Azalea (12 page)

"My second cousin, actually, Lydia,"
returned Lady Beauforth, smiling every bit as broadly as her
hostess. "This is Miss Azalea Clayton, lately from Williamsburg,
Virginia. Azalea, Lady Queesley."

Azalea dropped a curtsy of the proper depth
and murmured that she was honoured to meet her ladyship.

Plainly pleased by the girl's respectful
manner, a contrast to Marilyn's bored observance of the
proprieties, Lady Queesley offered her opinion that a delightful
surprise was in store for the young men lucky enough to be present
tonight. She concluded by promising to present her son, Lord
Mallows, to the newcomer as soon as she could resign her post by
the door.

As the trio progressed into the ballroom,
Lady Beauforth whispered, "That is quite a triumph already, my
dear! Everyone knows dear Lydia is absurdly protective of her son.
She would hardly have made such a promise if she were not vastly
taken with you."

Azalea could not help but be gratified by
such a compliment, but before she could reply, her attention was
claimed by the scene before her. The enormous ballroom glittered
with gold and white in the light of what seemed to be thousands of
candles in sconces and chandeliers.

As the Beauforth party was announced, a
veritable sea of faces turned toward them, and Azalea was seized by
an almost overwhelming desire to turn tail and flee. She mastered
the impulse quickly, by necessity —her cousins were advancing into
the crowd at a steady pace, and she had no wish to be left on her
own among this throng of strangers.

"I thought you said everyone was away from
London this close to Christmas!" she said to Lady Beauforth,
raising her voice slightly to be heard over the collective,
well-modulated tones of the guests.

"Oh, they are, my dear!" replied her cousin.
"You will see the difference next spring, when the Season has
begun. This is a fairly intimate and quite comfortable gathering. I
assure you, at a successful ball at the height of the Season, one
can scarcely breathe, much less move. Not nearly so pleasant as a
small party like this one, in my opinion."

Azalea shook her head and looked around her
in disbelief. A small party? She had never in her life seen so many
people gathered under one roof.

Marilyn, meanwhile, had already located —or
been located by— several admirers and was happily chatting and
flirting with no less than four young men at once. As she made no
move to introduce any of them to her cousin, Azalea turned away to
observe another portion of the crowd.

The sea of faces was beginning to resolve
into individuals and Azalea noticed a few people she had met on
morning calls with her cousins. Seeing Lady Dinsmore, a young
matron she had befriended, a short distance away, she turned to ask
Lady Beauforth whether it would be acceptable to approach her
alone. Before she had opened her mouth, however, she saw the
unmistakable figure of Lord Glaedon coming towards them.

* * *

CHAPTER 6

Azalea was completely unprepared for the
riot of emotions that assaulted her at her first sight of Lord
Glaedon after his absence. She felt now that she must have been
blind at their first meeting not to have realized instantly that he
was Chris, the Christian Morely she had been so infatuated with in
her youth. His height, his colouring, his stance and especially his
eyes shouted his identity at her, though he was not even looking
her way. In fact, he was making a beeline towards Marilyn.

With a sinking sensation, she watched as he
bent over her cousin's hand and neatly extricated her from the knot
of admirers, to his apparent amusement and their equally obvious
chagrin. He looked almost unbearably handsome to Azalea, his dark
blue superfine coat matching his eyes, and the whiteness of his
intricately tied cravat emphasizing the near blackness of his
carefully disordered hair.

Though she could not hear what was being
said, she assumed from Marilyn's flirtatious fan and fluttering
lashes that it was complimentary. Azalea's excitement at her first
ball suddenly fell rather flat.

Still, determined to enjoy herself as much
as possible, she turned her back on Lord Glaedon and made her way
over to Lady Dinsmore.

That lady seemed sincerely delighted to
renew their brief acquaintance, and they chatted for some minutes
about botany and gardening, a shared passion. They debated the
likely source of the potted holly bushes that had been placed about
the ballroom in the spirit of the season, presenting a considerable
hazard to those who carelessly passed too close to them. This led
to a comparison of English and American hollies by Azalea, followed
by a discussion of other differences between the flora of the two
countries.

"I hear that there are countless varieties
of wildflowers in America that we never see here. I would love some
descriptions," Lady Dinsmore was saying, when a slight "ahem" at
her elbow caused Azalea to start and look around.

Their hostess, Lady Queesley, stood there,
accompanied by a fair, stout young man who had presumably been the
one clearing his throat. Lady Dinsmore discreetly excused
herself.

"Miss Clayton, I promised to introduce you
to my son," the countess said with a smile. "Viscount Mallows."
Lady Queesley gestured grandly toward her treasure. "George, do
show Miss Clayton about and introduce her to some of the young
people," she added in an audible undertone before fading into the
crowd.

Lord Mallows seemed
somewhat ill at ease and Azalea concluded that he was unused to
being thrust forward by his mother.
Overprotective
was the word Cousin
Alice had used, and Azalea suspected that it might be quite
accurate. He seemed to be searching almost desperately for
something to say, so she broke the awkward silence
herself.

"This is a lovely room, my lord. We have
nothing to compare with such elegance in Williamsburg, I assure
you." There. She had given him an opening, and she hoped he would
have the courage to pick it up.

"Will-Williamsburg?" he asked with a slight
stammer. "That is in Virginia, is it not?"

"Yes, in the southern part of the
state."

"I have a friend from that part of the
world," Lord Mallows continued, obviously pleased to have something
to say for himself. "I'll introduce you if I can find him. He—he's
here somewhere." Whereupon he stood on tiptoe, being only an inch
or two taller than Azalea herself, and scanned the room.

"How kind of you!" she exclaimed. "But you
needn't search for him this instant, surely." She was rather hoping
to have her first public dance with the viscount, since she was
certain he wouldn't be too critical of any mistakes she might make.
But it was too late. He was already gesturing, quite conspicuously,
to someone across the room.

"He's on his way," Lord Mallows said smugly,
turning back to Azalea with a smile. It was clear to her that he
was extremely eager to escape her presence, but she could not take
offence. She suspected that he behaved similarly with all
ladies.

"You wanted me, George?" A tall,
sandy-haired young man shouldered his way between two imposing
dowagers who blocked his path, ignoring their outraged murmurs.
"What was so important that you had to summon me from the side of
one of the most fascinating ... But who's this?"

His glance fell on Azalea and remained
there. "If this is the reason for my summons, I forgive you,
George. Might you introduce me to Miss..."

"Jonathan?" gasped Azalea incredulously.

The young man's mouth fell open. "Azalea?"
he exclaimed, equally taken aback.

Thrown off his stride by their behaviour,
the Viscount tried to steer the conversation back into more
conventional channels. "Miss Clayton, I—I'd like to present Mr.
Jonathan P-Plummer," he said as quickly as his stammer would
allow.

"It
is
you!" she cried. "I knew I could
not be mistaken!"

After gazing at one another for a few
seconds, both began talking excitedly, almost as if trying to cover
the last six years in ten minutes.

"I vow I would never have known you...."

"Yes, when I left your father was
well...."

"How are Missy and James and the
others...?"

"…with my cousins, in Curzon Street..."

Finally, Lord Mallows's repeated attempts to
take his leave brought them back to their surroundings.

"Yes, George, off to the cards with you. I
am deeply in your debt," said Jonathan, smiling broadly. Then,
turning back to Azalea as if still unable to believe that this
exquisite creature was the friend he had romped with in childhood,
he bowed and said with mock formality, "Miss Clayton, may I have
this dance?"

Still dimpling with the pleasure of finding
a friend from home among the cold London ton, Azalea dipped him a
flawless half curtsy and replied in the same vein.

"But of course, Mr. Plummer." Then she
marred the effect by whispering, "You must not mind if I forget a
few of the steps —I have only just learned to dance, and have never
done so in public before."

Jonathan chuckled as he led her onto the
floor, where the first set was just forming. "I'm glad to see you
haven't changed completely, 'Zalea," he said.

The dance began and Azalea had opportunity
to discover that Jonathan, at least, knew ail the steps. He was, in
fact, a very accomplished dancer and neatly covered her few
mistakes. She was relieved to find dancing less of a trial than she
had expected, and as the set progressed, her steps became surer.
Nor could she be especially conspicuous, she thought, with so many
other couples whirling about the floor.

In this last thought, however, Azalea was
not quite correct. The two young Americans made a striking couple
and drew glances from several quarters, some admiring, some envious
and some merely thoughtful. Among the latter was Lord Kayce, who
had discovered her identity by chance, having overheard a
conversation between two of the envious watchers, a pair of
spinsters about to enter their fourth Season.

He had first learned of Azalea's existence
less than a week ago, so he saw no immediate need to play the part
of the devoted long-lost uncle. No, he was willing to await a more
opportune moment for introductions. As he watched Azalea twirl
past, her lovely face alight with laughter at some comment her
partner had made, his pale brown eyes narrowed thoughtfully.

Lord Glaedon was another thoughtful
observer, watching the pair speculatively and trying, still
unsuccessfully, to remember who the girl reminded him of. She had
continued to thrust her way into his thoughts frequently during the
past two weeks, sometimes at the most inopportune of times. She was
the primary reason he had neglected to call at Beauforth House upon
his return to Town yesterday, in fact.

He could not deny that she was very
beautiful, but he was certain now that that was not the reason
behind her disturbing effect on him. It was almost as if she were
trying to tell him something —not in words, but by her very
presence. Shaking his head to clear it of such thoughts, he turned
back to Marilyn, who had apparently not noticed his momentary
defection and continued her avid recital of Miss Belgrave's most
recent fall from grace.

Suddenly, her manner irritated him. It
occurred to him that Miss Beauforth's conversation consisted almost
entirely of gossip. Though he had been about to ask her for another
dance, he now chose not to intervene when young Smallwood stepped
up and requested the honour. Christian glanced around as the
couples took their places and, seeing no sign of the disturbing
American beauty, retired to the balcony to think.

Meanwhile, Azalea was having a better time
than she would have thought possible a scant half hour before.
Jonathan had introduced her to his circle of friends, a lively
group of young people, and several of the gentlemen were already
vying for her attention.

Never having flirted before, Azalea was
surprised to discover how easy and amusing it was, with no
expectations raised on either side. She had essentially cut herself
off from Society for the past six years, but now, surrounded by the
light banter of her new acquaintances, she found herself opening
up.

Returning breathless and smiling from the
exertions of a country dance with Lord Soames, Azalea suddenly
found herself face to face with Lord Glaedon. Still in high
spirits, she mastered the sudden shyness that threatened and
dropped a quick curtsy, saying brightly, "How nice to see you
again, my lord. I trust you are enjoying the evening?" Marilyn was
nowhere to be seen.

"Indeed, yes, Miss Clayton," replied the
Earl gravely. "I was hoping to persuade you to stand up with me for
the next dance in order to increase that enjoyment."

He spoke so stiffly that Azalea was tempted
to refuse, but realized that this might be a perfect opportunity to
untangle some of the mystery surrounding him.

"Of course, my lord," she answered, after
only the briefest pause.

Then, to her consternation, the orchestra
proceeded to strike up a waltz. Chiding herself for her alarm, she
told herself that this would make it that much easier to engage him
in conversation.

Still, Azalea was glad that it was not her
first waltz of the evening, otherwise nervousness would have been
sure to make her stumble. At his first touch, a light, perfectly
proper clasp on her waist and hand, she had to struggle to keep her
features composed.

His palm seemed to burn against the small of
her back, while his hand meshed with hers as no other gentleman's
had. After the first shock, however, she floated almost
effortlessly in his arms.

His nearness, his touch, made her throat dry
and took away her capacity for thought, and it began to appear that
they would pass the entire dance without a word. Determined that
this not be the case, Azalea had just steeled herself to ask her
partner if he had ever been to America, when he caught her off
guard with a question of his own.