Azalea (6 page)

"Pleased to make your acquaintance, I'm
certain, Miss Clayton," Marilyn said with a slight nod. The
formality of her words clashed oddly with her voice—a high,
childish lisp that was still a good octave lower than her
mother's.

"The honour is mine, Miss Beauforth,"
replied Azalea, following her cousin's lead. As Marilyn seemed
disinclined to pursue the conversation further, Azalea turned back
to Lady Beauforth.

"Ma'am, I could not help admiring your
gardens from my window earlier. As I am down so early, would it be
permissible for me to take a stroll through them before
dinner?"

Though expressing surprise that Azalea
should wish to walk out in the chill air after dark, Lady Beauforth
saw no reason to disallow it, providing she was accompanied by
Junie and wore a cloak.

Thanking her cousin with a warmth that drew
surprised looks from both ladies, Azalea excused herself.

"Well!" Marilyn exclaimed pettishly as soon
as the door had closed behind Azalea. "'Cousin Alice,' is it? And
am I to be 'Cousin Marilyn'?" She shuddered delicately. "And her
accent! Why, simply to be seen with her—was she really dressed for
dinner, do you think? —may well lower me in Society."

Her mama tut-tutted and reassured her, but
Marilyn seemed unwilling to clasp her new-found cousin to her bosom
as Lady Beauforth had hoped she might.

Meanwhile, oblivious of the conversation
within doors, Azalea was enjoying her tour of the gardens
immensely. Led by her nose, she had discovered two late-blooming
roses of a variety she had never encountered in Virginia.

Azalea appealed to Junie for information
about this rare strain. Junie was forced to plead ignorance but,
clearly not wanting to disappoint, volunteered to introduce Azalea
to the gardener on the morrow.

"He knows every flower and bush in the
place, miss, and would dearly love to talk to someone what knows so
much as yourself, I know."

"That would be lovely. Thank you, Junie,"
said Azalea. "But now, I suppose I had best hurry inside to comb my
hair before dinner."

"Might I dress it for you, miss? I've been
taught how, and even did Miss Marilyn's once, when her abigail was
sick," Junie offered eagerly.

"Could you? That's one thing I'm certain
Millie cannot do yet. Perhaps you can be my personal hairdresser,
as well as Millie's tutor."

When Azalea descended to the dining-room
half an hour later, her confidence was bolstered by the knowledge
that her hairstyle, at least, rivaled that of her cousin Marilyn.
True to her word, Junie knew her business and had arranged Azalea's
hair beautifully, with curling tendrils escaping from a high crown
to frame her face.

Junie had assured her that with a little
more time and a little less hair she could have done even better.
After seeing Junie's ability, Azalea had promised to have her hair
cut in the morning, even before visiting a dressmaker. She realized
that she would need her cousins' advice on these matters, and
determined to bring up the subject at dinner.

Proceeding to the place at table indicated
by Smythe, Azalea was gratified by the slight widening of Miss
Beauforth's eyes, taking it as a compliment to Junie's skill. Lady
Beauforth was more outspoken, cheerfully greeting Azalea from her
place at the head of the table.

"Why, what a difference that hairstyle
makes, my dear! I declare, you look like a new person. Don't you
agree, darling?" she asked hopefully, turning toward her
daughter.

Marilyn responded with an insincere smile.
"Indeed, it makes you look almost English. A definite
improvement."

Azalea had to bite her tongue to suppress
the angry retort that rose to her lips. If it were not so absurd,
she might almost think Marilyn was jealous of her. However, it
would not do to antagonize her relatives on her first evening in
their home.

"Thank you," she forced herself to say. "I
thought perhaps tomorrow I might have it cut as well. Junie tells
me it is far too long and thick to be fashionable."

"Junie?" Marilyn looked blank.

"The upstairs maid. It was she who styled my
hair." Marilyn's glance slid negligently away to focus on her
mother, who had already launched into a stream of advice to Azalea
concerning the only hairdressers and modistes worth visiting.

"I vow, you'll be quite a credit to us when
you are properly attired," she declared. "We'll have you betrothed
by the end of the Season, I doubt not. It is most fortunate that
you have come to us now, when we shall have all winter to bring you
smack up to the nines."

"Mama, I was just thinking
about
my
wedding
clothes," Marilyn interrupted with a sidelong glance at Azalea. "I
saw a new watered silk yesterday that would do admirably for my
travelling dress."

"Are you to be wed soon, Cousin?" asked
Azalea politely, to cover her dismay at Lady Beauforth's words. It
had not occurred to her that she might be expected to marry. She
didn't want another husband, at least not yet. Not after Chris...
She hurriedly thrust that memory aside.

"Oh, yes, Marilyn has
made
such
a
conquest!" gushed Lady Beauforth before her daughter could answer.
"And Lord Glaedon, old friend and neighbour that he is, has
been
quite
flatteringly insistent on an early wedding date. It will
scarce give us time to ready a suitable trousseau."

"No, Glaedon would not be put off till June,
but must needs marry me in February," Marilyn tittered. "I must say
he has been most attentive of late, as well." Demurely casting her
eyes down, Marilyn glanced sideways through her lashes at her
cousin, as though to ascertain that she was paying proper
attention.

Azalea scarcely noticed. "Lord Glaedon, did
you say, ma'am?" she asked in a tight, strained voice. Suddenly, it
seemed difficult to breathe. "I—I did not know that you were
acquainted with him."

She hardly knew what she was saying, the
shock of hearing the name was so great. Of course she had known
that if she stayed permanently in England, she would likely
encounter Christian's older brother eventually, but she had pushed
that thought far to the back of her mind. Suddenly learning that he
was a frequent visitor to this very house took her completely off
guard.

Struggling to regain her composure, she
noticed that her cousins were regarding her rather strangely.
''What did you say, ma'am?" Belatedly, she realized that Lady
Beauforth had asked her a question.

"I asked how you come to know of Lord
Glaedon, my dear. Are you all right? Your colour is quite gone. You
are not about to swoon, are you?"

"Oh, no ma'am, I—I'm fine," Azalea answered
in a tolerably steady voice. "I was merely startled."

She took a few deep breaths to calm herself
before explaining. "The previous Earl, Lord Glaedon's father, was a
close friend of my grandfather's, you see. He spoke of Lord Glaedon
frequently, and was devastated by the news of his death. It—it is
my belief that the shock played a large part in the illness to
which he eventually succumbed."

"Oh! Oh, I see," said her ladyship with a
nod, her curiosity apparently satisfied. "No wonder mention of the
name distressed you. But I do hope you won't mind meeting the
present Earl of Glaedon. As he is Marilyn's fiancé, we encounter
him frequently in Society, as well as here at home."

Lady Beauforth's tone, while concerned, did
not indicate any suspicion that Azalea had told considerably less
than the truth. For that, Azalea could only be relieved. She had no
intention of acquainting her cousins with the details of her early
life. However, she had no reason to believe that Lord Glaedon would
be so reticent once he knew who she was. It was even possible he
might hold her partially responsible for the deaths of his father
and younger brother.

She stifled a sigh. That was one problem she
refused to worry about before it materialized.

"No, I'm certain I will be able to encounter
his lordship with composure, Cousin Alice," Azalea assured her,
hoping she spoke the truth. "It was merely the unexpectedness of
hearing his name that overset me for a moment."

Reassured on that point, Lady Beauforth
resumed her instructions to the girls on where they were to shop on
the morrow, since she would be unable to accompany them.

"I find my uncertain state of health makes
it difficult for me to get about. I quite rejoice at the idea of
your being able to accompany Marilyn to the shops and functions
when I am unable to, Azalea— though of course we are delighted to
have you here for your own sake, as well."

This last statement was added almost as an
afterthought, and gave Azalea some insight into her cousin's real
motive for offering her a home. It also helped to explain the
contradictory nature of the letter sent to her grandfather. The
thought bothered Azalea very little. She liked to know where she
stood with people, and acting as Marilyn's companion made staying
here smack even less of accepting charity.

* * *

Back in her room, Azalea dismissed Junie for
the night after repeating Lady Beauforth's compliments on her
hairstyle. Feeling no inclination to sleep, due, no doubt, to her
nap earlier, Azalea reviewed her first day in London. In all, she
found more to be pleased with than she had expected.

She doubted whether she would ever become
truly close to her cousins, but they had treated her cordially
enough and she saw no cause for complaint. By the end of the week,
she would begin her campaign to regain her inheritance.

Since leaving America, she had thought of
little else, regarding it as her grandfather's dying wish. If
nothing more, dwelling on it served to distract her from her grief
over her grandfather, and yes, over Christian as well. That loss
still had the power to cause her pain, even after all this
time.

On the passage from America, she had found
the very sea a constant reminder of him. She had tried to spend as
little time as possible on deck, devoting her days instead to
needlework and to Millie, who had been seasick for most of the
voyage. Occasionally, however, she had been irresistibly drawn to
the railings of the foredeck, where she would gaze out across that
beautiful, treacherous expanse, keeping her mind carefully
blank.

The only time she allowed herself to think
of Christian was in her prayers when, against all reason, she would
unfailingly ask for a miracle to bring him back. She had done so
every night since learning of his death six years ago.

Staring sightlessly down at the gardens,
where wisps of fog trailed across the paths, Azalea deliberately
lowered her rigid shield and allowed herself the luxury of
remembering.

Immediately, Christian arose vividly in her
mind, just as he had appeared the first evening they had met:
handsome, carefree and self-assured. The few conversations they had
shared replayed themselves word for word, until Azalea glanced over
her shoulder, so strongly did she feel his presence.

She stopped her reverie abruptly on arriving
at that fatal day that had destroyed her happy dreams and shook her
head fiercely, surprised to find her cheeks wet with tears. For she
was not really sad.

Instead, she felt oddly cleansed by the
memories she had suppressed for so long. It was as if a tight knot
within her had become untied, releasing her and allowing a freedom
she had forgotten existed.

After six long years, Azalea was finally
able to let Christian go, into the past where he now belonged.
Suddenly tired, she turned back to the bed and slipped beneath the
quilts. With a little sigh, she drifted off to sleep, dreaming of
the future, rather than the past.

* * *

CHAPTER 3

Azalea descended at eight o'clock the next
morning in search of breakfast, only to be informed by a startled
maidservant that the ladies were still abed. In fact, the girl
stammered, they did not customarily appear before ten o'clock, and
then only after an early evening.

The bright morning sunshine helped to
relieve the sombreness of the dining-room, with its dark panelled
wainscotting and beige-and-brown-figured wallpaper, making it
bearable if not cheerful. Still, it was hardly in keeping with her
high spirits. Azalea hoped that the sunshine was a good omen for
her first full day in London.

"Could I perhaps have some breakfast in the
garden?" she asked the little maid. "I'm very hungry." She smiled
hopefully at the nervous girl, whose mouth twitched timidly in
return.

"Certainly, miss! I'll fetch it at
once."

"Or perhaps you could have Millie, the girl
I brought with me, bring it out?" suggested Azalea. "And I'd very
much like to speak with Mrs. Swann, as well, if that can be
arranged." She broadened her smile to disguise her discomfort at
dispensing orders. She wondered if she'd ever get used to it.

When Millie and Mrs. Swann joined her in the
gardens, they compared notes as Azalea ate. Mrs. Swann related that
Mrs. Straite had agreed to keep her on as under-housekeeper and
still-room maid until she could find a housekeeping position
elsewhere. Though she professed herself content, Azalea noticed she
pursed her mouth whenever she spoke of the housekeeper.

"Not to worry, miss," she concluded with a
sniff. "I'll stay here as long as you have any need of me."

Azalea knew that it must be galling to her
to be relegated to such a position, but was too grateful for her
support to say so.

"Have you located your sisters, Swannee?"
she asked her old friend with a smile. "Are they still living in
London?"

"Drusilla is, I think, for I had a letter
from her after I wrote that we might be coming. Margaret moved to
Yorkshire some years back, though, so I don't expect I'll be seeing
her any time soon."