Azalea (2 page)

The younger gentleman turned away from the
window, where he had apparently been admiring the spectacular
sunset. He advanced two or three steps towards Azalea.

Looking up—far up—as he approached, Azalea
realized that Christian was at least as tall as his father, and far
more handsome. In fact, to her inexperienced eyes, he was the most
perfect man she'd ever seen, with thick wavy hair so dark it was
almost black and penetrating blue-grey eyes.

Exciting eyes, Azalea thought irrelevantly,
the colour of thunderclouds just before a storm. At first glance,
at least, the Honourable Christian Morely seemed the answer to a
young girl's every romantic dream.

Blinking at the direction
of her thoughts, Azalea had to suppress an urge to laugh at
herself.
Romantic dreams, indeed!
Between studying, riding, gardening and other
pursuits, she'd never wasted time on such fantasies. In fact, she
had always scorned the other girls' sighs over a handsome new
student or a visiting merchant's son. But of course none of those
young men had ever compared to Christian Morely.

"So this is little Miss Azalea! Not quite
the child I was led to believe." His smile was condescending,
Azalea thought, which immediately banished romance and put
irritation in its place.

"I was thirteen in November, sir, so I am
scarcely a child," she retorted, standing up a little taller. She
was suddenly glad she had given up her braids two months ago.

"Isn't that what I just said? And I
understand that you have had a hand in the managing of this, ah,
estate for the past year, as well."

Azalea regarded the young man suspiciously.
Was he teasing her? Her grandfather's house and lands, while
respectable, could hardly be called an estate. However, she could
detect no trace of malice in Christian's amused expression and
decided that he might merely be ignorant of the extent of an
American plantation.

"That is true, sir," she finally conceded.
"Mrs. Swann is gradually entrusting me with the duties that
belonged to my grandmother many years ago. Part of my education,
Grandfather tells me." She smiled a bit wryly.

"But not your favourite part, I take it?" He
smiled back, a friendly smile that allayed her suspicions and put
her at ease.

"Well, it's certainly more amusing than
Latin, but I find I have less and less time to spend with the
horses and plants—" Azalea broke off in some confusion, not certain
whether she should have revealed these pastimes, which Swannee had
informed her repeatedly were less than ladylike. She glanced in her
grandfather's direction, but he was deep in conversation with the
Earl and appeared not to have heard.

"You like horses, then?" Christian prompted
when she paused. He didn't look the least disapproving.

"Oh, yes! Above all things. Do you?" Azalea
replied, caution vanishing as the conversation turned to her
favourite topic. "You'll have to meet Lindy, my mare," she
continued when he nodded. "She's the most beautiful thing
imaginable! Perfect lines, and the smoothest trot in Virginia. Do
we have time to go down to the stables before supper, Grandfather?"
she asked eagerly, turning back to the older gentlemen.

"Certainly, my dear. You youngsters run
along," Reverend Simpson replied with barely a glance in her
direction. Azalea thought he looked grave. He obviously wanted to
continue his discussion with Lord Glaedon. "Go for a ride if you
wish. Supper will not be for an hour or more."

"We'll return in time," Azalea promised,
then turned back to Christian with sudden diffidence. "That is, if
you wish to come, sir." He didn't seem at all like a "youngster" to
her.

"I'm quite counting on it," he responded
with another warm smile. "And please, no more 'sirs'—it makes me
feel positively ancient. Call me Chris."

Azalea agreed delightedly. "You brought a
horse from the inn, you said? I can have Lindy saddled in a flash.
I'll show you a bit of Williamsburg before supper."

* * *

Christian was finding young Miss Clayton
unexpectedly likeable. He was not certain just what he had
anticipated, but it was not this fresh, piquant woman-child.

When his father had first acquainted him
with his plans, Christian had been dumbstruck and then affronted.
The more the Earl told him of the girl's circumstances, however,
the more curious he had become. Now, very much to his surprise, he
found himself actually giving his father's outrageous suggestion
serious consideration.

"Grandfather keeps some prime bloods, as
well as a couple of carriage horses," Azalea told him eagerly as
her mare was saddled. "Lindy, of course, is my favourite, but I
will be interested to know what you think of some of the
others."

Her enthusiasm made Christian smile, for
horses were a passion of his, as well. It was... interesting to
discover that they had that much in common, at least. "I can
scarcely wait. Perhaps tomorrow I might have opportunity to try the
paces of one of them. I'm certain they will cast this nag I hired
from the inn quite into the shade."

* * *

A short time later, Chris accompanied Azalea
down Queen Street toward the main thoroughfare of the town. He
whistled tunefully as they went, to her secret delight. Whistling
was something Swannee had often scolded her for doing. Still, even
with his example before her she didn't quite dare to join in.

As it was late in the day, Duke of
Gloucester Street was nearly deserted. "I fear Williamsburg is not
the hub of activity it was before the war," she told him
apologetically as they turned their horses onto the wider road.
"Then, it was the capital of Virginia, and quite an important
political centre for the whole country."

Chris nodded. "I read a bit of American
history before leaving England. You seem quite thoroughly schooled
in it, though."

Azalea could feel herself blushing. "Well,
yes. I used to badger Grandfather to let me attend classes at the
college." She pointed down the street the other way, to where a
fine building, designed on noble lines by Sir Christopher Wren, was
still visible in the failing light. "Of course that was impossible,
but he did arrange for a tutor. Dr. Jonas is so enraptured by
Williamsburg's history, much of which, of course, he has lived
through, that I couldn't help but get caught up in it."

"Your grandfather teaches there as well,
doesn't he?"

"Yes, as mathematician and grammarian. Do
you know, he actually met Patrick Henry? He was the great orator
who spoke out against the Stamp Act in that very building." She
pointed to the capitol building. Now, however, that once-imposing
structure stood empty, and signs of neglect were beginning to be
visible. The focus of Williamsburg was now at the western end of
Duke of Gloucester Street, where the College of William and Mary
stood.

"We British were most unreasonable, were we
not?" The mildness of Chris's tone reminded Azalea abruptly that he
and his countrymen doubtless viewed the outcome of the war rather
differently than the Americans did. Casting about for another
topic, she felt some relief when she noticed a sandy-haired youth
approaching them on foot.

"Jonathan!" Azalea called, waving to the
boy.

He quickened his pace. "Hullo, 'Zalea!
You're out late. Who's your friend?"

She couldn't quite keep a trace of smugness
from her tone as she answered. "This is Mr. Morely. He and his
father, the Earl of Glaedon..." she paused to more fully enjoy
Jonathan's expression of awe "... are visiting with us for a few
days. Chris, this is my best friend, Jonathan Plummer."

To his credit, Jonathan recovered quickly.
"Pleased to make your acquaintance, sir," he said with a shy grin.
"Does this mean our picnic is off, 'Zalea?"

"Goodness, I'd forgotten! Yes, I suppose so,
Jonathan. We can do it next week just as well." She blushed again,
hoping Jonathan would not mention in front of Christian that their
picnic was to take place in the branches of a tree. But he merely
nodded, saluted Christian and sauntered on his way.

As he retreated, Azalea couldn't help
comparing her old comrade to the gentleman at her side. Jonathan's
father was a wealthy planter and had been a baronet before coming
to America some twenty years ago. And his mother had been daughter
to an English viscount, which, she had previously thought, made
Jonathan nearly nobility.

Azalea had to laugh at such a notion now.
Why, next to Chris, he was a simple country boy! She did not pause
to consider that Jonathan's age, a mere year greater than her own,
did him no good in the comparison. "I'll show you the magazine and
guardhouse," she said to Chris, turning her mare. "Then I suppose
we should return for supper."

* * *

Azalea was in high spirits at breakfast the
next morning. Christian and his father were due to return before
dinnertime with their trunks. Rooms had been readied for them, and
she and Chris were planning another, longer ride that
afternoon.

She already regarded Chris as a friend. The
fact that he seemed not to think of her as a mere child was a
definite point in his favour. Of course, there was only a five-year
difference in their ages, where Papa had been nine years older than
Mama...

Abruptly, Azalea shook her head, causing the
Reverend to glance up from his morning papers. What on earth was
she thinking of? Determinedly, she gave her attention to the ham
and eggs before her.

A few minutes later, her grandfather put his
papers aside. "When you've finished, my dear, could you give me a
moment of your time in the library? I'll wait for you there."

"Of course, Grandfather. I'll only be a
moment."

She was not especially curious. The Reverend
often requested her help in cataloguing or in reading the fine
print that strained his eyes. He might even have a game of chess in
mind, and Azalea had to admit she could use the practice. Quickly,
she finished the last of her biscuit and milk and followed the old
gentleman into the library.

"Yes, Grandfather? What is it you wish me to
do?"

She breezed in, fresh as the bright spring
morning in a pale green gown, her coppery curls bouncing at her
shoulders. Reverend Simpson regarded her almost wistfully for a
moment, then coughed and became very businesslike.

"I'd like you to take a seat and listen
carefully to what I am about to tell you, with a minimum of
questions, at least until I have finished."

Her curiosity now thoroughly aroused, Azalea
sat in the chair he indicated and looked at him expectantly.

"After supper last night," he began, "I had
a very long talk with Howard. As you know, my health is not what it
once was. This infernal cough becomes worse by the month, and the
doctor says that my heart is weak as well. No, no, my dear, I do
not say this to alarm you," he said quickly when Azalea gasped with
dismay, "but merely to help explain what I am about to suggest.

"Howard also acquainted me with some
particulars regarding your English inheritance, which he looked
into at my request. The means by which your uncle, Lord Kayce,
gained possession of the properties is suspect, to say the least.
So far, he seems unaware of your existence, but we cannot assume
that he will remain so forever. Therefore, Howard and I both agree
that you need stronger protection than I can provide you,
especially given my present state of health. The most reasonable
solution involves a marriage—"

"Marriage! Me? But I'm only thirteen! How—"
Her grandfather stopped the flow of questions with an upraised
hand. "Azalea, please hear me out," he said in a firmer tone than
usual.

Squelching her curiosity, she nodded meekly
and he continued.

"Shortly after your birth, Howard and I
discussed —not very seriously at the time, I must admit —the
possibility of your eventual marriage to one of his sons. He has
now made you an offer of marriage on behalf of his second son,
Christian."

Azalea opened her mouth, but the Reverend
forestalled her with a glance.

"This would be an excellent match for both
of you in worldly terms, of course," he went on, "but more
importantly, it would give Howard legal authority to set about
protecting your birthright. In addition, your marriage would afford
you another kind of protection against your uncle, who may be less
than pleased when he learns about you— which he will do, once
Howard puts his plans into motion. Add to that the fact that Howard
is my oldest and dearest friend—"

"You have betrothed me without my consent?"
Azalea broke in indignantly, no longer able to contain herself. "Am
I to be shipped across the ocean just like that? Grandfather, how
could you?" She couldn't decide whether to scream or cry.

"You have been reading
novels again and neglecting your studies, I perceive," the Reverend
said drily. "Nothing so melodramatic as that, I assure you. One
reason I waited until this morning to broach the subject was to
give you an opportunity to meet Christian and form an opinion of
him before being prejudiced by the reason for his visit. It
seems
that you like him
quite well. In any event, no irrevocable steps have been taken, nor
will they be, without your consent."

Reverend Simpson paused for a moment and
made a great business of polishing his spectacles before
continuing.

"Considering your youth, the marriage would
be, ah, in name only for several years. It is my hope that you
would remain here for at least a portion of that time, after which
you would join Christian in England. You may now ask questions," he
concluded, looking up at her with a resigned expression.

With that encouragement, Azalea found
herself, for the first time since she had learned to talk, devoid
of questions. Her mind was a whirl. With the fear of immediate
removal from the only life she had ever known allayed, she began to
view the prospect of marriage as exciting, rather than
frightening.