by Brenda Hiatt
Now that they were alone, she half expected Lord Kayce to make some comment on her alterations to the gown, but he did not. "What think you of my friends, my dear?" he asked as the coachman whipped up the horses. "They all seemed much taken with you."
"I am most flattered, of course, Uncle Simon," she replied carefully, not wanting to offend him. "However, I was rather at a loss to understand why you wished me to be there at all. No other ladies were present."
"Why, to present you to those most eligible gentlemen, of course," he replied silkily. "I said that your future was my concern, did I not? Thus it falls to me to find you a suitable husband."
With difficulty Azalea suppressed a gasp of dismay. "I—I am sorry, Uncle Simon, if I gave you the impression that I wished for your help in that matter. It is most unnecessary, I assure you."
"Nonsense, nonsense," he said affably. "You do not wish to end up a spinster, I am certain. As I'm your guardian, it is plainly my responsibility to ensure that you make an advantageous marriage."
Azalea bit her lip. Did she dare tell her uncle the truth? She did not trust him a whit, but even he could scarcely have an existing marriage set aside for whatever ends he had in mind. Still, it seemed wrong to tell this man, whom she neither liked nor trusted, before telling Lord Glaedon himself. Besides, she had no idea just how ruthless Lord Kayce might be. Perhaps by telling him she might be putting Christian at some risk.
Making a quick decision, she said with assumed casualness, "That reminds me, Uncle, that I have not yet heard from Mr. Timmons on the matter of your guardianship of me. I believe I shall call on him Monday. I have certain other matters to discuss with him as well."
Lord Kayce darted a quick look at her. "What might... that is, of course, my dear. No doubt he will have the papers ready for your signature."
Just then, the carriage pulled up before Beauforth House and Kayce escorted Azalea to the door, though he declined to come inside. She heard the clatter of his departure with relief as she stepped into the house.
* * *
Azalea would no doubt have felt less relieved had she been able to look in at White's later.
"Well, Kayce, I must admit you told no more than the truth when you described your new-found niece," said Lord Drowling, as he settled into a chair next to the Baron. "If anything, you didn't do her justice. It would seem a waste to find a form and face like that on such an innocent, if one did not imagine the delights of instructing her. But I assume such a privilege won't come cheaply?"
"I think you know what I would want in exchange, Drowling. You have been holding that duel of my brother's over my head for more than twenty years."
"Ah, but it was such a, er, profitable investment for me, you see," replied Drowling with a smile. "Though I admit I had thought its worth to be nearly exhausted... until now. No doubt your dear niece would be most interested to learn how her father was deceived. Perhaps she would even be grateful enough to bestow her hand on me willingly."
Kayce snorted. "When she has every young buck in London panting after her? Not likely. No, if you want her, you must work through me. And do not forget that any son of hers would become my heir. But let us not be hasty. Here come Carfax and Fienton. I would like to hear what each of them has in mind, as well."
"With the charming Azalea to go to the highest bidder, I perceive," said Drowling, with a cynical twist to his smile. "That golden Aphrodite may well be worth what you ask. I shall think on it." Rising, the Viscount nodded a greeting to the two approaching gentlemen and went in search of a game of whist.
* * *
Directly after breakfast Monday morning, Azalea made good on her promise to call on Mr. Timmons. She had already decided to ask for her marriage proofs back, so that she would have them on hand when Lord Glaedon returned in a few weeks. She still hoped that she could manage to convince him of the truth without them, but time was running out. Better to have the evidence in case she needed it.
She left Junie in the carriage and ascended confidently to the attorney's offices. Her confidence received a setback a moment later, however, when she saw the sign on the door of Mr. Timmons's chambers: Closed Until Further Notice.
Perplexed, she lingered in the empty hallway, biting her lower lip. Could the lawyer have left Town for the holidays? Surely he would have sent a message, at least, as his work on her behalf was by no means done.
Half-heartedly, she reached out to try the doorknob and was surprised when it turned easily in her grasp. She pushed the door open and gasped in astonishment at the scene that greeted her.
The outer office had been far from immaculate before, but it was now in a state of complete chaos. Papers were everywhere, books lay open upon the floor and one large wooden cabinet had been overturned and broken. She stepped further into the room, torn between curiosity and a growing sense of misgiving.
Suddenly, Mr. Greene stood up from behind his desk, where he had apparently taken cover at her entrance, causing her to start violently.
"Oh, Miss Clayton, it is you!" he exclaimed in obvious relief. "I thought they might have returned."
"Who?" asked Azalea, as soon as her heart resumed beating. She was still shaken, but determined to find out what she could. "Whatever has happened here? Where is Mr. Timmons?" She looked about her, half expecting the lawyer to emerge from his inner office at the sound of her voice.
"He's laid up at home, senseless," replied Mr. Greene, seemingly agitated out of his shyness by recent events.
"Senseless? What has happened to him? Is he injured?" asked Azalea in alarm, her concern for the old gentleman temporarily overshadowing her own problems.
"Set upon by footpads last night, miss, not two blocks from here," said Mr. Greene, shaking his head as if he still could not believe it. "They took what little money he had, and his keys, and beat him badly. Left him for dead, or so the Runners think."
"So the same footpads are the ones who did this, also, I presume," Azalea concluded, gesturing about the office. "What do you suppose they were after?" Her mind had already jumped to an ugly suspicion, but she had no intention of voicing it without any evidence to support it. At least not yet.
"After?" asked Mr. Greene in surprise. Apparently he had not yet thought that far into the matter. "Why, money, I suppose. What else?"
"Come, Mr. Greene, even a common footpad would hardly expect to find much money in a solicitor's office, and I rather doubt these were common footpads. It seems obvious to me that they attacked poor Mr. Timmons primarily for the keys to these rooms, and that they were looking for something specific here. Do not tell me that the Bow Street Runners had no similar theory?"
"No, miss," replied Mr. Greene, beginning to return to his usual flustered manner. "At least, I don't think so. No, no they couldn't have, for they didn't know the office had been ransacked. I just found out two hours ago when I came to put the sign on the door."
Perhaps to cover his embarrassment for not having thought of that obvious explanation himself, Mr. Greene turned away to resume the thankless task of straightening up.
"They certainly must be told, and immediately," said Azalea decisively. "Will you do so, Mr. Greene, or shall I?"
The clerk gaped at her. "You, miss? Why ever would you want to involve yourself in this business? No, they will be back later today, and I shall tell them then —or, rather, show them. I'll hardly have the place cleaned up by then." He looked around hopelessly.
"Perhaps you should leave everything as it is until they've seen it," she suggested. Mr. Greene's face brightened noticeably. "Meanwhile, I don't suppose there is any chance you might know where Mr. Timmons kept certain documents I left with him?"
The clerk's face clouded again. "No, miss, I'm sorry. Nothing is in its proper place, as far as I have been able to tell, and Mr. Timmons's personal office is in worse shape than this one. That is where he kept the most important papers."
She had feared that would be the case. "Well, if you should find any papers connected with me
, please send me a message or, better, the papers themselves," she said, but without much hope.
"Yes, miss, I'll certainly do that," promised Mr. Greene, appearing more optimistic than she was.
Thinking furiously, Azalea left the office. Could Kayce have been behind this? Had he somehow suspected her marriage to Lord Glaedon? That seemed unlikely, as the only person in London she had told was Mr. Timmons.
No, it seemed more probable that Kayce had been after the proofs of her identity if, in fact, he was responsible. Without those, she would have a difficult, if not impossible, time establishing any claim to her inheritance. Her uncle might be planning to declare her a fraud if she refused to go along with his plans. Of course, if he now had all the papers, he would know that marriage to one of his cronies was out of the question— wouldn't he?
Still deep in thought, she descended to the carriage.
* * *
CHAPTER 12
Christmas was nearly upon them. Azalea was glad that Lady Beauforth felt disposed to make little of the holiday season, since her own heart wasn't in it. She had called on Mr. Timmons at his home the previous afternoon, only to be told by his wife that the doctor had expressly forbidden visitors. Mrs. Timmons had agreed to convey a message as soon as her husband was on the mend, and Azalea tried to be satisfied with that.
Marilyn, however, was not nearly so willing to forgo Christmas festivities as her mother and Azalea seemed to be. At the breakfast table she bemoaned the scarcity of parties and routs in Town at this season, complaining that this was certain to be the dullest Christmas she had ever spent. Her mother's reluctant suggestion that they might go to their country estate for the holidays was quickly rejected.
"Maple Park is bound to be even duller than Town," Marilyn declared with a pretty pout. "If we could but give a party or, better, a ball of our own, it might serve to divert me."
"With Lord Glaedon in the country? People might think it odd, my dear. Besides, with Town so thin of company, who would we invite?"
Such discussions were diverted, however, by the arrival of a letter a short time later.
"Who is it from, my dearest?" asked Lady Beauforth, always eager for news of any kind.
"Mary Trentham," answered her daughter somewhat absently, as she was still perusing the contents of her letter. "Oh! She invites me to Alder House for the holidays! She mentions some of those to be present, and... oh, Mother, do say I may go! It will be ever so much more festive than staying here."
Marilyn's pout had been magically transformed into a radiant smile. Lady Beauforth could not be expected to deny her angel any treat that could bring her such happiness.
"Of course you must go, darling. It will be just the thing for you. It has been putting me about dreadfully to see you so in the doldrums. Do you suppose Miss Trentham could be prevailed upon to extend the invitation to include your cousin, as well?" she asked as an afterthought. She glanced guiltily at Azalea.
Marilyn looked distractedly at her in turn. "What? Oh. I suppose I could write to Mary, but there is so little time...." It was obvious she had no thought to spare for her cousin just then.
"No, please, do not go to any such trouble," Azalea insisted. "I assure you that I have not the least desire to go. I shall be perfectly happy to stay here, catching up on my reading, which I have sadly neglected, and keeping dear Cousin Alice company through the holidays."
Her smile at Lady Beauforth during this last remark was perfectly genuine. Azalea did not wish to risk being away from London when Mr. Timmons recovered —or when Lord Glaedon returned.
Marilyn required no convincing whatsoever. "Well, then, since that is settled, I shall write at once to tell dear, dear Mary that I shall be there." She was out the breakfast-room door before she had finished speaking, and a moment later Azalea could hear her calling out to one of the footmen for a newly mended pen.
* * *
The rest of that day and the next passed in a whirl of preparation for Marilyn's visit. Azalea helped with enthusiasm, glad to have her cousin in such happy spirits for a change. Running out to the shops to find just the right shade of ribbon or a fan to go with the gowns being packed provided a welcome distraction to her own problems.
The night before her departure, Marilyn surprised Azalea by coming to her bedchamber. "Cousin, I have a favour to ask," she said with unwonted diffidence.
"Of course," exclaimed Azalea, warming to the welcome change in her cousin's manner. "How may I help you?"
Marilyn hesitated for a moment, then met her eyes with a rather sheepish smile. "Your gold dress —the one Lord Kayce gave you. Do you suppose... that is, could I borrow it for the house party?" she finished her request in a rush.
Struggling between amazement and amusement, Azalea was careful to let neither show on her face. She realized that it must be very difficult for Marilyn, who had always been accustomed to having everything she wished, to actually beg a favour of her country cousin. And lending clothes seemed so... so sisterly.
At this thought, Azalea smiled broadly. "Of course. I had no plans to wear it again any time soon."
She opened her clothes-press and removed the shimmering gold gown. In truth, after the evening she now associated with this dress, she had no intention of ever wearing it again.
"Feel free to make any necessary alterations," she said cheerfully. "I expect it will look better on you, anyway."
Marilyn thanked her graciously. "You don't think it will make me too... all one colour?" she asked suddenly, as she turned to leave the room.
"Oh, no!" Azalea assured her. "You'll look like spun gold, I'm certain."
Marilyn smiled. "Jonathan —your friend, Mr. Plummer —once said something like that. I thought he might recall it if he saw me in this dress."
"Oh, is he to be there?" asked Azalea. Suddenly, Marilyn's careful preparations took on new meaning.
"Yes, but pray do not say anything to Mama about it. I—I wouldn't wish her to worry."
Azalea assured her that she saw no reason to mention the fact to Lady Beauforth. Thanking her again, Marilyn left to finally complete her packing.
The coach drew up to the door directly after breakfast the next day. Marilyn's maid and Tom, the head groom, were to accompany her, and her ladyship had managed to convince herself that her greatest treasure would be safe in their care. Still, Lady Beauforth could not suppress a tear or two at their parting, as this would be the first time in Marilyn's eighteen years that mother and daughter would be separated by any distance, even if it was to be for only a fortnight.
"Are you certain you don't wish to come, too?" Marilyn asked Azalea impulsively as she was turning to climb into the waiting coach.
Though extremely gratified, Azalea shook her head firmly. "No, I really would prefer to stay here and Cousin Alice is rather counting on my company, I flatter myself. But thank you for asking."
Marilyn's smile was as genuine as her cousin's. "I shall see you in a fortnight, then. If anything interesting should occur in my absence, you must write to tell me all about it." With that, the door was closed and the coachman whipped up the team.
Azalea and Lady Beauforth were left standing by the railings. Azalea perceived her cousin's melancholy at once and quickly guided her back into the house to divert her with a humorous tale she had overheard at one of the shops yesterday and saved for exactly this occasion.
* * *
Yuletide passed as uneventfully as Marilyn had foretold. Virtually all of their acquaintances had taken advantage of the unusually good travelling conditions to visit family or friends in the country. Azalea, far from bemoaning the lack of diversion, welcomed this respite when she might read, write, ride and, most of all, think to her heart's content.
Christmas passed without any word from Mr. Timmons, and Azalea reluctantly realized that she would have to solve her problems without his assistance. And she must do it soon. Marilyn's and Lord Glaedon's wedding loomed less than six weeks away.
It was always po
ssible that Jonathan and Marilyn might come to some understanding while at Miss Trentham's house party, but she could not count on that. No, when Lord Glaedon returned to Town, she would do everything possible to make him remember.
Failing that, she must try to charm him away from her cousin. Without the marriage papers to back up her claim, it was the only solution she could think of.
One morning only a few days after Christmas, while Azalea was reading aloud to Lady Beauforth in the drawing-room, Lord Drowling was announced. Azalea tried to quell her instinctive dismay as Lady Beauforth rose to greet him effusively.
"Why, Lord Drowling! What an honour, to be sure! I suppose I may construe your call as a compliment to my dear Azalea?"
"Indeed, my lady. As she may have told you, I made her acquaintance at the home of her uncle two weeks ago. Since then, I have been unable to think of anything else. I am but this moment returned from my estates and wished to pay my respects immediately." Though he spoke to Lady Beauforth, his eyes caressed Azalea possessively as he spoke.
"How kind of you, my lord." Azalea kept her voice cool.
"Ah, kindness has nothing to do with it, my vision," he replied, seating himself in the chair closest to her. "My very sanity demanded that I come."
He seemed to devour her with his eyes, and Azalea felt her skin crawl. While his manner in front of Lady Beauforth was more restrained than it had been at Lord Kayce's house, Azalea was more than relieved that he kept his visit brief. After only ten minutes he took his leave with one last, lingering look that made her feel unclean.
Before she could convey her opinion of him to her cousin, however, Lady Beauforth began to express her admiration of his lordship's person, as well as his many and well-known worldly advantages.
"This is a greater conquest than you can realize, my dear," she concluded after a lengthy and glowing recital of Lord Drowling's assets. "I can tell you that I would have been more than pleased to welcome his attentions towards Marilyn, if he had ever shown the slightest inclination to bestow them. He's as rich as Croesus!"