Azalea (28 page)

"Oh, I fear that will not
be possible," replied Lady Beauforth with a nervous laugh. "She is
gone to stay with her uncle until the wedding. He, ah,
rather
we
thought
that more appropriate, as she is to be married from his
house."

"The wedding is to be so soon then?"
Christian asked, startled. No date had been mentioned in the
papers.

"Yes, well, you know how impetuous these
young people are," replied Lady Beauforth, fluttering her fan.

Christian raised his brows. Drowling was
five and forty if he was a day, he was certain. "Then your cousin
is excited about her betrothal?" he could not help but ask.

Marilyn looked up quickly, but before she
could say anything, her mother responded, with a brilliant smile,
"Why, how can she not be? Lord Drowling is such a wonderful match,
and so enamoured of her, too. I wish you could have seen how
attentive he was when he called on her just after Christmas."

Christian stayed only the quarter hour that
politeness required before rising to take his leave. Closing the
door behind him with unnecessary force, he strode quickly away from
the house, with no clear destination in mind.

What had he expected? Perhaps he had been
hoping that Azalea would be there to throw herself into his arms,
denying her betrothal and pledging him her undying love, he thought
sarcastically.

For a moment he considered calling on her at
Lord Kayce's house but quickly decided against it. It would only be
an added torment to him and, perhaps, an embarrassment to her.

He had thought she was different, but it
seemed she was no better than any of the other debutantes, out for
whatever they could get. Christian had never cared much for the
refinements of Society, which too often concealed greed and avarice
under a thin veneer of polished manners and polite conversation.
Now, that whole artificial world actively disgusted him.

In Azalea, he thought he had finally found
someone in tune with his feelings, someone he could trust. But he
had been wrong. And that was what hurt the most—he had given his
trust, his friendship, and it had been betrayed.

That thought suddenly determined his
destination: he would go back to Glaedon Oaks, to the one person he
knew he could still trust. His grandmother had always had a
remarkable talent for putting things in proper perspective. Right
now, he needed her help to do just that.

He turned abruptly, to walk decisively in
the direction of his Town house to fetch his horse and a few
belongings. As he did so, a ragged little man jumped out of his way
with a muttered oath, then turned to follow him.

* * *

Lady Glaedon was delighted, though
surprised, to see her grandson again so soon. It was perfectly
obvious from the constraint in his manner that something was wrong,
but she trusted he would confide in her eventually. In fact, as he
drifted aimlessly from one piece of estate business to another
during his first day at home, she began to suspect that his primary
reason for returning was to talk to her.

Several times when they were alone it seemed
that Christian was on the verge of saying something to her, before
changing his mind and lapsing again into a morose silence.

After a full day of waiting for her grandson
to tell her what was troubling him, the dowager decided that some
prompting was in order.

"You may as well go ahead and speak to me,
Chris," she said bluntly after dinner that evening, when the two of
them had retired to her ladyship's sitting-room. "We both know that
you will eventually, and the wait is doing neither of us any good.
In fact, just being around you in this mood has my nerves nearly as
frazzled as yours plainly are."

Christian looked up sharply with a
forbidding frown, then nodded ruefully. "I never could keep a
secret from you, Grandmother. You are perfectly right. I came here
to ask your advice and to seek comfort, but my pride has kept me
from doing so. Has it been so obvious?"

"To me, at any rate," replied the dowager.
"I take it that your wooing of Miss Clayton has gone less than
successfully?" She held her breath, hoping the question would not
bring a storm down upon her head.

"Deuce take it,
madam,
can
you
read my mind?" exclaimed Christian in astonishment.

"When a young man leaves for Town determined
to bring back a bride, then returns less than a week later without
her, it hardly takes supernatural powers to deduce that his
courtship has received a setback. Not a permanent one, I hope? I
very much liked what you told me of the girl." And what she had
discovered through her own brief research into Miss Clayton's
family history, as well.

"Quite permanent, ma'am," replied Christian
morosely. "And I fear the girl's character was not nearly so
shining as I painted it."

He proceeded to tell the dowager of the
announcement in the papers. "I was nearly certain that she cared
for me." He decided against mention of the kisses that they had
shared just three days ago in Lady Beauforth's parlour. "I was on
the point of making her an offer, in fact. I had high hopes of
extricating myself from Miss Beauforth, as she has lately shown an
interest in someone else. Now I may as well marry her after all, I
suppose."

The dowager became thoughtful, choosing her
next words carefully. She knew how headstrong her grandson could be
if his pride or honour were pricked; and she was aware that much
more than honour was at stake here.

"Did she give you no explanation? Why was
her association with Drowling not generally known, if he were on
the point of offering for her? Did you not press her for the
details?"

"I had no chance. When I called, she had
already left Lady Beauforth's to reside with her uncle. I saw no
particular reason to call upon her there. Besides," he continued
angrily, "I understand her motivation well enough. Drowling's
fortune is great enough to make me seem a pauper in comparison —it
is said that he owns near a tenth of England. Mere affection, even
were it genuine, could scarce compete with that." He lapsed back
into sullen silence.

"So you never bothered to hear her side of
the story," concluded the dowager drily. "Is it not possible that
the betrothal was not her idea at all? Perhaps she was sent to stay
with her uncle because she was resistant to the idea."

Christian's head came up at that, a glimmer
of hope in his eyes. "Do you think it possible, ma'am?" Then the
hope faded. "But Lady Beauforth made it quite clear that Azalea was
pleased with the match. She told me that she had gone to her uncle
because she was to be married from his house. And that is another
thing. Azalea never even mentioned to me that she was Kayce's
niece. I discovered that from her grandfather's letters."

"I can't say it's a
relationship
I
would care to admit to," retorted the dowager tartly. "You
say she herself never actually confirmed the betrothal to you?" she
prodded then, an ugly suspicion beginning to form in her
mind.

He shook his head. "I never spoke to her
after learning of it. But Lady Beauforth—"

"A shatter-brained female
if ever there was one." The dowager snorted. "She believes whatever
Kayce wishes her to, I have no doubt." She leaned forward, putting
a hand on her grandson's knee. "Consider this. Suppose there
is
a betrothal, but Miss
Clayton had no hand in it."

It was Christian's turn to snort. "Azalea
does not strike me as a young lady who would allow such meddling
without a fight, Grandmother. She is not a particularly, ah,
biddable girl."

"Precisely why her uncle might wish to have
her where he can control her," exclaimed his grandmother
triumphantly. "Kayce has been a scoundrel since boyhood, and hardly
a man I would trust as guardian to an innocent young lady, be she
his niece or not."

"Do you think she could actually be in some
danger, ma'am?" Christian suddenly sat up straighter, apparently
ready now to take up the role of White Knight.

"No
physical
danger, most likely," the
dowager replied in a tone that deliberately implied other threats.
"Was a wedding date mentioned in the paper?"

"No, but Lady Beauforth implied that it was
to be soon."

"Then time may be running out for you to
counter Drowling's claim upon her."

"Whatever his claim, I won't allow her to be
forced to marry against her will," vowed Christian, in a tone that
boded ill for Lord Kayce. The dowager smiled to herself.

"Of course not, my dear," she said
soothingly. "Now, if you would be so kind as to set up the table, I
could fancy a game of piquet." She realized that her best course
now would be to let Christian mull over their conversation. She
would be very surprised if he did not find some pressing reason to
return to Town on the morrow.

* * *

Christian did indeed think over that
conversation —many times, in fact— during a long and sleepless
night. Could his grandmother's theory be correct? Might Kayce have
forced Azalea into a betrothal against her will?

The dowager's carefully chosen words
tormented him until, in the wee hours of the morning, he felt ready
to race back to London at that very instant to assure himself of
Azalea's safety. He burned to protect her with his name, to comfort
her with his words, his body....

The only thing that prevented him from
leaving at once was the possibility that the betrothal was genuine.
What a fool he would look then! Still, by the time he fell into a
dreamless sleep just before dawn, he had resolved to return
directly after breakfast. Better to risk looking like a lovesick
idiot than to allow Azalea's life —and his own—to be ruined by his
own mistaken pride and jealousy.

He acquainted the dowager with his
intentions over a late breakfast and was surprised at his
grandmother's reaction. She actually seemed to have expected his
decision.

"You must do whatever you think best, of
course, Christian," was all she said.

They were just rising from the table when an
interruption occurred. Semple, the butler, entered with the
information that there was a "person" below requesting an interview
with Lord Glaedon. Christian felt a sudden certainty that it was
Azalea herself, come to explain everything and to beg for his
protection against her uncle.

"Is it a young lady, Semple?" he asked
eagerly, already starting for the door.

"No, my lord, a man. And not very young,"
replied that worthy with a lack of expression that somehow conveyed
his disapproval. "I would never have admitted him, but he said that
you would remember him. He gave his name as Luke Sykes." He spoke
the syllables with distaste.

Christian experienced a sharp stab of
disappointment. Just for a moment, he had been so sure... The
visitor's name meant nothing to him, in spite of his message to the
butler. Still, he would have to see him, he supposed.

"If you will excuse me for a moment,
ma'am?"

The dowager nodded. "Let me know what it is
about, Chris. I could do with some diversion."

When Christian saw the
scarecrow figure that awaited him in the front parlour, he
understood Semple's reservations. The man was short and wiry, with
a shock of brownish hair and several day's growth of stubble on his
chin. He was dressed in sailor's garb, little better than rags, and
his bleary eyes and red nose proclaimed his fondness for drink.
Christian was almost certain he had never seen him before, though
there
was
something vaguely familiar about him.

The man rose eagerly at his entrance and
stepped forward with a gap-toothed smile. "Thank ye, my lord, I
knew ye wouldn't turn me away after all the trouble I had to track
ye down," the scruffy little man exclaimed in delight. He seemed to
expect Christian to recognize him on sight.

"Mr.—ah—Sykes?" said the
Earl uncertainly. "You have some business with me, I collect?" A
nasty suspicion began to form. Could this old sailor know him from
his days aboard the
Angel
or the
Hyacinth
and have come to blackmail him?

Certainly there were details about that time
that he would not care to have come to light. More than anything
right now, however, Christian begrudged the time— time he was
losing in getting to Azalea. But he would have to hear the sailor
out. Perhaps the man was no more than a common beggar, with some
cleverly spun tale of woe.

"Ye don't remember me then,
me lord?" the man asked, apparently disappointed. "I feared that
were the case when ye went past me in Lunnon, day before yesterday.
'Twas the first time I got a good-enough look at ye to be sure of
who ye was, and then ye went and left for the country straight off.
Devil of a time I had gettin' here, too." He stroked the stubble on
his chin. "I guess I
has
changed a bit, and not for the better, since ye
see'd me last. But I thought certain ye'd not forget old Luke what
saved yer life!"

"My life?" asked Christian skeptically. "And
when might this have been?"

"Why, nigh on six years
ago, me lord, out o' the wreck of the
Fortitude
afore we was picked up by
that filthy slaver, Farris. Course, ye didn't know yer own name
then, nor did I. 'Twas just by chance I found out who the lad was
that I saved, and that just a couple o' months ago. I been trying
to find ye ever since, hoping ye might see fit to reward old Luke
for the little favour I done ye."

He had the Earl's full attention now. The
man certainly had some of the facts straight —but he could be
anyone who had been aboard that slave ship. Christian said as much
to the fellow.