by Brenda Hiatt
She flashed him the smile he'd hoped for. "Thank you, my lord. I—" she glanced over her shoulder to where Marilyn had paused to wait for her "—I hope you have a safe journey and a pleasant holiday season," she said quickly, then hurried away.
Christian watched her thoughtfully for a moment before heading for the door. There was no denying that Miss Azalea Clayton attracted him, in more ways than he cared to admit. But it was an attraction he would have to subdue ruthlessly. He had entered into his betrothal with Miss Beauforth for the sake of his family's honour. If he were to cry off, or worse, to betray his promised wife, that would be more dishonourable than if he had never made the offer at all.
He still mourned his father and brother, but now, for the first time, he cursed the tangle they had left behind. Was his whole life to be lived fulfilling plans they had made? Scowling darkly, he left the house, too preoccupied with his thoughts to notice the thin, shadowy figure that ducked into a doorway as he approached his carriage.
Azalea, meanwhile, returned thoughtfully to the music-room. Later, she could not have said whether the pianist lived up to Lord Glaedon's hopes or not, for she attended to his performance even less than she had to the soprano's.
She had failed in her intention to tell him the truth, but she could not manage to feel depressed as she thought over their brief conversation. Surely she had not imagined the warmth in his eyes as he had looked at her? Nor his coolness towards Marilyn.
Azalea felt badly for her cousin. While she no longer believed that Marilyn actually loved Lord Glaedon, she could not doubt that the proud young lady would be hurt when the truth came out. Marilyn, she'd come to realize, had as few close female friends as Azalea herself had. She had felt that the two of them were coming to terms, but this matter was likely to destroy their budding friendship entirely. Surely there must be a way to avoid that.
During the dancing and late supper that followed the recital, Azalea attempted to shake off her pensive mood. When she did manage to notice her surroundings somewhat, it was to realize that Jonathan seemed to be dividing his time fairly equally between herself and her cousin, though his manner with her could hardly be mistaken for anything but that of an old friend.
He appeared to be more smitten with Marilyn each time he saw her, and it was increasingly clear that his feelings were returned to some degree. Azalea allowed herself a small hope.
However, on the carriage ride home, Azalea's hope became fainter. It was clear that Marilyn had not forsworn Lord Glaedon and his wealth for the sake of the intriguing American —at least not yet.
"I still think it odd that Lord Glaedon should have felt it necessary to take particular leave of you, Cousin," she said. "It would have been more seemly had he asked me to convey his apology for him. How vexing that he could not stay for the dancing after all."
Azalea couldn't resist saying, "You seemed to have no lack of admirers, Marilyn. I noticed that Mr. Plummer enjoyed your company exceedingly this evening." She had the satisfaction of seeing her cousin start, then look noticeably guilty.
"He is a very good dancer, and his conversation is always interesting," was Miss Beauforth's only reply before she lapsed into silence.
Lady Beauforth, whom Azalea had assumed to be dozing in her corner of the carriage, sat up a little at her daughter's words and directed a penetrating gaze in her direction. Plainly, Azalea was not the only one who had noticed Marilyn's apparent preference for Mr. Plummer. She hoped that Lady Beauforth's silence on the matter meant that she did not find the discovery distressing.
For Azalea herself, it seemed the only possible solution to the problem of how she was to prevent Marilyn's marriage to Lord Glaedon without losing her friendship. If that preference could be encouraged to the point where Marilyn herself might cry off from their betrothal, then half of Azalea's problem would be solved.
On this happy thought, Azalea settled back in her seat to doze for the remainder of the drive home.
* * *
CHAPTER 11
The next morning Azalea slept late, partly due to her late night but also because she felt no particular inclination to ride. With Lord Glaedon gone from London, her virtuous plan of taking exercise in the Park every day seemed rather tedious. Thus, it was near noon when she and her cousins finally broke their fast, all together in the breakfast-parlour for a change.
They were just rising from the table when a footman delivered a large parcel for Azalea. It was from Lord Kayce. Distracted for a moment from her apathy, she rose to take the package to her bedchamber to open, but was forestalled by Lady Beauforth.
"Why, how curious!" her cousin exclaimed. "What do you suppose it is, Azalea?"
"I don't know, Cousin Alice, but we can certainly find out." She proceeded to remove the paper right there so that Lady Beauforth's curiosity might be assuaged immediately.
A moment later Azalea was startled by a flash of gold within the box and held up the gift for her cousins' inspection. It was a gown —but what a gown! Designed in the height of fashion, it was of a light, sheer material that seemed to have been spun of incredibly fine gold thread. Its overskirt of gossamer net was liberally sprinkled with tiny topazes, and several tiers of outrageously expensive gold lace graced the hem.
The three ladies gasped in unison. "Straight from Paris, without a doubt!" Lady Beauforth was the first to catch her breath. "My dear, you will look positively divine in it!"
"It should suit your colouring admirably," added Marilyn with more than a touch of envy in her voice.
"I—I've never seen such a fabric before." Azalea finally found her voice. "It doesn't seem quite real. Why should my uncle give me such a gown?" She was genuinely bewildered.
"Did he enclose a card?" asked Marilyn practically.
Azalea looked into the box. "Yes, here it is. And a matching fan, as well. Oh! He wishes me to wear it Friday night. It seems rather... extravagant for a private dinner party, though, don't you think?" She directed her question to Lady Beauforth.
"Oh, certainly you must wear it, my dear," that lady advised. "He obviously sent it for just that purpose —and why not? I should say it means that, as your new guardian, he intends to do well by you."
Azalea could well believe that Lord Kayce wished the world to think this, but it did not allay her uneasiness. During the past two days she had nearly forgotten her worries about her uncle, so absorbed had she been by her other problem. Now her anxiety rushed back.
Still, as long as she could decipher his motives and plan her next move to counter his, she should be all right. But exactly what gambit was this dinner party a part of?
"Try it on, my dear," Lady Beauforth insisted, breaking into her thoughts. "Let us see if it fits, so that we can make any necessary alterations."
Nodding absently, Azalea replaced the gown carefully in its box and carried it upstairs.
"Why do you frown so, miss?" asked Junie curiously as Azalea gazed into the mirror a short time later. "Why, you look like a golden goddess in that gown! True, it's two or three inches too long, but that's easy enough to fix."
It was not the length that was bothering Azalea, however. The tissue-thin fabric clung to her figure seductively, even over the cotton chemise she had insisted on wearing underneath. The bright gold set off her colouring just as Marilyn had predicted, emphasizing the rich auburn of her hair and the creamy whiteness of her throat and bosom.
And that was the problem: entirely too much of her bosom was displayed. She was conscious of a sudden wish that Lord Glaedon could see her like this. If he had looked at her with admiration and warmth last night when she wore her demure blue silk, how might he react to her in this gown? Sternly, she pushed such indecent thoughts from her mind.
Since coming to London, Azalea had already managed to overcome modesty to the extent of wearing the evening gowns Lady Beauforth had deemed appropriate for a girl her age, though even some of those had seemed rather risqué to her less-than-sophisticated tastes. But this gown was posi
tively obscene. Another half an inch and she would fall right out of the top of it!
For some reason, it seemed that her uncle wanted her to project the image of a golden seductress, but she would not oblige him willingly. Azalea surveyed the gown thoughtfully for a moment.
"All right, Junie, help me out of this while I tell you what alterations will need to be made," she said. "Removing the bottom flounce should make it just the right length, but it seems a shame to waste so much of that beautiful lace, don't you think?"
Junie nodded. "I thought maybe an arrangement for your hair—" she began, but her mistress waved her to silence.
"No, I have a better idea," said Azalea. "I want you to work it into a ruffle for the neckline."
Junie looked doubtful. "Are you sure, miss? Them things really aren't in style anymore, you know, though I'll grant you, the top of this gown is a bit revealing, even by this year's standards."
"And much too revealing by mine," said Azalea decisively. "Fashionable or not, if my uncle wants to see me in this gown, it will be with ruffles above as well as below. Can you do it, do you think?"
"Oh, certainly, miss, as long as you're sure that is what you want."
"It is," Azalea stated firmly.
Gathering up the gown, Junie departed to make the desired changes.
* * *
Two nights later, as Junie put the finishing touches to her hair, Azalea examined her reflection in the glass with far more satisfaction. The dress still clung to her body in a way that emphasized her curves, but the neckline met with her complete approval.
Junie had done a masterful job of sewing the gold lace from the bottom flounce around the top of the gown, making a ruffle that lined the front, shoulders and back, with an extra layer worked into the area just above her breasts. Azalea didn't see how anyone would guess the gown had not been originally designed this way, as the total effect was charmingly artistic. Perhaps she would create a new fashion.
Pulling on her long, fawn-coloured gloves and picking up the gold fan Lord Kayce had sent with the gown, Azalea rose to go.
"Junie, as always, you have done wonders with my hair. And I say again, if you should ever tire of being a ladies' maid, you can make your way quite well as a designer of gowns. Madame Clarisse herself could not have done better, I am certain."
Junie beamed with pleasure as her mistress left the room.
Before going out to Lord Kayce's carriage, which had just driven up, Azalea stepped into the parlour to take leave of her cousins. Marilyn's eyes widened as she took in the splendour of her country cousin's attire, and Lady Beauforth, after looking hard at the gown, exclaimed, "You're as lovely in that gown as I thought you'd be, my dear! But I thought... no, perhaps I was wrong. At any rate, you look charming."
It seemed but a few moments later that the coachman was helping her to descend from the carriage in front of Lord Kayce's imposing Town residence. Looking up at the uninviting facade, Azalea hoped it was his own acquisition rather than a family property and was conscious of renewed gratitude that he had never suggested she come to live with him here.
Gas lamps burned brightly on either side of the impressive entrance, but far from denoting hospitality, they merely served to illumine a particularly evil-looking gargoyle that leered down from over the front door. Azalea tried not to look at it as she mounted the steps.
The door opened as she reached it, and she was announced by a cadaverous-looking butler with a startlingly deep voice. As her uncle came forward to greet her, Azalea had a moment to notice that the interior of the house was scarcely more inviting than the exterior had been. The furnishings were undeniably expensive and even quite tasteful, but the gas lighting that Lord Kayce evidently preferred to candlelight threw everything into weird relief.
"My dear, I am so happy to welcome you to my home," said Kayce with a smile. "The guests have only just arrived, and I wish to introduce you to them, if you will accompany me."
Azalea thought he frowned quickly as he noticed her gown, but he had already turned away before she could be certain. She wondered why the other guests should be present already, since she was purportedly here to act as hostess, but followed her uncle without a word. They advanced into an elegant and expensively furnished drawing-room, also eerily gaslit, and three men of about her uncle's age rose to their feet.
"My niece and ward, Miss Azalea Clayton," announced Lord Kayce with a flourish. "My dear, allow me to present Mr. Fienton, Lord Drowling, and Lord Carfax," he said, indicating each gentleman in turn.
Azalea curtsied deeply, as was proper, but did not miss the speculation in their eyes. "I am honoured to make your acquaintance, my lords," she said politely in her soft, musical voice.
All three gentlemen stepped forward, but Lord Drowling was the quickest, eagerly seizing her hand to bestow a lingering kiss upon it. He was tall and coarsely handsome, with thick brown hair only slightly grey at the temples, and full, sensuous lips. His dark eyes burned as they met and held her own.
"The honour is all upon our side, I assure you, Miss Clayton," he said with a smile that was little less than a leer. "I had no idea the New World bred such rare and exotic flowers. Kayce is to be congratulated."
The suggestive tone in which this fulsome compliment was delivered, coupled with the man's frankly assessing gaze, made Azalea drop her eyes in confusion. The small amount of flirting she had done had not prepared her for this. When Lord Drowling showed no inclination to release her hand, despite a slight effort on her part to free it, she glanced somewhat desperately at her uncle.
Lord Kayce intervened smoothly. "Come, Drowling, you must not monopolize my niece tonight. She is here to act as hostess, and courtesy demands that she entertain you all equally."
Though she wondered about her uncle's meaning, Azalea was relieved that his words prompted Lord Drowling to release her.
Mr. Fienton and Lord Carfax were now able to pay their respects. Both of them looked at her in a way that seemed calculated to unsettle her, though neither went quite so far as Drowling had done.
"When do you expect the other guests?" Azalea asked her uncle, devoutly hoping that there would be a few ladies among them.
"There are to be no other guests. I am sure I intimated to you that this was to be a small dinner party, so that you could meet a few of my closest... friends." His smile somehow failed to reassure her. "In fact, as we are all here, let us go in to dinner. My dear?"
Lord Kayce held out his arm and Azalea placed her fingers upon it, trying to stifle her misgivings. She was relieved, at any rate, that Lord Drowling was not to take her in to dinner, and hoped that he would not be seated by her at table.
This hope, at least, was answered, though by the time the second course was served, she thought that she might have preferred his conversation to his ogling, as he was placed directly across from her. She was seated at her uncle's right, with Mr. Fienton on her other side and Lord Carfax opposite him. They were in the smaller dining-room, as Lord Kayce had felt this more appropriate for such a small gathering.
Azalea barely participated in the conversation, feeling out of place in what seemed more like a business meeting than a dinner party. Mr. Fienton, a slight, mousy-looking man with fair hair and watery blue eyes, managed to engage her in conversation about America for a few minutes, but he seemed less interested in her replies than in her cleavage. She found his refusal to meet her eyes both irritating and disconcerting.
She still had not exchanged more than an initial greeting with Lord Carfax, but felt no inclination to further that acquaintance. He appeared to be the oldest of the group, probably well into his fifties, with heavy black brows and a cold, almost sinister directness to his gaze.
Whenever Azalea chanced to encounter his eyes, he regarded her with an intensity that disturbed her, though not in the same way as the knowing leer of Lord Drowling. She felt that Lord Carfax, rather, was trying to see inside her, to read her very thoughts and perhaps control them. She knew these to be
mere fancies, but she could not quite dismiss them.
When Lord Glaedon sent admiring glances her way, she recalled, she had felt excited, even flattered. But the expressions of her uncle's friends made her feel soiled.
Thankfully, the meal ended at last, and Azalea began to cast about for some plausible excuse to leave early. As it happened, Lord Kayce himself provided her escape, saying that he was to meet a friend at White's that evening and would be obliged to turn them all out within the hour.
"But I have scarce had a chance to exchange two words with your charming niece, Kayce," protested Lord Drawling. "And I am sure my companions share my eagerness to know her better."
He stepped to her side as he spoke and allowed his fingertips to brush her upper arm, where it was bare between her glove and shoulder ruffle. It took all of Azalea's control not to shrink away from the man.
"Really, Kayce, Drawling is right. It is most inhospitable of you to end the evening so early," drawled Mr. Fienton in his high-pitched monotone. "Can't you send a note round to White's saying you've been detained?"
"I'm afraid not," replied their host. "But I'm certain you will have ample opportunity in future to speak with my niece, as she is permanently fixed in England and will remain in London at least through the Season."
"Might I offer you my escort home, ma'am?" Lord Carfax stepped forward as he spoke, his deep voice holding the same determined intensity as his gaze.
Before she could reply, her uncle answered for her with a smooth refusal, saying that he had already arranged to return his niece to her home on his way to White's.
"If any of you would care to meet me there in, say, two hours, we might have a game of cards or some quiet conversation," he concluded. At these words, all three gentlemen looked thoughtful and agreed to see him later.
Azalea was so relieved that she need not endure being alone in a carriage with Lord Carfax that she scarcely noticed this exchange.
Graciously taking leave of her uncle's guests at the front entrance, she stepped into Lord Kayce's carriage with a sigh that she hoped he did not hear. She had not really expected to enjoy the evening, but it had been far more uncomfortable than she had anticipated. She thanked heaven it was over.