture a little too worn for the finer
guest rooms had been put here, but she didn't mind a bit. The room
was done in faded shades of green and gold, which she found
soothing, and the bed and chairs looked more comfortable than newer
ones might be.

Crossing to the window, Azalea caught her
first glimpse of the gardens and gasped with delight. What a
botanical wonderland! Even in late November, a few chrysanthemums
were in bloom, and she could identify several species of ornamental
shrubs.

She would explore the gardens as soon as she
went back down —well, after some tea, anyway. She was famished —and
tired. Removing her shoes, Azalea stretched out on the gold
counterpane of the bed and closed her eyes. Just a few minutes
rest...

Hunger awakened her several hours later. The
sun had set, and Azalea found herself in almost total darkness. For
a few moments she imagined she was still in her cabin on the ship,
but then was recalled to her surroundings by the distant sound of
hooves and carriage wheels from the street.

Rising, she hurried to the window in an
effort to determine the hour. The last faint rays of the recently
departed sun informed her that there should still be ample time to
dress before dinner. How late would that be, here? Swannee had told
her that Town meals were later than those in the country, but she
hadn't been specific. Perhaps each household kept its own
hours.

Fumbling along the top of the
dressing-table, Azalea found a branch of candles and lit them from
the embers of what that afternoon had been a cheerful fire. Opening
the clothes-press in the corner of the chamber, she was pleased to
find that the efficient Junie had unpacked and hung her gowns, and
had apparently even shaken out the worst of the travel creases.

Selecting her best gown, a deep
rust-coloured velvet, she donned it with full knowledge that it
would hardly stand comparison with the fashionable creations she
had seen in a ladies' periodical on the drawing-room table earlier.
Shopping for new clothes would have to be high on her list of
things to do.

Her hair was neat, but hardly attractive,
drawn severely back from her face and twisted into a knot at the
base of her neck. However, this was the only style, other than
letting it hang loose, that she was capable of on her own, and she
knew that Millie could scarcely have done better. Hairdressing was
not one of the girl's strong points.

Feeling very much the dowdy country cousin,
Azalea descended the stairs and paused at the bottom, listening for
voices that might give her a clue as to where the family was
assembled at this hour. A murmur behind the doors of the
drawing-room encouraged her to approach.

Entering, she beheld her cousin, still
attired in her brilliant rose, yellow and amethyst silks, speaking
with a dazzling young lady dressed with impeccable and obviously
expensive taste. At Azalea's entrance, the young lady turned wide,
blandly interested blue eyes in her direction.

"Awake already, my dear?" Lady Beauforth
asked solicitously. "I was going to have Junie check on you in half
an hour, when I retired to my room to dress for dinner."

Azalea's imagination faltered at what her
ladyship's idea of evening attire might be.

"Did you rest at all?"

"Oh, yes, Cousin Alice, I feel very
refreshed. Truth to tell, it was hunger that awakened me, and not
knowing the dinner hour here, I thought it best to dress and come
down directly."

"How thoughtless of me! Of course, you would
not be familiar with our customs yet. Dinner won't be for another
hour and more. Marilyn and I were going upstairs to dress in a few
more minutes."

Thus recalling Marilyn's presence, Lady
Beauforth turned to introduce Azalea to her daughter, whose smile
had become rather fixed.

"Marilyn, this is your cousin, Azalea
Clayton, of course. Azalea, let me present my daughter, Miss
Marilyn Beauforth." This last was said with a flourish, and her
ladyship stepped back as if presenting a rare artwork to view.

Azalea was suitably impressed. She could
scarcely conceive of a more perfect picture of fashion than the
beautiful creature now facing her. Honey-coloured hair was piled
artistically atop her graceful head in a style that caused Azalea
an unfamiliar twinge of envy. The beautiful creature seemed a shade
less than charmed, however.