Azalea

by Brenda Hiatt

  "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.

  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!"