Azalea (3 page)

And to Chris! Surely, even if she waited
years and years, and had her pick of all the men in the world,
she'd never find anyone so perfect, so handsome, so...interesting!
Already teetering on the edge of her first romantic infatuation,
Azalea tumbled headlong at the thought.

But what had Grandfather said? That the Earl
had made the offer "on Christian's behalf," whatever that
meant.

"Does Christian know about this,
Grandfather?" she asked, suddenly fearful of the answer.

"Why, of course. He was with us in the
library after supper, if you recall. He offered no objections, if
that is what worries you."

No objections. But also no assurances that
she was the girl he would have chosen for a bride.

But she was being silly now. Of course
Christian could not love her after only a few hours in her company.
But once she was his wife, she thought blithely, she could surely
win his heart. And as for herself, if she was not a little in love
with him already, she knew that she soon would be.

"All right, Grandfather. I will marry
him."

* * *

"Well, Son, have you decided then?" Lord
Glaedon enquired as the last of their luggage was loaded onto the
hired carriage. "Don't feel that you have to take this step for my
sake, or even the girl's, although I admit that is more of a
consideration, in my opinion."

"Yes, Father," Christian replied, "I intend
to go through with it— partly for your sake, partly for hers and
even partly for my own. She's a taking little thing and shows
promise of growing into quite a beauty. And I'm quite certain she
won't bore me!" He grinned, recalling how her outspoken enthusiasm
had led her into more than one social blunder at supper last
night.

"In any event, I won't precisely be giving
up my freedom for four or five years yet," he continued. "And if
any of the young Marriage-Mart misses become too warm, I can always
frighten them off with sentimental stories of my little American
wife. An enviable position all round, I think."

His father glanced at him sharply, pausing
in the act of climbing into the carriage. "I hope you intend to be
discreet when we return to England, Christian. I'll withdraw the
proposal at once if your recklessness is likely to cause Azalea
pain. Gregory is my closest friend, and I feel rather a strong
responsibility for his granddaughter, under the circumstances."

"As well you might, since you dreamed up
this situation," retorted Christian, his smile fading. "But your
worries are groundless, Father. I would never intentionally hurt a
young innocent like Azalea. Indeed, I have hopes that in a few
years we may deal quite famously together. She appears to be
unusually intelligent and we share several interests already."

"Both horse mad, you mean," said Lord
Glaedon with a chuckle, apparently reassured. "I suppose couples
have entered into the married state with less in common, and still
made a pretty good go of it. Do you plan to make her an offer in
form?"

Christian swung up into the coach beside his
father. "Why not? I know she's very young, but she'll no doubt
enjoy it. And besides, every girl should have the right to at least
one proposal of marriage in her life, shouldn't she?"

Christian smiled to himself, imagining
Azalea's reaction when he proposed. Really, she was a most engaging
child.

"I hadn't considered it quite in that
light," said the Earl, "but you are probably right."

* * *

Dinner was a rather uncomfortable meal for
all concerned, as no opportunity had yet occurred for the Reverend
and the Earl to compare notes on their private discussions with
their respective charges.

Azalea kept stealing surreptitious glances
at her soon-to-be betrothed, and Christian did likewise, attempting
to discover from her manner whether her grandfather had mentioned
anything to her.

This was going to be deuced awkward if he
hadn't, Christian realized belatedly. Imagine proposing to a
thirteen-year-old girl out of the blue—she would either swoon or
think he had run mad. He was determined to get some indication of
whether the ground had been prepared before proceeding, and began
directing questioning looks, accompanied by much throat clearing,
at Reverend Simpson.

Upon receiving a knowing wink and a slight
nod in return, Christian was able to relax and enjoy the remainder
of the meal. He realized, on reflection, that Azalea's very silence
should have told him what he wished to know.

Shortly after dinner, the horses were
saddled and brought round to the front of the house for the ride
the young couple had agreed upon the previous evening. Azalea had
changed into a charming grey riding habit that perfectly matched
her silvery mare, Lindy. Chris was attired in a deeper shade of
grey, his gleaming black boots mirroring the spirited stallion he
was to ride.

"You so admired Spartan last night that I
thought you might like to try his paces. He's the best mount in
Grandfather's stables— excepting Lindy, here, of course." Azalea
seemed to be recovering some of her usual animation with the
arrival of the horses.

"You were very perceptive," replied Chris.
"I was nearly drooling over this fellow yesterday, but didn't dare
suggest you mount me on such an obviously valuable animal."

"Yes, I suppose he would bring a small
fortune if he were sold, but of course we have no intention of
parting with him. He was bred here, as was his dam. I daresay
Grandfather's cattle would compare favourably with any stable in
Virginia —and perhaps even in England."

Chris could only agree. Chatting comfortably
once again, they both mounted and started down the broad gravelled
drive at a brisk trot.

* * *

Azalea led Chris along one of her favourite
routes, pointing out the particular beauties of the landscape. The
apple and dogwood trees were in full bloom, transforming the
countryside into a fairyland of white and palest pink.

Presently, they turned off into a narrow
lane with a daisy-strewn field on one side and a large apple
orchard on the other. The subject of horses and horsemanship had
been temporarily exhausted, mainly because Azalea's thoughts were
too busy for her to be her usual talkative self.

"Do you mind if I ask a rather personal
question?" Christian asked after a brief pause. Azalea's heart beat
faster and she shook her head, hoping that the blush she could feel
rising to her cheeks wasn't noticeable. Her reins slipped slightly
in her suddenly damp hands.

"Well," he continued, "it's your name. I've
never heard it before and I wondered what it meant. Is it a family
name or something?"

This was so completely opposite to what
Azalea had expected to hear that she almost choked on a laugh.

"A family... No, not exactly. You see, my
mother was very fond of the flora of the New World and experimented
extensively with some of the wild species. Her favourite was the
azalea, a flowering shrub. Surely you've noticed the large bushes
round the house?"

"Yes, now that you mention it. The ones with
the pink and purple flowers along the front, you mean?"

"Yes, those are the biggest ones. My mother
planted those when she was only a year or two older than I am now.
She also had some white ones brought down from the mountains by a
friend of my grandfather's. I'll show them to you when we return."
Next to horses, Azalea loved to discuss botany and gardening,
which, perhaps in memory of her mother, she had studied in
depth.

Christian nodded, but did not pursue the
topic. They trotted along for several minutes, Azalea in silence
and Chris whistling a stirring march. Azalea almost wished that her
grandfather had never mentioned that marriage business. Then she'd
be enjoying this ride as she had yesterday's, delighting in her new
friend instead of worrying over how she ought to behave when—or
if—he broached the subject.

"You are a very good whistler," she ventured
after a moment.

Chris broke off with a laugh. "Funny you
should say that. I consider it rather a guilty pleasure, since
Father discourages it and Herschel, my older brother, positively
loathes it, mainly because he's never learned himself. But here,
why do we not take a rest for a moment?" He gestured toward a
broad, mossy rock.

They both dismounted to rest on the cool
surface in the shade of an unusually large and gnarled apple tree.
Azalea spread her skirts about her, resisting the impulse to draw
her knees up to her chin as she usually did.

Desperately, she tried to think of something
else to say. The silence progressed from companionable to
uncomfortable. Inspiration had yet to strike when Christian turned
to her and said, "I assume, Azalea, that your grandfather has
spoken to you about the possible, er, alliance between our
families?"

He was watching her a bit anxiously, and
that unaccountably put her more at ease. Realizing that Chris was
nervous too made him less an object of awe. Her heart warmed
towards him with an affection that was more sincere than the
infatuation she had already admitted to herself.

She nodded silently, unable to meet his
eyes. Had he changed his mind? She waited for him to continue.

"Now that we are alone, I'd... like to take
this opportunity to ask you to marry me. Will you, Azalea?" he
concluded in a rush.

Startled, she turned her eyes to him, unable
to believe that she had understood him correctly. "You... you're
actually proposing to me?" she asked incredulously, unable to hide
her sudden joy. This was much more romantic than the dry agreement
she had expected. Perhaps he really did care for her a little.

Christian tried not to flinch at the
expression in her eyes. How could he ever live up to such
expectation, such adoration? He vowed silently to do his utmost to
spare her disillusionment in the years ahead.

"It's appropriate that we settle this matter
between ourselves, don't you think?" he asked in as casual a voice
as he could manage. "After all, we are the ones who will be sharing
forty or fifty years together, not the estimable gentlemen who
concocted this rather unconventional arrangement."

Taking a deep breath, he continued. "I'm by
no means perfect—" he frowned, for it seemed somehow imperative
that she understand this "—and cannot promise to become so, but I
would never knowingly cause you pain. Consider, also, that by
marrying me at so young an age you will be cheating yourself of the
chance to be courted by other, possibly far more worthy, gentlemen
later on."

Why should such an idea suddenly bother
him?

"I want you to fully realize what you would
be agreeing to," he concluded. To his surprise, he found himself
holding his breath as he waited for her reply, watching her face
closely to gauge her feelings.

"I realize," she said solemnly.

Christian let out his breath.

"I realized before I gave Grandfather my
consent this morning, for he also wanted me to be very sure. I am.
Yes, Chris, I will marry you, if you really don't mind being tied
to a thirteen-year-old wife. I promise to grow up as quickly as I
can!"

"Don't grow up too quickly, Azalea," said
Christian quickly, surprising himself by his seriousness. "I may
deprive you of other suitors, but I refuse to deprive you of your
childhood. Enjoy it while you can. Promise me?"

"All— all right. I promise," Azalea
answered, plainly startled by his earnestness.

"Thank you." The innocence in her wide green
eyes moved him in a way he found hard to understand. "In return, I
promise to make you as happy as I possibly can." He spoke it as a
vow.

* * *

The wedding took place three days later at
Bruton Parish Church. Due to Azalea's youth, only the rector and
his wife were present in addition to the four people principally
concerned.

The usual announcement had not been placed
in the local newspaper. Reverend Simpson had thought it best that
Azalea's marriage not be publicized in Williamsburg. It might make
her social life uncomfortable, he said, to be perceived as being
"different" from her peers.

The rector's wife began to play the organ,
signalling the start of the ceremony, and Azalea entered the
sanctuary dressed, not in a real bridal gown, but in her best white
poplin.

Glancing around nervously, she took in every
detail of the familiar church, which she had attended weekly all
her life. Everything now seemed new and different. For one thing,
the rector was not perched in his customary place in the carved
wooden pulpit, where he could look down on the congregation in
their private pews. Instead, he stood at the front altar, as he
normally did only for communion.

As the church was nearly empty, the usual
rustlings and whisperings of the assembled congregation were
strangely absent. The aisle appeared abnormally long as she slowly
walked between the high wooden walls of the vacant pews. She hadn't
thought she would be nervous, but now...

Christian watched her progress from his
position next to the altar and couldn't help thinking how young and
defenceless Azalea looked. An unexpected surge of protectiveness
welled up in him. He suddenly regretted that he would have to leave
her here, in the wilds of this new, untamed country. Of course, she
would have her grandfather to watch over her, but still...

When Azalea finally reached the altar, the
participants took their places and the rector began his homily.
Neither bride nor groom heard much of his explanation of the
purpose and responsibilities of marriage. It hardly seemed to apply
in their case.

Abruptly, they were repeating the vows, and
Azalea heard herself saying, "...until death us do part."

The very permanency of the oath made her
tremble. How well did she know Chris, really? Glancing up, she met
his eyes and he winked reassuringly. She sighed. Everything would
be all right.