Azalea

by Brenda Hiatt

  She realized how very fortunate they had been in Williamsburg to have escaped the worst ravages of this "Second War of Independence." Even there, though, where no English troops had come, the townspeople had not gone unscathed. Several sons of local farmers and merchants, and even two students she had known, had departed to join the defending army and never returned.

  A sudden surge of resentment against the British startled her with its violence. How dared they! Her resolve to openly acknowledge herself an American became stronger, regardless of Cousin Alice or any other squeamish family members.

  The coach finally stopped in front of The Republic Inn, a large, partially rebuilt house within sight of the docks. The glass windows and fresh paint proclaimed it a prosperous establishment and a well-maintained one.

  Alighting from the coach before the coachman could climb down to assist her, Azalea turned to help Millie and Mrs. Swann descend.

  "Let's get inside for a hot meal and a good night's sleep on dry land," Mrs. Swann recommended cheerfully. "We've got quite a day ahead of us tomorrow."

  * * *

  Gazing around the drawing-room of the Beauforth Town house on Curzon Street, Azalea was overcome by depression. She did not doubt that this was one of the finer houses in London, as Sir Matthew Beauforth had possessed a fortune of no little consequence. But the cold formality of the chamber, with its gilt chairs and white upholstery, did nothing to lift her spirits, now weighed down by apprehension, loneliness and fatigue.

  Immediately upon her arrival nearly an hour ago, Mrs. Swann and Millie had been ushered off to the servants' quarters by a housekeeper so stiff and fastidiously dressed that Azalea had at first mistaken her for Lady Beauforth.

  The butler, Smythe— if possible even more coldly formal than Mrs. Straite (whose name Azalea found peculiarly appropriate) —had shown her into this room with the intimation that Lady Beauforth would see her shortly.

  Azalea's stomach growled. She was just wondering whether "shortly" meant something different in England than it had at home when a short, fat, gaudily gowned lady swept into the drawing-room, her bejeweled hands outstretched. An overpowering cloud of violet fragrance enveloped Azalea as the woman advanced.

  "You must be little Azalea Clayton! Have you been very bored, my dear? I only just finished dressing after my afternoon nap."

  Azalea was torn between an urge to laugh at the lady's voice and appearance and a reluctance to breathe in her sickly sweet perfume. Collecting herself, she rose and extended her own hand.

  "Lady Beauforth?" she asked uncertainly. After her experience with the housekeeper, she was afraid to jump to conclusions.

  "Cousin Alice, my dear, please! Let us not stand on ceremony —we are kin, after all. Was your journey dreadful? You'll want to go straight to your room and sleep for days, I am certain. I was so sorry to hear about poor Uncle Gregory! You must feel the loss just dreadfully, my dear."

  Azalea nodded noncommittally, wondering if this could possibly be her cousin's real speaking voice. Surely no one could feign that high-pitched tone indefinitely.

  "Lady— Cousin Alice," Azalea said when it appeared that her hostess had temporarily run out of words, "I want to thank you so much for your willingness to take me in and sponsor me. I hope I won't be obliged to impose upon your kindness for too long."

  "Tut, tut, my dear! What is family for? Besides, there is very little generosity in this case, as Uncle Gregory insisted on paying all of your expenses himself."

  Azalea winced at this reminder of the terms of her grandfather's will, which she had not been certain Lady Beauforth understood. She was relieved to find that apparently she did, which meant there was no chance of her being mistaken for a charity case.

  Meanwhile Lady Beauforth, who was not quite so shatter-brained as she appeared, was making some calculations of her own regarding Azalea. With her air of maturity and grace, her unusual colouring and striking beauty, the girl was bound to cause a stir in the fashionable world of the ton. At first glance, she might not take— that gown was positively dowdy —but in a new wardrobe, with her hair stylishly cut...

  "Now, my dear, I absolutely insist that you rest until tea," she said firmly. "If you're asleep, we shan't wake you till dinner, or even breakfast, if you prefer." Lady Beauforth needed some time to reorganize her thinking before her darling Marilyn made Azalea's acquaintance. This was not the rough savage they had both expected.

  "Thank you, Cousin Alice, I am a bit fatigued. But please do not let me sleep through dinner, or I might well starve before breakfast." Azalea rose with a smile and followed a hovering maidservant out of the room.

  As she climbed the curving oak staircase, she was struck again by the elegance of the furnishings she could see from this vantage point. Obviously someone other than Lady Beauforth had been in charge of decorating the house, unless her cousin's eccentricities were limited to matters of dress and speech, which Azalea somehow doubted. Most likely the bulk of it had been done by generations past, or perhaps by hired professionals.

  "This here's your room, miss," the young maid said, interrupting Azalea's musings. "Her ladyship let Miss Marilyn choose the room, and she must have thought you'd be most comfortable here." She opened the door to the chamber and stepped aside. "My name's Junie, if you should be needing anything."

  Azalea smiled warmly at the girl. "Thank you, Junie. I'm afraid I'm not very good company right now. I'm very tired. We'll have time for a good talk later, I'm sure."

  "Of—of course, miss," the girl said, plainly disconcerted. "Will you be needing anything now? Her ladyship said as how I should unpack for you and act as your abigail, if you approve, of course." She smiled tentatively.

  "That's very sweet, Junie, but I've already promised Millie, who travelled all the way from America with me, that she should have that post. I hope that won't cause a problem?"

  "Oh, no, miss, I don't see how it would," Junie replied, though she looked a bit disappointed. "I'll just tell Mrs. Straite you've brought your own abigail. I'll continue on as upstairs maid. I was promoted just last month," she added proudly, with another shy smile.

  Azalea realized that becoming her personal abigail would have represented an even greater promotion and thought she understood the girl's disappointment.

  "How wonderful for you," she said warmly. "But I've just had an idea. Millie is an American, like myself, and has no real experience as a fashionable lady's maid. Do you suppose Mrs. Straite would consent to your training her? Both she and I would be very grateful, I assure you."

  Junie's face broke into a delighted smile. "I'll ask her right away, miss! And thank you, miss!" she exclaimed, fairly skipping from the room.

  Alone, Azalea finally had an opportunity to look about her room. Even at first glance it was apparent that the furnishings were not quite up to the standard of the rest of the house, though they were still far finer than any she had been used to. Azalea guessed that furniture a little too worn for the finer guest rooms had been put here, but she didn't mind a bit. The room was done in faded shades of green and gold, which she found soothing, and the bed and chairs looked more comfortable than newer ones might be.

  Crossing to the window, Azalea caught her first glimpse of the gardens and gasped with delight. What a botanical wonderland! Even in late November, a few chrysanthemums were in bloom, and she could identify several species of ornamental shrubs.

  She would explore the gardens as soon as she went back down —well, after some tea, anyway. She was famished —and tired. Removing her shoes, Azalea stretched out on the gold counterpane of the bed and closed her eyes. Just a few minutes rest...

  Hunger awakened her several hours later. The sun had set, and Azalea found herself in almost total darkness. For a few moments she imagined she was still in her cabin on the ship, but then was recalled to her surroundings by the distant sound of hooves and carriage wheels from the street.

  Rising, she hurried to the window in an effort to determine the hour. The last
faint rays of the recently departed sun informed her that there should still be ample time to dress before dinner. How late would that be, here? Swannee had told her that Town meals were later than those in the country, but she hadn't been specific. Perhaps each household kept its own hours.

  Fumbling along the top of the dressing-table, Azalea found a branch of candles and lit them from the embers of what that afternoon had been a cheerful fire. Opening the clothes-press in the corner of the chamber, she was pleased to find that the efficient Junie had unpacked and hung her gowns, and had apparently even shaken out the worst of the travel creases.

  Selecting her best gown, a deep rust-coloured velvet, she donned it with full knowledge that it would hardly stand comparison with the fashionable creations she had seen in a ladies' periodical on the drawing-room table earlier. Shopping for new clothes would have to be high on her list of things to do.

  Her hair was neat, but hardly attractive, drawn severely back from her face and twisted into a knot at the base of her neck. However, this was the only style, other than letting it hang loose, that she was capable of on her own, and she knew that Millie could scarcely have done better. Hairdressing was not one of the girl's strong points.

  Feeling very much the dowdy country cousin, Azalea descended the stairs and paused at the bottom, listening for voices that might give her a clue as to where the family was assembled at this hour. A murmur behind the doors of the drawing-room encouraged her to approach.

  Entering, she beheld her cousin, still attired in her brilliant rose, yellow and amethyst silks, speaking with a dazzling young lady dressed with impeccable and obviously expensive taste. At Azalea's entrance, the young lady turned wide, blandly interested blue eyes in her direction.

  "Awake already, my dear?" Lady Beauforth asked solicitously. "I was going to have Junie check on you in half an hour, when I retired to my room to dress for dinner."

  Azalea's imagination faltered at what her ladyship's idea of evening attire might be.

  "Did you rest at all?"

  "Oh, yes, Cousin Alice, I feel very refreshed. Truth to tell, it was hunger that awakened me, and not knowing the dinner hour here, I thought it best to dress and come down directly."

  "How thoughtless of me! Of course, you would not be familiar with our customs yet. Dinner won't be for another hour and more. Marilyn and I were going upstairs to dress in a few more minutes."

  Thus recalling Marilyn's presence, Lady Beauforth turned to introduce Azalea to her daughter, whose smile had become rather fixed.

  "Marilyn, this is your cousin, Azalea Clayton, of course. Azalea, let me present my daughter, Miss Marilyn Beauforth." This last was said with a flourish, and her ladyship stepped back as if presenting a rare artwork to view.

  Azalea was suitably impressed. She could scarcely conceive of a more perfect picture of fashion than the beautiful creature now facing her. Honey-coloured hair was piled artistically atop her graceful head in a style that caused Azalea an unfamiliar twinge of envy. The beautiful creature seemed a shade less than charmed, however.

  "Pleased to make your acquaintance, I'm certain, Miss Clayton," Marilyn said with a slight nod. The formality of her words clashed oddly with her voice—a high, childish lisp that was still a good octave lower than her mother's.

  "The honour is mine, Miss Beauforth," replied Azalea, following her cousin's lead. As Marilyn seemed disinclined to pursue the conversation further, Azalea turned back to Lady Beauforth.

  "Ma'am, I could not help admiring your gardens from my window earlier. As I am down so early, would it be permissible for me to take a stroll through them before dinner?"

  Though expressing surprise that Azalea should wish to walk out in the chill air after dark, Lady Beauforth saw no reason to disallow it, providing she was accompanied by Junie and wore a cloak.

  Thanking her cousin with a warmth that drew surprised looks from both ladies, Azalea excused herself.

  "Well!" Marilyn exclaimed pettishly as soon as the door had closed behind Azalea. "'Cousin Alice,' is it? And am I to be 'Cousin Marilyn'?" She shuddered delicately. "And her accent! Why, simply to be seen with her—was she really dressed for dinner, do you think? —may well lower me in Society."

  Her mama tut-tutted and reassured her, but Marilyn seemed unwilling to clasp her new-found cousin to her bosom as Lady Beauforth had hoped she might.

  Meanwhile, oblivious of the conversation within doors, Azalea was enjoying her tour of the gardens immensely. Led by her nose, she had discovered two late-blooming roses of a variety she had never encountered in Virginia.

  Azalea appealed to Junie for information about this rare strain. Junie was forced to plead ignorance but, clearly not wanting to disappoint, volunteered to introduce Azalea to the gardener on the morrow.

  "He knows every flower and bush in the place, miss, and would dearly love to talk to someone what knows so much as yourself, I know."

  "That would be lovely. Thank you, Junie," said Azalea. "But now, I suppose I had best hurry inside to comb my hair before dinner."

  "Might I dress it for you, miss? I've been taught how, and even did Miss Marilyn's once, when her abigail was sick," Junie offered eagerly.

  "Could you? That's one thing I'm certain Millie cannot do yet. Perhaps you can be my personal hairdresser, as well as Millie's tutor."

  When Azalea descended to the dining-room half an hour later, her confidence was bolstered by the knowledge that her hairstyle, at least, rivaled that of her cousin Marilyn. True to her word, Junie knew her business and had arranged Azalea's hair beautifully, with curling tendrils escaping from a high crown to frame her face.

  Junie had assured her that with a little more time and a little less hair she could have done even better. After seeing Junie's ability, Azalea had promised to have her hair cut in the morning, even before visiting a dressmaker. She realized that she would need her cousins' advice on these matters, and determined to bring up the subject at dinner.

  Proceeding to the place at table indicated by Smythe, Azalea was gratified by the slight widening of Miss Beauforth's eyes, taking it as a compliment to Junie's skill. Lady Beauforth was more outspoken, cheerfully greeting Azalea from her place at the head of the table.

  "Why, what a difference that hairstyle makes, my dear! I declare, you look like a new person. Don't you agree, darling?" she asked hopefully, turning toward her daughter.

  Marilyn responded with an insincere smile. "Indeed, it makes you look almost English. A definite improvement."

  Azalea had to bite her tongue to suppress the angry retort that rose to her lips. If it were not so absurd, she might almost think Marilyn was jealous of her. However, it would not do to antagonize her relatives on her first evening in their home.

  "Thank you," she forced herself to say. "I thought perhaps tomorrow I might have it cut as well. Junie tells me it is far too long and thick to be fashionable."

  "Junie?" Marilyn looked blank.

  "The upstairs maid. It was she who styled my hair." Marilyn's glance slid negligently away to focus on her mother, who had already launched into a stream of advice to Azalea concerning the only hairdressers and modistes worth visiting.

  "I vow, you'll be quite a credit to us when you are properly attired," she declared. "We'll have you betrothed by the end of the Season, I doubt not. It is most fortunate that you have come to us now, when we shall have all winter to bring you smack up to the nines."

  "Mama, I was just thinking about my wedding clothes," Marilyn interrupted with a sidelong glance at Azalea. "I saw a new watered silk yesterday that would do admirably for my travelling dress."

  "Are you to be wed soon, Cousin?" asked Azalea politely, to cover her dismay at Lady Beauforth's words. It had not occurred to her that she might be expected to marry. She didn't want another husband, at least not yet. Not after Chris... She hurriedly thrust that memory aside.

  "Oh, yes, Marilyn has made such a conquest!" gushed Lady Beauforth before her daughter could answer. "And Lord Gl
aedon, old friend and neighbour that he is, has been quite flatteringly insistent on an early wedding date. It will scarce give us time to ready a suitable trousseau."

  "No, Glaedon would not be put off till June, but must needs marry me in February," Marilyn tittered. "I must say he has been most attentive of late, as well." Demurely casting her eyes down, Marilyn glanced sideways through her lashes at her cousin, as though to ascertain that she was paying proper attention.

  Azalea scarcely noticed. "Lord Glaedon, did you say, ma'am?" she asked in a tight, strained voice. Suddenly, it seemed difficult to breathe. "I—I did not know that you were acquainted with him."

  She hardly knew what she was saying, the shock of hearing the name was so great. Of course she had known that if she stayed permanently in England, she would likely encounter Christian's older brother eventually, but she had pushed that thought far to the back of her mind. Suddenly learning that he was a frequent visitor to this very house took her completely off guard.

  Struggling to regain her composure, she noticed that her cousins were regarding her rather strangely. ''What did you say, ma'am?" Belatedly, she realized that Lady Beauforth had asked her a question.

  "I asked how you come to know of Lord Glaedon, my dear. Are you all right? Your colour is quite gone. You are not about to swoon, are you?"

  "Oh, no ma'am, I—I'm fine," Azalea answered in a tolerably steady voice. "I was merely startled."

  She took a few deep breaths to calm herself before explaining. "The previous Earl, Lord Glaedon's father, was a close friend of my grandfather's, you see. He spoke of Lord Glaedon frequently, and was devastated by the news of his death. It—it is my belief that the shock played a large part in the illness to which he eventually succumbed."

  "Oh! Oh, I see," said her ladyship with a nod, her curiosity apparently satisfied. "No wonder mention of the name distressed you. But I do hope you won't mind meeting the present Earl of Glaedon. As he is Marilyn's fiancé, we encounter him frequently in Society, as well as here at home."