Azalea (8 page)

He obviously had not recognized the name
Clayton, but then the marriage had been no certain thing when Chris
and his father had set out from England. Perhaps it was not
remarkable that Herschel had not been informed of it. His hostility
had seemed directed not so much at her as at Americans in general.
A holdover from the recent war, perhaps?

Watching him surreptitiously, she also
decided that his attitude towards Marilyn was not what it should
be. There was no real warmth in his manner, for all her cousin's
earlier boasting about his impatient ardour. Of course, her own
presence might be inhibiting him somewhat, Azalea supposed, but
really, he looked almost bored.

Their circuit of the Park was finished long
before Marilyn exhausted her store of gossip.

"May I call upon you tomorrow?" Lord Glaedon
asked, almost perfunctorily.

"You know you may, my lord," replied
Marilyn, dimpling at him. "We shall look forward to your
visit."

He touched his hat to both of them and
turned his horse. As he rode away, he began to whistle a lilting
Irish tune. Frozen in sudden shock, Azalea was left staring
open-mouthed at his retreating back.

* * *

CHAPTER 4

Azalea took in none of the scenery during
the drive back to Beauforth House. Fortunately, Marilyn's aimless
chatter did not require anything in the way of a thoughtful
response. At any rate, her cousin seemed to detect nothing wrong in
her manner.

Still trembling from the discovery she had
made, Azalea stared ahead blindly, trying desperately to force her
mind to function. She felt as if her whole world had just been
turned upside down without warning. Blinking rapidly against the
darkness that seemed to be advancing on the edges of her sight, she
nodded vaguely to something her cousin had said.

Think! Think!

Christian had distinctly
told her, once upon a time, that Herschel not only detested
whistling, but that he had never learned to do it. And that tune—it
had been the same one she had heard Christian whistle in
Williamsburg. Azalea herself had been struck by Lord Glaedon's
uncanny resemblance to the Chris she remembered.
Could
he possibly be her
husband? How?
How?

Clasping her hands tightly together in her
lap, Azalea strove to organize her whirling thoughts. That he had
not recognized her was patently obvious.

Or... was he merely pretending not to?

She honestly didn't think so. Surely he
would have betrayed himself somehow, if only with a flash of
awareness at his first sight of her.

And what of Herschel? If Christian was now
the Earl of Glaedon, then Herschel must also be dead. She and her
grandfather had heard no word of that tragedy, though she doubted
anyone would have informed them. But how could Christian possibly
have been alive all these years without her knowledge? And could he
have changed so much?

The Christian she remembered had been a
carefree, easygoing young man with engaging manners, nothing at all
like the curt, cynical fellow she had met an hour ago. And he could
never have aged that much in only six years. She supposed he could
have received that scar in the shipwreck, but how could his whole
personality have changed so completely?

What was far more likely was that Herschel
had taken up whistling late in life, perhaps even in tribute to the
younger brother he had lost. Likely, but... somehow she didn't
think so. That sense of familiarity had nagged at her from the
first moment she had seen Lord Glaedon. And when she'd heard him
whistling, she had known beyond any doubt, for one crystal-clear
moment, that he was indeed her Chris.

But without any facts, she realized, her
guess was only wild conjecture. She must have the facts.

Would they be common knowledge? If so, Lady
Beauforth could undoubtedly tell her what she so urgently needed to
know She had heard enough at dinner last night to realize that very
little of what went on in the fashionable world escaped her
ladyship's notice.

The moment she had put off her cloak, Azalea
went in search of her hostess.

Glancing up and down the empty upstairs
hallway, she decided that the corner room at the far end was most
likely Lady Beauforth's, as it was undoubtedly the largest. Before
she could reconsider, she walked quickly to the door and knocked,
more loudly than she had intended. Her cousin's startled "Yes?"
told her that she had guessed correctly.

"It is I, Cousin Alice. Azalea. May I speak
to you for a moment?"

"Of course, dear, come in."

Azalea opened the door and
found herself in a chamber that bore no resemblance to the tasteful
decor of the rest of the house. Cousin Alice's boudoir was a
hodgepodge of antique and modern tables, chairs,
étagères,
pillows and
ottomans. Incredibly, there was even a stuffed elephant's foot in
one corner, with a bright pink cloth on top.

Every colour of the rainbow was present,
though red and purple predominated, and every available surface,
including the elephant's foot, was crowded with a dizzying variety
of ornaments, valuable works of art competing for space with
obvious trumpery pieces.

After a moment, Azalea succeeded in locating
her cousin among the startling assortment. Dressed in a magenta
wrapper, Lady Beauforth reclined on a chaise longue in the centre
of the room.

"Yes, dear child, what is it?" she asked,
completely at home in her astonishing surroundings. "Is something
troubling you?"

With a start, Azalea
recalled her purpose. "Not troubling me precisely, Cousin Alice,"
she began with studied casualness, "but I am curious about
something and was hoping that you could enlighten me." Ever eager
to be a source of information, Lady Beauforth beamed at her young
relative. "Of
course,
dear! I'll be delighted to be of assistance."

"Miss Beauforth and I just encountered Lord
Glaedon in the Park. As I, ah, mentioned last night, my grandfather
was well acquainted with his father, the fourth Earl. He spoke of
the family to me on more than one occasion, and it was my
understanding that it was Herschel who was next in the succession?"
Azalea could not quite bring herself to say Christian's name. She
paused, hoping that Lady Beauforth would take it from there. She
was not disappointed.

"Oh, my
dear,
I assumed you knew! It's best
you do, I suppose, all things considered. After all, if there were
any unpleasantness in that quarter, it's only fair you should know
why, don't you think?"

Azalea nodded vaguely, having absolutely no
idea what her cousin was talking about.

Lady Beauforth continued.
"What I mean to say is that Herschel was killed two years ago in
the war— the American war, you understand, not the French. Marilyn
was
quite
devastated, I assure you. You may not have known it, but it
was planned almost from her infancy that she would marry poor
Herschel. Our lands run with theirs, you see.

"At any rate, Christian
seems to have taken all Americans in dislike because of his
brother's death. Quite understandable, I suppose. Not that it
is
your
fault, of
course, or anyone else's who wasn't actually in the fighting, but
I'm sure you understand."

Azalea was beginning to, though the
suddenness of having her suspicion confirmed almost took away her
capacity for thought. "But, my lady—" A light tap on the door
interrupted her, and Marilyn's abigail entered with a note for Lady
Beauforth.

As her cousin read the message, Azalea had
time to consider what she had just learned and to be glad of the
interruption. She had been on the point of asking how Christian had
escaped the shipwreck, a question that would have demanded more
explanations than she was ready to give at the moment. There was
another matter she could bring up, however.

"Tell my daughter that we'll discuss this at
dinner. Perhaps we can contrive to make an appearance at both,"
said Lady Beauforth to the maid, dismissing her.

She turned her attention
back to Azalea. "Now, my dear, where were we? Oh, yes, dear
Christian. I pray you'll not take offence at his manner if he
should, ah, treat you less than charmingly, now that you know the
cause. And I suppose it would be quite proper if you were to make
some show of sympathy over poor Herschel, seeing how you know the
family, so to speak. But let me tell you the most
interesting
on dit
— Oh, was there any other advice you needed?" Lady Beauforth
interrupted herself, apparently remembering her current role as
social advisor.

"As a matter of fact,
Cousin Alice, there is," said Azalea reluctantly. She thought she
might have liked to hear that particular
on dit
. "I find myself in need of
visiting my grandfather's London solicitor, a Mr. John Timmons, and
have no idea how to go about doing so."

"Oh, surely there will be no need to
actually visit the man," said Lady Beauforth, clearly disappointed
by the mundane request. "Indeed, most solicitors very much dislike
women in their offices, I understand. I know dear Sir Matthew's
lawyers always called on me here at the house after he went to his
reward. Your best course would be to send a message round, asking
him to visit you."

Azalea doubted this very much. After all,
she was hardly of her cousin's social standing, which would likely
make this Mr. Timmons reluctant to take so much time out of his
busy schedule to cater to her whims. In addition, if she were to
decide to ask his advice about her six-year-old marriage, she had
no desire to be overheard by any member of her cousin's household.
She decided to confide in Lady Beauforth about the lesser of her
problems.

"The truth is, Cousin Alice, I need to speak
to him about a rather delicate matter. I find that what my
grandfather left me, which seemed so ample in America, will hardly
support a London Season and certainly would leave me nothing to
live on once it is over. I wish to enquire into the particulars of
my paternal grandfather's will, to see if I have any money coming
to me from the Kayce estates."

"Oh, my dear, I had no idea! How very
dreadful for you, to be sure!" exclaimed Lady Beauforth, struggling
up into a sitting position. "I naturally assumed that you were
sufficiently well set up... but enough of that. Of course, under
such circumstances it would be best for you to visit him. He would
likely refuse to come to you, anyway, if he knew the truth. But in
the meantime, what shall we do for you?" She appeared to be
genuinely concerned, perhaps partially out of a fear that she might
be expected to finance Azalea's Season herself.

"I shall be fine, Cousin, really," said
Azalea quickly, banishing such an uncharitable thought. "Junie has
been telling me about some places in Soho—"

"That's
it!"
Lady Beauforth's brow cleared
as if by magic. "The very thing, if we are discreet. You
wouldn't
believe
how many ladies of the ton shop there—by proxy, of course—
because of the nip-farthing allowances their husbands give them. I
daresay one or two of Marilyn's old gowns might be altered to fit
you as well, as you are neither as plump nor as tall as
she."

Azalea was relieved at her cousin's
enthusiastic reception of the idea and it emboldened her to
continue. "To tell the truth, Cousin Alice, Junie already made a
brief trip to Soho for me early this afternoon. The dress I am
wearing now came from one of the markets, though we only had time
enough to take it in at the waist. She assures me that she can
refurbish it to make it even more modish."

Lady Beauforth waved this idea aside and
assured her that her own dressmaker could make any necessary
alterations, as her taste was exquisite. Relieved of the
possibility of having to fund Azalea's comeout herself, she seemed
disposed to be generous.

"Now run along, my dear, and I'll have
Marilyn's abigail look over her gowns from last Season. We are
fortunate that the styles have not changed so very much. I'm
certain Mrs. Osgood can bring them bang up to the nines for you."
She dismissed Azalea with the most unaffected smile she had yet
bestowed on her.

* * *

The next morning Junie appeared with a
breakfast tray almost the instant Azalea awoke. An envelope rested
on the tray next to the cup of chocolate and Azalea picked it up.
"What is this?"

"I couldn't say, miss. It was given to me
last night by Cartwright, her ladyship's dresser, to bring to you
first thing. I set it on your tray so I wouldn't forget." Azalea
opened the envelope to find that it contained the direction of Mr.
John J. Timmons, Esq., and the information that Lady Beauforth's
carriage would convey her there in the course of the morning, if
she so wished.

"Why, how kind," Azalea exclaimed. "I'll go
directly after breakfast. Junie, do you suppose you could order her
ladyship's carriage to be ready in three-quarters of an hour?"

"It's early yet, miss, but I'll try,"
answered the abigail doubtfully.

"Don't put the coachman to any trouble. I'll
wait until he's had a chance to eat something. There is no real
hurry, I suppose." But Azalea could not subdue her eagerness to
carry out this errand as quickly as possible, and Junie gave her a
most perceptive smile.

"It will be ready inside an hour, miss, for
certain," she promised, and left the room with a militant gleam in
her eye.

Junie returned in under five minutes to
inform her mistress that the carriage could indeed be ready by nine
o'clock, or even sooner if she wished.