by Brenda Hiatt
At length, Lady Mountheath took herself and her daughters off, just in time for Lady Beauforth and Marilyn to go upstairs to change for dinner. Azalea was debating whether to follow them when Smythe announced a Mr. Greely, identifying him as Lord Kayce's man of business. Azalea put her embroidery aside most willingly to receive him.
Mr. Greely was only a slight improvement over embroidery, unfortunately; Azalea disliked him on sight, and his obsequious manner set her teeth on edge. He was dressed quietly and expensively, as one might expect of Lord Kayce's personal aide, but his hair and nails were considerably less than clean and he seemed unable to meet her gaze directly.
"My dear Miss Clayton," he said silkily, "it is such an honour to make your acquaintance. Lord Kayce's only living relative —you can have no idea how overjoyed he was to learn of your existence."
Was it her imagination or did she detect a note of irony in the man's voice? Entirely likely, given the circumstances, Azalea thought. And this man must know her uncle's mind as well as any person could.
"Thank you, Mr. Greely," was all she said, but her attention sharpened to catch any accidental information the solicitor might let drop by word or tone.
"Your uncle means to call on you again in the very near future, but in the meantime he has sent me to take care of some pressing legal matters and to advance you a few hundred pounds on your inheritance." Mr. Greely beamed, obviously expecting the girl to be overwhelmed by Lord Kayce's generosity.
While surprised and pleased that she was to receive such a sum so promptly, Azalea knew that it represented but a tiny fraction of what was rightfully hers. Still, it implied that Lord Kayce did not intend to dispute her claims after all.
"Has Mr. Timmons spoken with my uncle then?" she asked.
Mr. Greely blinked, but answered quickly. "I have seen Mr. Timmons myself, actually. After our discussions, he and your uncle agree that it will be best for all concerned if Lord Kayce is named your guardian without delay. That way your uncle will be in a position to smooth your entry into London Society." He smiled his oily smile again.
Azalea suspected that Mr. Greely, and most likely her uncle as well, thought her an empty-headed miss who would believe whatever they chose to tell her. She saw no reason at present to disabuse them of that notion. In fact, she might be able to use it to her advantage.
"Must I go to live with my uncle then?" she asked with wide-eyed innocence.
"Oh, I doubt it, Miss Clayton. Your uncle said nothing of your removal to his house." Mr. Greely looked almost alarmed at the suggestion.
After a few more pleasantries, Mr. Greely produced several documents requiring her signature, which Azalea glanced over with assumed bewilderment.
Lord Kayce had apparently arranged for her to receive a generous allowance, she saw, for which she could only be grateful. The document making him her guardian, however, was cleverly worded to sound as though she were merely allowing her uncle to oversee her affairs, while in reality she would be giving him complete authority over her person and property. This contract might possibly be binding even should Lord Kayce's guardianship cease— which she now began to hope it might do very soon.
To sign it was obviously out of the question, but she had no wish to arouse Mr. Greely's suspicions. She put on her sweetest smile.
"I'd love to oblige you, Mr. Greely, but I did promise my grandfather that I would let Mr. Timmons look over any papers before I signed them. As it was practically his dying wish, I would feel just terrible if I disregarded it. Surely you understand?" Azalea allowed a quaver to enter her voice as she spoke of her grandfather, then held her breath, afraid that she might have overplayed her role of sorrowing innocent.
She need not have feared. After a slight hesitation, Mr. Greely returned her smile indulgently. "Of course I understand, Miss Clayton. It sounds as though your grandfather was a wise and prudent man. I will just take these papers to Mr. Timmons myself in the morning. He can bring them here for you to sign once he has, er, approved them."
Azalea rather doubted that Mr. Timmons would see this precise document, as no lawyer worth the name would let his client sign it, but she merely smiled and thanked Mr. Greely for his understanding.
"Before I leave, Miss Clayton, I would like to present you with a gift from your uncle. It is his way of welcoming you to England and to the family. If you would accompany me outside?"
Azalea was wary after reading those documents, nor was Mr. Greely himself a man to inspire trust, but she could think of no gracious way to refuse. Once on the steps, however, her wariness evaporated.
Held by a groom just beyond the front railings was the daintiest, most beautiful bay mare she had ever seen.
"Is she for me?" Azalea gasped, turning to Mr. Greely with her face aglow.
That mercenary gentleman blinked, as though momentarily dazzled. "Indeed she is. A small token of your uncle's affection," he said with the closest thing to a genuine smile she had yet seen from him.
"Has she a name?" asked Azalea, her gaze quickly returning to the lovely animal.
"You may name her what you wish. Lord Kayce will be pleased that you approve of her," replied Mr. Greely blandly.
"Oh, yes! Yes, I do!" Azalea's eyes never left the mare. "Please convey to him my most heartfelt thanks!"
"I'll do that, Miss Clayton. Good day." Mr. Greely descended the steps to the waiting carriage, but Azalea barely noticed his departure. Slowly she approached the waiting mare, still unable to believe that this beautiful creature was really hers. Her uncle was obviously a skilled judge of horseflesh, whatever else he might be.
"I shall name you Virginia —Ginny for short," said Azalea softly, stroking the mare's black, velvety nose. Her problems were by no means solved, but she allowed them to slip from her mind for the moment. It appeared that there were to be some advantages to her connection with Lord Kayce after all.
From what Lady Beauforth had said after her uncle's visit, Azalea suspected that this development would please her cousins.
* * *
"Gracious!" exclaimed Lady Beauforth, when Azalea made her announcement during dinner. "I wonder... I mean, how wonderful for you, my dear! And you are certain he means for you to remain with us?"
"That is what Mr. Greely implied, though of course none of the details have been worked out as of yet. I think I would prefer to remain here —if you don't mind, that is, Cousin Alice," she concluded hastily. She realized that she would be more than a little sorry to leave this household, which was beginning to feel like home.
"Mind?" cried Lady Beauforth, plainly touched by the plea in Azalea's voice. "My dear, I would be most distressed to have it any other way. Already you are almost a second daughter to me, and I am certain Marilyn quite regards you as a sister."
Surprisingly, a tight smile and nod from Miss Beauforth acknowledged the sentiment. This response, slight as it was, encouraged Azalea.
"Thank you," she said warmly to her cousins. "Thank you both. As I barely know my uncle as yet, I would very much rather stay here in familiar surroundings with those I have grown to care for." She realized as she spoke that this was only a slight exaggeration, and was gratified by the glow her words produced on Lady Beauforth's countenance.
"I'll let you know instantly, of course, when I have more information," she continued, thrusting back a sudden pang of conscience at her concealment of one particular fact that would by comparison eclipse this latest news. "Perhaps when my uncle calls in a day or two he can give us the details of the arrangement."
To divert her thoughts, Azalea mentioned the generous allowance her uncle meant to give her, a topic of great interest to both of her cousins. That subject dominated their conversation for the remainder of the meal.
* * *
Azalea was up at first light the next morning, eager to try the paces of her new mare. It would be her first ride in London —and on her very own horse!
She dressed quickly in the new green-and-gold velvet riding habit she had p
urchased in case such an opportunity arose, and descended to the kitchen before Junie had even begun her vigil at the keyhole. Cook readily acceded to her request for a sweet roll for herself and some sugar for Ginny, and Azalea proceeded to the stables with her mouth and pockets full.
She breathed deeply as she entered the stables, revelling in the almost-forgotten scent. Why had she not spent time here before this?
Tom, the head groom, noticed her at that moment and hurried forward with a broad smile. "You'll be wanting to see the new arrival, I don't doubt, Miss Azalea."
"Indeed I will, Tom," she replied, returning his smile. "And I'd like to take her out for a turn in the Park before breakfast as well, if you would be so kind as to have her saddled."
"I thought you might, miss. She'll be ready in a trice and I'll accompany you myself."
Azalea started to protest that he need not go to that trouble, but stopped when she saw the set of his jaw. Junie was not the only one determined to see that she stayed within the bounds of propriety, it seemed. She could not be vexed, however, for she knew that they were only trying to protect her from unpleasant gossip —and perhaps from more physical harm.
While Tom cinched the beautiful sidesaddle that had been delivered with the mare, Azalea introduced herself to Ginny and fed her the lump of sugar she had brought. Her soft voice and gentle, non-threatening movements quickly overcame the little mare's initial shyness, and by the time Tom handed her into the saddle, they were becoming friends.
"A trifle skittish she is, miss, and a bit spirited for a lady's mount, I thought. You ride well, though, I take it?" asked Tom, observing her easy seat with appreciation.
"It has been a few months, and I'll no doubt be sore later, but I'll have no trouble handling her, Tom. Thank you for your concern." The groom mounted a roan gelding and they headed for the Park at a brisk trot.
As they entered the gates, Azalea looked around in delight. There had been a frost during the night, and the grass and trees were lightly glazed with white. The fairyland effect, temporary though it might be, almost made up for the lack of foliage and flowers.
Few people were about; a pair of grooms exercised their masters' horses and a few vendors were setting up their carts for the day's business. The cold air fairly sparkled in the sun, and Azalea could see her breath when she spoke to Tom. She trotted onto the bridle-path and urged her new mount to a canter more brisk than she would have dared had the Park been more crowded.
Rounding a turn past a clump of evergreens, Azalea saw a gentleman approaching on a large black stallion at a pace even quicker than her own. As he rapidly drew closer, she realized with a strange lurch of her heart that the rider was Lord Glaedon.
* * *
CHAPTER 9
"Miss Clayton!" Lord Glaedon exclaimed, with every appearance of pleasure. "I did not know you were in the habit of riding before breakfast. Might I join you? It is rare to see a lady abroad so early." He pulled up when his horse drew even with hers.
"So I have discovered, my lord;" Azalea replied, wondering if he could hear the hammering of her heart. "I have always been an early riser, and here I am frequently hard-pressed to find anything to do before the household is awake." She noticed that Tom had dropped back out of earshot, though he kept her well within view.
"You have taken to riding to relieve your boredom?" Lord Glaedon asked with a hint of his usual sardonic manner.
"As a matter of fact, this is my first ride since coming to London. I have only just acquired this mare and was anxious to try her paces."
"She's quite a little beauty," said Lord Glaedon appreciatively, casting a knowing eye over the horse. "Did you choose her yourself?"
"Actually, no," replied Azalea, reluctant to mention Lord Kayce. "But I doubt I could have done any better if I had." Reaching forward, she patted the mare on her beautifully arched neck. "She has the cleanest lines I've ever seen, and in Virginia I had the chance to see some absolutely prime animals, I can assure you."
Azalea glanced quickly at the Earl, watching again for any flicker of recognition or anger at her mention of America. Again she detected nothing. His eyes were still on the mare.
"Yes, I had heard that there were some exceptional breeding farms in the New World," he said after a moment. "Perhaps someday I'll attempt the trip again."
A fleeting expression of pain crossed his handsome face, but Azalea thought that only natural considering his loss on the last crossing. She was almost— almost— convinced that he truly had no memory of his time in Virginia.
"That stallion is a fine example of horseflesh as well," she said, in an attempt to change the subject. She had no wish to antagonize him—at least not right now.
"Yes, Sultan is my pride and joy. And I did choose him myself," said Lord Glaedon with the first twinkle she had seen in his eyes since she first met him again in London. She felt a flutter of response deep within her.
"I would never have suspected otherwise, with your knowledge of horses," she returned with a tentative smile.
She vividly remembered how enthusiastic he had been on the subject of horses six years ago. Perhaps if she could keep him on that topic, some spark of their old friendship, along with a glimmer of memory, might be rekindled.
"And how did you know of that, may I ask? Is it such common knowledge?" asked Lord Glaedon, with a surprised lift of his brows.
Azalea swallowed, but covered her momentary confusion quickly, replying lightly, "But of course, my lord. You must know that any gallant such as yourself is much discussed among the ladies."
"Perhaps," he said skeptically. "But I would not have thought my judgement of horseflesh one of the topics to interest them."
"Oh, anything to do with you is, I assure you. Shall we ride on?" she asked hurriedly, anxious for a chance to gather her scattered wits before she betrayed herself further.
"Certainly," responded the Earl, obediently turning his horse.
As they cantered along the bridle-path, Azalea felt her confusion give way once again to the exultant pleasure of riding. She had missed it so! Though neither spoke for several minutes, their spirits seemed somehow in tune. Azalea found it unexpectedly pleasant to share this favourite pastime with another enthusiast, even under such awkward circumstances.
As they drew near to the Park gates once again, Azalea finally broke their companionable silence. "I don't suppose you would care to race, my lord?" she asked hopefully. For the moment, her intention of pricking his memory had been forgotten in the exhilaration of riding.
"I would dearly love to," he replied, "but it would certainly be frowned on if we were seen, and I have no desire to be barred from riding in Hyde Park. A pity."
He was smiling down at Azalea as he spoke, and she felt her heart beating faster than the exercise could account for.
"A pity indeed," she said wistfully, slanting a glance up at him. "I remember how I used to race across the fields back home with none to see or criticize. Here, I feel I am constantly being observed —and judged." She recalled with a rush of homesickness the lovely flowered fields and woodlands of Virginia and the solitary rides she used to enjoy there.
"Observed, perhaps," agreed Lord Glaedon with an appreciative glance at her face and figure. "But I cannot imagine anyone criticizing your riding. You are quite an accomplished horsewoman. In fact..." He glanced about them. "Is that groom of yours to be trusted?"
"What do you mean, my lord?" asked Azalea curiously.
"This area of the Park appears to be deserted, except for ourselves. Perhaps we might manage a very brief gallop, if you are game."
He sent her a mischievous look, reminding her forcefully of the Chris she had known in Williamsburg. Her heart seemed to stop for a moment.
She grinned back at him. "Of course I am game." With that, she flicked the reins and sent Ginny off at a thundering pace.
After a startled instant, Lord Glaedon followed, catching up fairly easily. "I did not mean this to be a race, you know," he calle
d out.
But Azalea scarcely heard him. When her mare lurched into a gallop, she had felt something slightly amiss, and now the feeling intensified. Her saddle was slipping!
Alarmed, she pulled back on the reins, realizing only then that Ginny had managed to take the bit between her teeth. Ears back, the mare was fully into the spirit of the race, apparently unaware of her mistress's difficulty.
Locked into the sidesaddle as she was, Azalea realized that she could be badly hurt if the cinch gave way completely. Transferring the reins to one hand, she desperately tried to extricate her knee from around the horn so that she could leap off if necessary. Before she could manage it, however, the saddle made a sickening slip sideways.
"I've got you!" Lord Glaedon, leaning over as he drove his own horse up against hers, grabbed her around the waist.
Ginny responded by shying violently, then half rearing. Lord Glaedon was on the ground by now, however, and pulled Azalea away from her.
"Th-thank you!" she stammered. "I have no idea what got into her!"
The mare was becoming calmer now, though she still skittered away from Sultan when he tossed his head in her direction.
"You said you obtained her only yesterday," Lord Glaedon reminded her. "I suspect she is not as thoroughly broken to riding as you were led to believe." His arms remained around her as he spoke, giving Azalea a warm sense of security that she ached to prolong. But already the groom was upon them, and at his first words, Lord Glaedon released her.
"Good God, Miss! What happened? I told you that mare was too spirited for a lady."
Azalea tried to subdue the trembling that started the moment she was out of Lord Glaedon's grasp. "Nonsense, Tom," she said briskly, to hide the emotions assaulting her. "She merely needs a bit of work. I'd have been fine had the saddle not slipped."
"Slipped? Why, I cinched it myself!" Effortlessly, the groom captured the mare and examined the saddle, which had slid around to her side. "Why, look here," he said after a moment. "This part ain't even leather. It's some sort of cloth, and it's stretched out. Pretty shoddy way to make a saddle, if you ask me."
