by Brenda Hiatt
"You must come to call on us in Curzon Street, Mr. Plummer," insisted Lady Beauforth, all smiles.
Azalea's estimation of Jonathan's social standing rose precipitously at this unusual mark of distinction. She knew by now that her cousins were considered "high sticklers" and were very particular about who they deigned to name their friends.
She said as much to Jonathan as they proceeded to the supper table where a few of his friends were already assembled.
"Yes, I don't often invoke Grandfather's name like that, but I wanted to be sure of seeing you often. I thought it would be more convenient if I were allowed to run tame at Beauforth House. What can you tell me of your fair cousin?" He glanced over to where the young lady in question sat at a nearby table.
He appeared vaguely disappointed when she informed him that Marilyn was betrothed to Lord Glaedon. "Ah, well, I can but dream," he said philosophically.
Just in time, Azalea stopped herself from hinting that the marriage would not take place at all if she had any say in the matter. Even after several years' separation, she found it hard to be guarded with Jonathan. Instead, she followed his glance, to find Lord Glaedon's eyes on her, his expression unreadable.
Turning away hastily, she said, "Pray do not get your hopes up, Jonathan. Even were the match broken off, I can't think Miss Beauforth would care for life in the colonies."
This drew a general chuckle from Jonathan's set, and a lively discussion of the relative rigours of fashionable life in America and England ensued.
At the other table, Christian continued to regard Miss Clayton for a moment, admiring the way her green eyes flashed and sparkled as she laughed with her young American friend. Turning back to Miss Beauforth, he was struck anew at the contrast between his betrothed and her colonial cousin.
Though Azalea was the elder by a year, a fact which Marilyn had brought to his attention three times now, she gave an impression of youthful innocence that Miss Beauforth singularly lacked. While Miss Clayton seemed completely unaware of her physical charms, his fiancée made full use of her own with a sophistication that would have done credit to a woman twice her age.
"You must try the ham, my lord," cooed Marilyn at that moment, leaning far forward to afford him a tantalizing glimpse of cleavage. "It is sliced so thin it nigh melts in your mouth." She smiled seductively as she licked the corners of her full lips.
With an effort, he smiled back. "I'm sure it is delicious."
She tittered and batted her eyes, and he realized that she took his words as a veiled compliment, when in fact they had been no more than inattention. Mentally, he shrugged. What did it matter, as long as she was content?
Though he strove to attend to the conversation between Miss Beauforth and her mother, Christian was keenly aware of the laughter from Miss Clayton's table. Much as it irked him to admit it, he rather wished he were there instead.
* * *
Azalea reflected on the events of the evening with a measure of satisfaction during the carriage ride back to Curzon Street.
After supper, she had been engaged for every dance, and not just with members of Jonathan's youthful set.
Several titled gentlemen, including Lord Chilton, a dandified marquess, had also vied for her attention.
She had not seen Lord Glaedon again after supper; from something Marilyn said to her mother, she gathered that he had taken his leave early, a circumstance that had disappointed both her cousins. For herself, she felt it was just as well, as she wanted to prepare a few unanswerable arguments before speaking to him again.
Her plan had not gone especially well, she had to admit. She had intended to fascinate Lord Glaedon, to get him talking about himself, to discover what lay behind his refusal to acknowledge her. Instead, she had fallen to arguing politics with the man.
Far from charming him away from Marilyn, it appeared she had only deepened his dislike of her. Nor was she any closer to solving the mystery of his escape from the shipwreck. Even more alarming, she found that she was more strongly attracted to him than ever.
But even had she found him repugnant, she could not allow him to go through with his intended marriage to Marilyn. Perhaps something had happened to make him forget their wedding. Something to do with the shipwreck, perhaps?
Whatever the case, she would not be party to the crime of bigamy by standing by silently. She owed it to Lady Beauforth, not to mention Marilyn and Christian, to prevent such a thing. And somehow she would, even if it meant alienating Lord Glaedon forever by pressing her claim. But first she would try other, more subtle means.
No, she could not regret attending the ball. Everything had been new to her, and Jonathan and his friends had been more than pleasant. She had discovered that she could dance without embarrassing herself, and had made dozens of acquaintances. In fact, she had enjoyed every moment —even her argument with Lord Glaedon. Especially her argument with Lord Glaedon.
All in all, she thought, as the carriage rolled to a stop before the Beauforth Town house, it had been a satisfactory first ball.
So why didn't she feel more satisfied?
* * *
CHAPTER 7
When she awoke the next morning from a deep, dreamless sleep, Azalea was amazed at the lateness of the hour. Why, it must be near eleven o'clock! She could not remember ever having slept so late in her life. Junie had apparently been at the keyhole, for she entered mere seconds after Azalea stirred.
"Well, miss, I trust you slept well after your grand night?" she asked with a smile, setting a tray of toast and chocolate on the bedside stand.
"Like a stone, Junie, thank you," Azalea answered. "I must have been more tired than I realized."
"'Twas the excitement, Miss Azalea, as much as the dancing, I'll warrant. A first ball will do that to a body, so I hear. Now, have a bite to eat, and I'll be back in a few minutes to help you dress. You're certain to have some morning callers within the half hour, or I miss my guess. Didn't I say you'd be a sure success?" she asked smugly as she left the room, leaving Azalea to marvel at the speed of the below-stairs gossip network.
Descending to the front parlour some twenty minutes later in a flattering new gown of fine peach wool, Azalea saw that Junie had been correct, as usual. Her hostesses were already entertaining no fewer than five callers, four of whom were among Azalea's admirers from the previous evening.
The fifth was a middle-aged gentleman unknown to her. Several bouquets of hothouse flowers reposed in vases about the room, she noted with pleasure. She could hardly wait to examine them, as she was certain at least one of the varieties represented was unfamiliar to her. Right now, though, she must greet the guests.
Every gentleman present rose at her entrance, and Lady Beauforth turned to beam at her. Marilyn, who had been enjoying the undivided attention of the visitors in her cousin's absence, offered a smile that was a tinge less welcoming.
Azalea nodded to each of the gentlemen in turn, with a light comment to each about last night's ball. Mr. Gresham, she noticed, seemed content to resume his flirtation with Marilyn after greeting her, but the others, including Lord Chilton, were flatteringly attentive, clustering about her as she took her seat. Before conversation could resume, however, Lady Beauforth drew her attention to the older gentleman at her side.
"My dear Azalea," she exclaimed, "let me present your uncle, Lord Kayce. I collect that you did not make his acquaintance last night, though he was in attendance, were you not, sir?"
"I was indeed, my lady," Lord Kayce returned in an affectedly nasal tone as he bowed in Azalea's direction. "There was such a flock about my young niece, however, that I forbore to intrude the presence of a stodgy old man like myself on her obvious enjoyment." A pleasant smile accompanied this remark, and Azalea felt her shock at his identity giving way to surprise at his manner.
Lord Kayce was thin, slightly over middle height, and possessed an expressive, if not a handsome, countenance. He was dressed in the absolute height of elegance, with a froth of rich
, cream-coloured lace at his throat and wrists setting off the deep green of his embroidered waistcoat and matching jacket. His hair, which he wore tied back with a green ribbon in an old-fashioned style, had apparently been the same deep auburn as his niece's in his youth, though now it was heavily threaded with grey. Azalea couldn't help thinking that this was what her father might have looked like had he still been alive. The thought warred with her misgivings.
"I wish you had approached me, my lord. Surely you don't think me such a pleasure seeker that I would regret time spent with my nearest kinsman!" she said, the warmth in her tone not entirely feigned.
"You reassure me, my dear," he replied. "But please, no more 'my lording.' As you remind me, we are the only members left of the Clayton family, so it must be Uncle Simon." He was all affability, apparently eager to welcome her both to England and into his life. He certainly did not resemble the calculating, ruthless mercenary her grandfather had led her to expect.
"Of course. And you must call me Azalea." She wished she had the courage to ask him outright what he meant to do about her share of her father's estate. Could Grandfather have been mistaken about him?
As they chatted of America and of Azalea's impressions of London for a few minutes, Azalea found herself unwillingly drawn to her new-found kinsman, although his effeminate way of speaking and gesturing with his hands reminded her of Lord Chilton. Her uncle was not a member of the dandy set, however —one had only to look at his clothing, which was far more subdued than Lord Chilton's, to ascertain that.
Though distracting, the affectedness of his manner along with his self-deprecating air only served to make him appear that much more harmless. The unworthy thought occurred to Azalea that this might be the reason for its cultivation.
"I really must be going, but I do trust we shall see each other often, my dear child," said Kayce, rising smoothly after a glance at his pocket watch. "Perhaps, once the Season is under way in the spring, we can collaborate on a comeout ball for our young relative," he suggested lightly to Lady Beauforth as he took his leave.
"Of course, if you would care to, my lord," she answered, simpering as fulsomely as Marilyn did with the younger gentlemen.
"We'll discuss it at some future date," he assured her. "Oh, and I pray you will allow me to send round a token of my affection, my dear," he said to Azalea. With another warm smile for his niece, he bowed smoothly and departed.
Before he was out of the room, Azalea's gallants returned to their various assaults on her heart, and she was soon laughing at their outrageous flattery. Her enjoyment of the moment was only marred by the absence of one particular gentleman, but she refused to dwell on it just then.
"Well, my dear, I would say that your social position is assured now that Lord Kayce has decided to recognize you," Lady Beauforth said as the last of their callers departed. "He is incredibly wealthy, as well as influential among the ton. With his patronage and, of course, my own, which is not inconsequential, I assure you, you are sure to take next Season. We'll have you married to a lord or I miss my guess!"
"But why should he not recognize me, Cousin Alice?" asked Azalea choosing to ignore Lady Beauforth's increasingly frequent references to finding her a husband. "The family connection cannot be doubted, so would he not look foolish to ignore it?"
"Foolish? Kayce?" Lady Beauforth was plainly shocked. "Nothing of the sort, my dear! It is scarcely possible for a man of his standing to look foolish, whatever the circumstances. Had he decided to ignore the connection, you would have stood in grave danger of being cut on the mere notion that he must have some reason for not acknowledging you. I am very happy for you that it will not come to that! "
"But why should he do such a thing?" Azalea persisted suspiciously. "He seemed a most pleasant man. I concluded from his manner that he became aware of my presence in London only last night, else he would have called sooner."
"Yes, he did say that, didn't he?" Lady Beauforth looked thoughtful. "Normally, absolutely nothing goes on in London of which Lord Kayce is unaware. I'd have expected him to know of your presence the day of your arrival, or the day after at the very latest. Perhaps he has merely been deciding what to do. Your success last night may have clinched the matter for him. If you are going to take, he will certainly want some of the credit, and would not wish to look foolish by ignoring his niece when she becomes a Toast next spring," she concluded, blithely unaware, as always, that she had contradicted herself.
Azalea was accustomed to Cousin Alice's confusing speeches and had learned by now not to take her every utterance at face value. It could not be denied, however, that Lady Beauforth was nearly as well-informed as she claimed Lord Kayce was. Thus, Azalea could not lightly dismiss everything she had said, especially given her grandfather's warnings. But could her uncle—or anyone —really be capable of such duplicity?
Perhaps so. She recalled a time when her cousins had encountered on the street two ladies they apparently despised, judging by previous conversations. To watch that meeting, one would have thought it a reunion of the dearest of friends.
The English, she reminded herself, were not nearly so open as Americans, so it might be possible that her uncle would conceal any dislike of herself that he might feel. She would go slowly with him, and make more of an effort to discover his true feelings. After all, she could hardly judge his character accurately on the basis of a single fifteen-minute interview.
* * *
"Secure that line!" bellowed the captain, his black hair dripping with sea water. "Furl the main topsail!"
"This looks like a bad blow." Christian's father sounded concerned.
Suddenly, flowers were everywhere. Apple blossoms. Daisies. A soft breeze was blowing. What was everyone worried about? he wondered.
"My God, Chris!" His father's face was white. The sky behind him had gone from blue to leaden, an odd, yellowish grey.
"Man overboard!" shouted the captain, red hair and beard now whipping in the gale. Chris turned to see a crate of chickens wash over the rail, then another. The brown-and-white birds squawked in terror, their feathers flying, then they were gone.
"That was a close one!" His father's voice again.
Christian awoke with a start, sweat beading his brow. The bed linens were damp around him.
"Damn," he muttered. It had been so many months since he'd last had that nightmare, he had begun to hope he was finally free of it.
Still shaken, he rose to light the oil lamp on the desk, determined this time to write it down while it was fresh in his mind. Before he could dip his pen, however, it was gone— again. All that remained was a vague memory of wind and waves, and his father's voice. It always happened like this. Somehow, he was certain that if he could just remember it long enough to commit it to paper, the dreams would cease plaguing him. But he never could.
Fiercely, he scoured his memory, but all that came to him were more recent recollections. Port cities in the tropics, nights of celebration so decadent they made the amusements offered in London seem like nursery games by comparison. Quickly, he thrust the distasteful memories from his mind.
That was before, he told himself. When he hadn't known any better. He was not like that now, and would never be again. Now he was head of the Morely family, sixth Earl of Glaedon. No one must ever know how he'd stained the proud name he bore. He would forget it himself. He must.
Christian pulled out some papers he had brought with him from Glaedon Oaks and read through them until his eyes began to grow heavy. The day was well advanced when he finally awoke again.
Feeling remarkably refreshed, he rang for his valet. He had been remiss since his return to Town. It was time he paid a social call at Lady Beauforth's. He was, after all, betrothed to her daughter. It was not Marilyn's face, however, that arose before him as he tied his cravat. Humming cheerfully for a reason he refused to examine, he picked up his hat and gloves and strode purposefully into the chill December afternoon.
* * *
Azal
ea and her cousins were just sitting down to tea when Smythe entered stiffly, announcing, "Mr. Plummer," in his formal, slightly bored tone. Jonathan strolled in nearly on his heels, encompassing the three ladies with his engaging smile and offering a vivid contrast to the starchy butler.
"So good to see you again, Lady Beauforth, Miss Beauforth, Azalea. I trust I'm not intruding? I had planned to come this morning, but I'm afraid I didn't feel quite the thing. Fully recovered now, though, I assure you." He sat next to Marilyn and helped himself to three buttered scones in proof of his words.
"Of course you're not intruding, dear boy," gushed Lady Beauforth as her daughter nodded in agreement. "We're delighted to see you again! As you are such an old friend of Azalea's you must regard us as family and drop in whenever the fancy strikes you."
Jonathan merely nodded, his mouth too full to allow any audible reply.
"How is Lord Holte?" Lady Beauforth continued, without regard to her guest's inability to answer. "I don't remember if you said whether you were staying with him in Town or have your own lodgings, as you young gentlemen so often do these days."
With the assistance of a judicious sip of tea, Jonathan managed to swallow. "Grandfather is still in Essex at present, so I am perforce in lodgings. I plan to join him at Bitters for Christmas and try to persuade him to accompany me back to Town in the spring, as this will be my last Season for some time to come."
"Do you go abroad, then, sir?" asked Marilyn. Azalea thought she detected a trace of disappointment in her cousin's voice.
"Not precisely, Miss Beauforth. I return to my home in Virginia next summer. Father is not as young as he once was, and he has been hinting in his letters that he could use my help, particularly at harvest time. Filial duty, or guilt, if you will, is finally getting the better of me."
"How very responsible of you!" exclaimed Marilyn warmly. "Dear Azalea has been telling me a bit about America, and I'm certain you must have even more exciting stories to tell of life there," she added, to Azalea's surprise. "What is it you will be helping your father to harvest?"