Azalea

by Brenda Hiatt

  "Don't grow up too quickly, Azalea," said Christian quickly, surprising himself by his seriousness. "I may deprive you of other suitors, but I refuse to deprive you of your childhood. Enjoy it while you can. Promise me?"

  "All— all right. I promise," Azalea answered, plainly startled by his earnestness.

  "Thank you." The innocence in her wide green eyes moved him in a way he found hard to understand. "In return, I promise to make you as happy as I possibly can." He spoke it as a vow.

  * * *

  The wedding took place three days later at Bruton Parish Church. Due to Azalea's youth, only the rector and his wife were present in addition to the four people principally concerned.

  The usual announcement had not been placed in the local newspaper. Reverend Simpson had thought it best that Azalea's marriage not be publicized in Williamsburg. It might make her social life uncomfortable, he said, to be perceived as being "different" from her peers.

  The rector's wife began to play the organ, signalling the start of the ceremony, and Azalea entered the sanctuary dressed, not in a real bridal gown, but in her best white poplin.

  Glancing around nervously, she took in every detail of the familiar church, which she had attended weekly all her life. Everything now seemed new and different. For one thing, the rector was not perched in his customary place in the carved wooden pulpit, where he could look down on the congregation in their private pews. Instead, he stood at the front altar, as he normally did only for communion.

  As the church was nearly empty, the usual rustlings and whisperings of the assembled congregation were strangely absent. The aisle appeared abnormally long as she slowly walked between the high wooden walls of the vacant pews. She hadn't thought she would be nervous, but now...

  Christian watched her progress from his position next to the altar and couldn't help thinking how young and defenceless Azalea looked. An unexpected surge of protectiveness welled up in him. He suddenly regretted that he would have to leave her here, in the wilds of this new, untamed country. Of course, she would have her grandfather to watch over her, but still...

  When Azalea finally reached the altar, the participants took their places and the rector began his homily. Neither bride nor groom heard much of his explanation of the purpose and responsibilities of marriage. It hardly seemed to apply in their case.

  Abruptly, they were repeating the vows, and Azalea heard herself saying, "...until death us do part."

  The very permanency of the oath made her tremble. How well did she know Chris, really? Glancing up, she met his eyes and he winked reassuringly. She sighed. Everything would be all right.

  At the conclusion of the ceremony Christian hesitated, then kissed his new bride on the forehead. Azalea was slightly disappointed, but chided herself for the feeling. She knew it had been agreed that this would not be a true marriage for some years. Recalling what Clara Banks had told her about her sister's wedding night, she knew she should be relieved.

  Then her new father-in-law was hugging her, the rector's wife offering congratulations and there was no more time for relief or regret. She was Mrs. Christian Morely.

  * * *

  Walking home from Jonathan's farewell party, Azalea noticed the unmistakeable signs of autumn in the rosy blush of the dogwood leaves and the prominence of their berries. A few chrysanthemums bloomed in the tangle of weeds by the walls of the old magazine.

  She did not pause long to admire such botanical delights this afternoon, for there was already a noticeable nip in the air, and dusk would be coming early. Azalea was going to miss Jonathan. True, they had not been as close this past year, but that was no doubt due mainly to the fact that they had less free time to spend together.

  In the six months since her marriage, Azalea felt that she had hardly kept her promise to Christian not to grow up too fast. Everyone was pushing her to learn so many things. She had little time now for horses and gardens —or for romping with Jonathan.

  And now her friend was leaving for England, to attend Oxford at his maternal grandfather, Lord Holte's, insistence. Perhaps she'd see him when she went to London in another few years. Wouldn't he be surprised!

  For Azalea had reluctantly agreed to keep her marriage secret. Not even Swannee had been told. Although she knew that her friends would treat her differently if they knew, she would dearly have loved to tweak Missy Farmer's so superior nose with the news.

  But the worst thing was not being able to confide in Jonathan. But she knew he would never have been able to keep such a plum to himself, no matter how many promises she extracted from him. Perhaps it was just as well she had seen so little of him since the wedding.

  She had managed to convince herself that having such a delicious secret more than made up for missing the satisfaction of seeing everybody's reaction to her news. It had helped to keep life interesting in the absence of the rather unconventional pastimes she had previously enjoyed. To think, it had been three months and more since she had so much as climbed a tree!

  Azalea sighed to herself as she pushed open the self-closing gate, weighted by an old cannon-ball on a chain, to enter the back gardens. If only the time would pass more quickly. The years stretching ahead of her before she could join Chris in England seemed like an eternity.

  He and Lord Glaedon had returned after their trip to Richmond, but had been able to stay for a mere three days before meeting their ship. Wistfully, Azalea wished again that she and Chris could have had more time together.

  Perhaps Grandfather could be persuaded that sixteen would be old enough for her to join her husband, she thought, returning to her favourite subject. After all, only two months ago Gwenny Pugh, the postmistress's youngest daughter, had married at sixteen.

  With this argument in mind, Azalea skipped up the front porch steps and entered the house. She let the door slam behind her, and at once Millie, the young serving maid who doubled as Cook's assistant, scurried from the parlour, where she had apparently been waiting for her young mistress.

  "Oh, miss, thank the good Lord you've come home at last!" she exclaimed in obvious agitation. "The Reverend, he's been asking after you this past hour and more. Fair upset he seems to be! You'd best go to him at once."

  "Upset? Do you mean he is angry with me?" Azalea asked in some confusion, unable to think of any scrapes she might have gotten into recently.

  "Oh, no, miss!" replied Millie. "I only meant that he seems disturbed. He got some letter or message or some such, and he's been—"

  Without waiting to hear the end of the girl's sentence, Azalea turned and ran to the library, a deep foreboding clutching at her heart.

  Opening the door a crack, she cautiously peered inside to see her grandfather sitting before the dying fire, a crumpled paper in his lap. He seemed not to have heard her, but continued to stare unseeing into the flames. Azalea's apprehension increased.

  "Grandfather?" she whispered.

  The old man slowly turned towards her, and she was shocked at the change in his face. It was as though he had aged ten years in a few hours.

  "What is it? What's wrong?" She could feel the blood draining from her face.

  "You had better sit down, my dear. I'm afraid I have some very bad news," he said heavily.

  He waited while Azalea shakily seated herself across from him.

  "I don't know how to prepare you for this, child," he began in a voice devoid of expression. "I have received a letter from Herschel Morely, Howard's eldest son."

  She closed her eyes, willing the words to stop, but her grandfather continued inexorably.

  "The Fortitude, which was carrying his father and brother home to England, never reached port. It was lost in a storm at sea, along with its passengers and crew. No trace has been found of the ship, nor of any survivors. I'm sorry, Azalea."

  * * *

  CHAPTER 2

  September 1815

  Azalea closed and fastened the valise containing the few clothes and essential toiletries she would need during he
r voyage. Everything else had already been packed in trunks and sent ahead. The sun was just rising, but in an hour's time a coach would arrive to carry her the forty miles to Hampton, where she would stay the night. The following day, she would board a ship for England.

  She sighed as she contemplated the tedious journey before her. The months since her grandfather's death had been spent preparing for the voyage, down to the smallest detail, yet she felt far from prepared mentally. Mechanically, she walked to the window and gazed out over the lawns.

  The past six years were almost a blur in her memory. Only a few events stood out clearly in her mind. The most vivid, still, was the day she'd learned of Christian's death at sea. Her grandfather had suffered a seizure two days after receipt of that sad news, brought on, no doubt, by the stress of coping with both his own grief and Azalea's. He never fully recovered his faculties and for his final two years had been entirely bedridden.

  Azalea had focused herself completely on his care, though her grandfather had repeatedly expressed concern that such determined devotion, while touching, was an unhealthy escape from reality.

  "The world goes on, my dear, and so must your life," he had said. "You cannot hide here with me forever. There is money enough to hire a nurse. An hour or two of your time in the evenings, playing chess or reading, would content me. I would not have you waste your youth at my bedside and then remember me with bitterness because of it when I am gone."

  "You know how much you mean to me, Grandfather," she had replied. "It is my own choice to be here. The boys have all gone away to school or are tied up with their farming, and I never did have much in common with other girls and their silly, gossiping ways. I am much happier here with you, believe me."

  Eventually, she allowed the persistent Mrs. Swann to share a bit in his nursing, but she used the extra time only to tend her neglected gardens and horses. Azalea had spoken truthfully when she'd said she had little desire for the society of others.

  This was still true. Well-meaning neighbours came and went, their sympathy a cloak for curiosity. Especially unwelcome was the frequently asked question, "What will you do now?"

  For Azalea's future was foggier than her past, even though her path had been carefully laid for her. Despite his infirmity, Reverend Simpson had prepared quite thoroughly for his granddaughter's future, she found. When it became clear that he could not linger much longer, he had summoned his lawyer, dictated letters and made certain changes to his will.

  The reading of that will was another event that stood out clearly in her mind. Reverend Simpson had left all of his land and possessions to Azalea, which in itself had not surprised her. But the conditions of that legacy did: that she sell the house and land and, with the proceeds, remove herself to England. There she was to establish herself in London and regain her father's inheritance, currently held by her uncle, Lord Kayce.

  She had assumed her grandfather's primary motive in stipulating such a course was to prevent her from retreating further from society, but then she read the letters that accompanied the will.

  The first must have been written early in his illness, as it was in her grandfather's own hand. It detailed his suspicions of Lord Kayce, citing as evidence various things Azalea's own father had told him years ago. If these suspicions were to be believed, Lord Kayce had forced his elder brother to flee England in order to secure for himself the vast Kayce lands and wealth. Included in the letter was a stern warning to Azalea not to trust her uncle.

  The second letter was from a Lady Beauforth, first cousin to Azalea's mother and niece to her grandfather. It was dated quite recently, and was obviously in response to a query the Reverend had sent some months earlier.

  My dear Uncle Gregory:

  I was delighted to hear from you after so many years. I remember you with affection from my childhood, and Mother always spoke lovingly of you. Of course I would be delighted to offer my young cousin Azalea entree to London Society. She will be wonderful company for my own daughter, Marilyn, whom your Azalea cannot fail to love as dearly as I do. And how exciting to have a young American in our midst! Such a pity that your health will prevent you from accompanying her, but the whirl of London is always more enjoyable for the young, in any event.

  I will endeavour to introduce Azalea about without mentioning her American origin, unless her accent should give her away—to avoid any unpleasantness about the recent war, you understand. Of course, I myself have never much regarded politics, nor have most of my friends, so do not worry on that score. Please assure her that she will be delighted with Town life. We shall await Azalea's arrival impatiently.

  Your devoted niece, etc.

  Alice Beauforth

  A postscript to this letter, dictated by her grandfather, informed Azalea that for all of her apparent flightiness, Lady Beauforth was very highly placed in Society and would afford Azalea ample protection while she regained her own fortune— protection he could no longer give her.

  Enclosed with the letters were the proofs of Azalea's marriage to Christian, with instructions to use them, if necessary, to enlist the aid of Herschel Morely, the new Lord Glaedon, in her mission.

  Azalea had reluctantly answered Lady Beauforth's somewhat disjointed missive, informing her cousin of Reverend Simpson's death and of her own expected arrival date in England. She had no intention of concealing her nationality, of course, but refrained from mentioning this in her letter.

  She also omitted any mention of Lord Kayce, her early marriage, or her plans to gain her inheritance. If her uncle really were dangerous, no good could come of giving him advance warning of her arrival or her existence. And after reading her rambling letter, she did not trust Lady Beauforth to remain silent on any point.

  Thus it was a very brief, almost terse, note that Lady Beauforth would have received. No doubt that lady would attribute it to her young cousin's grief, or the influence of having been brought up in the wilds. Azalea could not bring herself to care overmuch which.

  She absently fingered the large packet containing a copy of the will, the letters and the marriage lines. On impulse, she opened it again, to glance through the contents. There was the marriage certificate, with signatures of the rector, Dr. Wills, as having performed the ceremony and of Mrs. Wills as witness, as well as a document of consent signed by her grandfather.

  Her throat tightened when she saw Christian's signature above her own childish one. Even after so many years, that loss still hurt.

  She returned the certificate to the packet and tucked it into a compartment of her valise. Fastening it, she took a final glance around to assure herself that nothing had been forgotten, then turned and closed the door on the echoing chamber that had been her bedroom for most of her nineteen years.

  The sound brought Millie, the mulatto servant, out of her own room at the end of the upstairs hallway. "Why, miss! I didn't know you was awake! I never heard a sound in your room all morning. You should have at least called me to help you dress—I could use the practice. Miz Swann says young ladies don't never dress theirselves in Londonengland." Millie's hands fluttered about her as she spoke.

  "Yes, Millie, I'll have to get used to that myself, I suppose. But for this morning, I was certain you would have enough to do without helping me to dress. Besides, this gown fastens down the front, so it was no trouble at all for me to do myself." She glanced into her looking glass to make certain her toilette was complete.

  For the start of her journey, Azalea was clad in half mourning, her simple dress of deep plum ornamented only by black lace at throat and wrists. Her hair, tied back by a simple black ribbon, now reached nearly to her waist, its colour having deepened over the past few years to a rich auburn. At the same time, her hermitlike existence had caused her youthful tan to fade and her complexion was now of a paleness that she imagined might rival that of any London lady addicted to creams and sunshades.

  Her eyes remained the deep grey-green of the Atlantic, but six years had ripened her figure until, at n
ineteen, Azalea was endowed by nature with the full bust and tiny waist that so many women of her time used padding and corsets to achieve.

  "Breakfast is ready, girls!" called Mrs. Swann from the foot of the stairs.

  Azalea thought the housekeeper looked younger, somehow. Perhaps it was the excitement of setting out on a journey that had put the sparkle in her eye; that, or the knowledge that she was going back to her homeland and a reunion with her two sisters.

  Looking at Mrs. Swann, Azalea felt a small stirring of anticipation in her own breast. Maybe she had been cloistered away in this house for too long. Feeling suddenly more optimistic, she went down to breakfast.

  The hired coach drew up to the front of the house just as the travellers finished breakfast. In a final flurry, cloaks, hats and gloves were found, and Mrs. Swann ushered the two girls out the door and down to the waiting coach.

  American to the core, Azalea had never made much distinction of rank. She felt more as if she were travelling with an older and younger sister than with two servants. This was fortunate, as it made her departure from all she had ever known much less frightening.

  With only a brief stop for refreshment at midday, they made good time over the surprisingly well-maintained roads, one of the few benefits of the recent war. They arrived at Hampton just after four o'clock.

  Azalea was struck immediately by the unusual appearance of the town, which brought home to her the suffering caused by that second conflict with England, during which Hampton had been burned to the ground. In the intervening year much reconstruction had taken place, but stark, blackened ruins still dominated the scene.

  Passing a large cathedral, she saw that some of the original structure remained, its red brick bell tower discolored by smoke, while two wooden wings were obviously newly built. The same combination of charred stone and recent woodwork, still under construction, could be seen throughout the busy town.