Azalea

by Brenda Hiatt

  "Well, this has been delightful," said the Earl before she could think of anything else that might remind him of his time in Virginia, "but I really must be going. I have several matters to attend to before leaving London. I shouldn't have spared even this much time, but I did promise to call."

  A polite smile at Marilyn accompanied this statement, and she simpered back at him.

  "Very well, if you must," said Lady Beauforth with a slight pout, "but we shall hope to see you at Lady Burnham's card party, if not before. Oh, and Christian, give my regards to your grandmother. It has been an age since we've seen her in Town."

  "Of course, my lady. Miss Beauforth, Miss Clayton." Bowing to all of them collectively, he departed.

  * * *

  "Welcome home, my boy!" The Dowager Countess of Glaedon greeted Christian at the door of Glaedon Oaks the next day, unwilling as usual to await him in the parlour. "I have missed you. Do you stay through the Christmas season?"

  "I fear not, though I shall return for it," Christian replied. "I have another week's worth of business awaiting me in Town before then."

  "To do with your recent betrothal, no doubt." The dowager, undisputed matriarch of the family, put her head on one side as she gazed lovingly up at her grandson. "What is this I hear about a February wedding? Dare I hope that means you are truly smitten with the girl?"

  "Come, Grandmother, let us go in by the fire. I am chilled from my long ride."

  Though she docilely allowed herself to be led back into the parlour, the dowager did not relinquish her topic so easily. After ringing for a bowl of hot punch, she returned to the attack. "Well? And how goes your courtship of Miss Beauforth?"

  Christian blinked. "Courtship? It is done, I imagine, as we are betrothed; Now I have merely to do the pretty by her until the wedding."

  His grandmother's face fell noticeably. "So that is the reason for the early date? I had so hoped—"

  "Don't be absurd," he said, more sharply than he had intended. "I have known Marilyn Beauforth most of my life, and she is still the vain, silly thing she ever was. I only offered for her because it seemed the honourable thing to do, now that Herschel is gone."

  "Goodness, Christian, you were in no way bound by that old promise your father made to Sir Matthew Beauforth! Herschel planned to offer for the girl because he wanted to, I assure you. If you do not care for her there is no need for you to wed her. The family honour will not suffer in the least —or would not have, had you not offered."

  Christian shrugged, though in truth his grandmother had hit on the heart of the matter. He had done enough to blacken the family honour already without disregarding old promises. " 'Tis as good a way to ensure the succession as any," he said negligently, "especially as it will unite our two estates."

  The dowager frowned. "Christian, I do not like to hear you speak so. I shall be the first to admit that in many, if not most, marriages, love follows later rather than coming before. But I cannot think it proper to enter the married state without some degree of affection for one's future spouse."

  "I apologize, Grandmother. Miss Beauforth has grown into a diamond of the first water, and I would be blind not to appreciate that fact. Perhaps my admiration of her person will later develop into something stronger, as you suggest. It is not as though I harbour a tendre for another."

  He paused, suddenly recalling another young lady he had met lately.

  From the moment he had first laid eyes on Miss Clayton, something about her had profoundly disturbed him. She was lovely, certainly, even more striking than Miss Beauforth with her unusual colouring, but that was not it—or at least he didn't think so. He'd never been particularly swayed by mere beauty before.

  At any rate, Miss Clayton's beauty could hardly make up for her origins. Doubtless it was her accent combined with that beauty that had so unsettled him. That must be why he had allowed himself to be goaded into open criticism of her homeland on the second occasion they'd met.

  It hadn't been like him at all, for he had always prided himself on his coolness in uncomfortable situations. His grandmother, not to mention his few friends, would have been amazed had they witnessed his rudeness to Miss Clayton.

  Azalea. That's what Lady Beauforth had called her. Again that vague disquiet crept over him, though his lips curved in a smile of their own volition. Such a pretty name. So unusual. He was certain he'd heard it before...

  "What? What is it, Christian?" His grandmother's voice recalled him to the present.

  Christian shook his head. "Nothing, Grandmother."

  There was no point dwelling on it now. Most likely, Lady Beauforth had mentioned the girl's name when she'd told him her cousin would be coming to live with her. He didn't recall her doing so, but it seemed a reasonable explanation. If he had known someone of that name before, it would come to him in time.

  He swallowed his punch and stood to ring the bell. "I may as well ride over the grounds with the steward before changing out of my travelling clothes," he said. "There is no point wasting what little daylight remains."

  Lady Glaedon watched him go, shaking her head with a mixture of sadness and fondness. She had noticed the preoccupation in her grandson's manner, obvious to one who had raised him as her own from the time his mother had died, shortly after his eighth birthday. She hoped that all would work out well for him. The last few years had not been easy for Christian.

  They had not been easy for the dowager, either. She had lost her son and, she had then believed, her favourite grandson to a shipwreck. Then, only four years later, her other grandson, the new Earl, had been lulled in the war in America, in which Herschel had insisted on participating despite his family responsibilities.

  Herschel's death had been the final straw. Lady Glaedon had become a virtual recluse, refusing to see anyone but family. Then Christian's miraculous return had restored hope and meaning to her life.

  The two of them had always been close, probably closer than would have been possible were she truly his mother. After Christian's arrival back in England, she had reentered Society to some small extent, more for his sake than for her own.

  She had been saddened by the singular change in Christian, once so fun loving and easygoing. His experiences, which he refused to discuss with her, had somehow turned him into a taciturn, cynical man. She had become determined to do everything in her power to ensure his happiness, and thereby her own.

  To that end, she had tried her hand at some subtle matchmaking. There were certainly plenty of young ladies to choose from in London. Lord Glaedon's romantic good looks, combined with the air of mystery surrounding his sudden reappearance on the scene, caused feminine hearts to flutter wherever he went.

  He had never shown the slightest interest in any of them, however. And then, without warning, he had offered for Miss Beauforth. Lady Glaedon had hoped that he had fallen in love at long last, but plainly that was not the case.

  Sighing, she picked up her embroidery. If anyone deserved happiness, Christian did, but she feared he was far from finding it.

  * * *

  The next two weeks were relatively happy ones for Azalea. Since Lord Glaedon had gone from London, she'd been able to push her problems to the back of her mind for the present.

  She had the pleasure of seeing Millie comfortably accepted by the staff at Curzon Street as an under kitchen maid. Mrs. Swann, meanwhile, had received a letter from her sister in Yorkshire, inviting her for an extended visit and Azalea convinced her to accept. It had become obvious that Mrs. Swann was unhappy under the supercilious eye of Mrs. Straite and that it was only a matter of time before a confrontation occurred between the two women.

  An even greater concern, however was Azalea's fear that Swannee might complicate the situation with Lord Glaedon. Though the housekeeper had never been told of the marriage, Azalea had often suspected that her old friend knew the truth. There was no knowing what she might do or say if she learned that Christian was still alive. It would be best if Mrs. Swann were out of
London until Azalea had a chance to settle the matter for herself.

  Though it was long past the autumn Little Season, Azalea made a few acquaintances among the fashionable callers at Lady Beauforth's home. Her wardrobe had grown to an adequate size for a winter in London, although she realized much more would be needed for the spring Season. A dozen bargain gowns had been purchased for refurbishing, and two new outfits were being made up: a riding habit of rich green-and-gold velvet and a ball gown in a pale green satin that Azalea had found irresistible.

  Her relationship with her cousins was improving as well. Lady Beauforth had warmed towards her until she no longer felt herself a charity case in the household. And though Marilyn still persisted in holding her at a distance, she, too, showed some signs of thawing.

  The two young ladies were in each other's company most mornings. While shopping, receiving and returning calls, Azalea had ample opportunity to observe Miss Beauforth's character. She came to the conclusion that while Marilyn was spoiled, certainly, and had done little to improve her mind, she was not actually malicious or stupid. Azalea hoped that in time they might truly become friends.

  One blustery afternoon in early December, she sat in the library writing a letter to a young lady in Williamsburg who had extracted a promise from her to correspond upon her arrival in England. A two-month separation, combined with the stiff formality of the English ladies she had met, caused Azalea to remember Miss Severson with more fondness than she'd ever felt towards her in Virginia. As she was closing her surprisingly affectionate missive, Lady Beauforth bustled into the room, in obvious high spirits.

  "Ah, there you are, my dear! I have the most splendid news! I have just received an invitation to a Christmas ball at Lady Queesley's on Thursday. She is leaving for the country and wishes to give a farewell entertainment. No doubt she feels the need to fortify herself for the dull weeks ahead. I must say I find London, even thin of company, far preferable to rusticating over the holidays. But that is neither here nor there. I vow, I had quite given up being able to present you to Society before spring, but this will be a marvellous opportunity! This will be your debut, in a manner of speaking, so we must choose your ensemble with care."

  This speech left Azalea nearly as breathless as it did Lady Beauforth, but she recovered quickly. She was pleased at the news, partly because of the qualms she had felt over the expensive ball gown she had purchased with the Season still some months away. And, of course, what female could suppress a flutter of pleasure at the prospect of her first ball?

  She turned to Lady Beauforth with a smile, her letter forgotten. "Oh, Cousin Alice, how delightful! Are you certain I am invited? I do not recollect ever having met Lady Queesley."

  "Yes, she enclosed cards for each of us. Indeed, it would be strange if you were not invited, as it is generally known that you are staying with us. And Lady Queesley never does anything shabbily, I assure you," said Lady Beauforth in a tone that quite settled the matter.

  "In that case, dear cousin, I can look forward to the ball with all my heart," said Azalea cheerfully. "Will my new green satin be appropriate, do you think?"

  "The very thing, my dear! We'll have to see about finding you some matching flowers for your hair. But I must get back upstairs to Marilyn —I promised her I would only be a moment. Oh, I do hope dear Glaedon returns in time for this ball…." So saying, Lady Beauforth departed as quickly as she had come, her words trailing behind her.

  Azalea's pleasure dimmed abruptly at this reminder of the very real problems she still faced. If Lord Glaedon were at the ball, she would have to make some attempt to solve them, though as yet she hadn't a clue how she was to do so. Frowning, she turned back to her letter.

  * * *

  As she dressed for the ball a few nights later, Azalea's thoughts kept straying to Lord Glaedon and the dilemma he represented. He was back in Town, she knew, for Lady Beauforth had announced that tidbit at nuncheon. How her cousin could have discovered the fact so quickly Azalea did not know. Lady Beauforth apparently had her sources.

  Still, she refused to let that problem, or the one concerning Lord Kayce, whom she had all but forgotten, completely destroy her enjoyment of the evening ahead. This was to be her first ball, after all. Surely everything would work itself out in time.

  Junie put the finishing touches to her hair and invited Azalea to view the result in the long glass on the wardrobe door. "You'll be the belle of the ball, Miss Azalea, that's certain," she announced proudly.

  Looking into the mirror, Azalea could almost agree with her. Surely, the exquisitely gowned and coiffed young lady gazing back at her bore no resemblance to the rough provincial she had been a few weeks earlier.

  Pale green satin gleamed richly through the overskirt of matching net. The waist was high, just under her full breasts, with a low neckline —so low, in fact, that she had protested to Madame Clarisse, the modiste, only to be assured that she would see many more revealing gowns, and that this one was in the best possible taste for a young girl making her comeout.

  Her white throat was adorned by a single strand of small but perfectly matched pearls that had been her mother's, and white flowers wreathed her hair. The colour of the gown intensified the green of her eyes and the deep red of her hair, just as its lines emphasized the best points of her figure. She felt that the overall effect was pleasing and that her appearance, at least, would hardly cause her cousins embarrassment.

  She was able to judge their reactions a few moments later when she nervously descended the long staircase. Lady Beauforth's face lit up immediately upon perceiving Azalea above. Her pleased smile quickly allayed any doubts about her approval.

  Marilyn's feelings were more difficult to fathom, but Azalea thought she could construe her slight frown and the widening of her blue eyes as an oblique sort of compliment. Marilyn herself was an absolute vision of loveliness in ethereal white.

  Azalea had to wonder again how her cousin could be jealous of her—and, more importantly, how she could possibly win Lord Glaedon away from such a beauty. She suppressed a small sigh as they slipped into their wraps and out the door to the waiting carriage.

  "What a pleasant evening," she remarked to her cousins, in an attempt to ignore the trembling in her midsection that seemed to increase as they neared Lady Queesley's mansion. "In Virginia, the December winds are quite bitter, compared to this."

  "But I had understood the colonies —er, the United States —to be quite warm. I'm certain Mr. Symes, who was in Charleston several years ago, said that the summers there were unbearably hot, and plagued by insects," said Marilyn, sitting up a little straighter and looking directly at her cousin for the first time since leaving Curzon Street.

  Azalea had once or twice before noticed her cousin's interest in her chance comments about America. "Yes, that's true as well," she agreed. "I haven't spent a summer here, of course, but I understand that your climate is not subject to the extremes we experience in the New World. Perhaps the surrounding ocean acts as a buffer to the elements here." She was about to expand on this theory, which Reverend Marston, one of her numerous tutors, had once put forth, but she sensed she was losing the attention of her audience.

  "In any event," she went on, "in Virginia we have both extremes. Summer and winter both can be rather unpleasant at times, but spring and autumn are generally delightful, with colours as vivid as the temperatures are pleasant. And we only rarely see fog there."

  She continued discussing Virginia's seasons, with more and more frequent questions from Marilyn and an occasional comment from Lady Beauforth. In this manner, the time passed pleasantly for Azalea as the coach inched forward in the long queue before Lady Queesley's doorstep. Finally it was their turn to alight and Azalea's anxiety returned suddenly and in full force.

  As if reading her mind, Lady Beauforth gently patted her shoulder and said, "Chin up, my dear. One's first ball is exciting, but can be a bit terrifying also. Just pretend you've done it all before, and don't forget to br
eathe!"

  Lady Queesley greeted Lady Beauforth warmly, exchanging the latest news of some mutual acquaintances, before turning to the two younger ladies.

  "Why, Marilyn, I declare you become more beautiful by the day," the Countess exclaimed, in a fair imitation of Lady Beauforth's style. Azalea had noticed that this affected, gushing manner was the rule rather the exception among the older ladies of the ton.

  "Your mother must be very proud. It's no wonder you managed to snare the pick of the Season." This last was directed at Lady Beauforth with a knowing smile and the ghost of a wink. "But pray present me to your little American relative! Your niece, did you say?" Lady Queesley's overpowering smile was now turned on Azalea.

  "My second cousin, actually, Lydia," returned Lady Beauforth, smiling every bit as broadly as her hostess. "This is Miss Azalea Clayton, lately from Williamsburg, Virginia. Azalea, Lady Queesley."

  Azalea dropped a curtsy of the proper depth and murmured that she was honoured to meet her ladyship.

  Plainly pleased by the girl's respectful manner, a contrast to Marilyn's bored observance of the proprieties, Lady Queesley offered her opinion that a delightful surprise was in store for the young men lucky enough to be present tonight. She concluded by promising to present her son, Lord Mallows, to the newcomer as soon as she could resign her post by the door.

  As the trio progressed into the ballroom, Lady Beauforth whispered, "That is quite a triumph already, my dear! Everyone knows dear Lydia is absurdly protective of her son. She would hardly have made such a promise if she were not vastly taken with you."

  Azalea could not help but be gratified by such a compliment, but before she could reply, her attention was claimed by the scene before her. The enormous ballroom glittered with gold and white in the light of what seemed to be thousands of candles in sconces and chandeliers.

  As the Beauforth party was announced, a veritable sea of faces turned toward them, and Azalea was seized by an almost overwhelming desire to turn tail and flee. She mastered the impulse quickly, by necessity —her cousins were advancing into the crowd at a steady pace, and she had no wish to be left on her own among this throng of strangers.