Azalea

by Brenda Hiatt

  She crushed the pages between her hands in frustration. Now she would no doubt have another round of congratulations to fend off.

  Why hadn't Christian come to call?

  * * *

  Though he had already done so once that day, Christian decided to ride again before nuncheon. He had an extraordinary excess of energy, he found, and needed an outlet. As it was well past noon, the Park was more crowded than it was when he took his usual morning ride. He was forced to keep Sultan to a brisk trot, exchanging cheery greetings with acquaintances he encountered.

  "Well met, Glaedon!" called Lord Chilton at one point, turning his roan gelding to trot alongside.

  "Servant, Chilton," said Christian pleasantly to the older man. He had never particularly cared for the dandified Marquess, but he felt in charity with the world today. "Splendid day for a ride."

  "Indeed," agreed the other. "It's been an unusually mild winter. Hope the spring shapes up as well. By the way, when do you tie the knot with the lovely Miss Beauforth?"

  Christian frowned. He had no intention of allowing the fact that he meant to break off their betrothal to become gossip before he could speak to Miss Beauforth himself. "It's not quite settled yet," he said at last. "The lady is having second thoughts, I fear."

  "Oh ho! That dashing American friend of her charming cousin is to blame, I'll warrant. My heartfelt sympathies, Glaedon. Know just how you must feel."

  "Do you indeed?" Christian spoke absently, eager to end the conversation so that he could be alone with his reminiscences of the day before.

  "I certainly do. I had hopes of Miss Clayton myself, pearl beyond price that she is, but I find she is out of my reach. I am quite desolate, I assure you. Should you need someone with whom to drown your sorrows, I'm your man!" He executed a half bow from the saddle, one hand melodramatically over his heart.

  "I'll keep that in mind," replied Chris shortly. "Good day, Chilton." He spurred Sultan down another path and was relieved when the Marquess did not follow.

  It appeared that Miss Beauforth's growing attachment to Jonathan Plummer was becoming common knowledge, which was all to the good for his purposes, Christian thought. But what had Chilton meant about Azalea? Had he made her an offer and been refused?

  He smiled to himself at the thought, for though Chilton's fortune was no greater than his own, his title was. Christian had been right in his estimation that Azalea was no opportunist. The circumstance gave him reason to hope, as well.

  A short time later, he returned to his Town house to change before paying his promised call at the Beauforth's.

  "Have Cook put a sandwich together for me before I leave, Lawrence," he said to his valet. "I have quite an appetite today, I vow."

  Sitting in the library with his feet propped on a stool, a roast-beef sandwich and a mug of ale at his elbow, Christian opened the morning paper, which he hadn't taken the time to read earlier. Munching thoughtfully, he digested the political news and took note of the current prices for sheep. He would have to mention to his steward that it might be a good time to purchase another flock.

  Turning the page, he started to skim past the Society news, as he usually did, when a familiar name caught his eye. He went cold inside as he read the announcement of Miss Clayton's betrothal to Lord Drowling.

  Suddenly, the roast beef tasted like ashes. He took a long swig of ale to clear his mouth.

  Could it possibly be true? She had said nothing of it this morning —nor yesterday, more to the point, when he had nearly ravished her. She had never so much as mentioned being acquainted with Drowling —a thoroughly unsavoury character, in Christian's opinion, despite his wealth and standing in Society. It made no sense.

  Lord Chilton's words in the Park came back to him. An avid follower of the current gossip, he must have been referring to this very announcement, Christian realized.

  A black rage rose up in his throat, first at Drowling, debauched rake that he was, then at Azalea. No opportunist, he had told himself? Drowling's fortune, he knew, was many times greater than his own.

  Unthinkingly, he untied the cravat he had so carefully knotted only a few minutes earlier. Until he'd had a chance to collect himself, he didn't dare go to see her. Rising, he rang for more ale.

  * * *

  The next morning, even before her ride, Azalea opened the Post to see if her retraction had been printed. It had not.

  Riding did little to lift her spirits. Christian was not in the Park, and the sky was overcast, threatening rain. Though she felt chilled both in body and spirit, she refused to give up. With renewed purpose, she decided to visit the news offices herself.

  After forcing herself to eat a quick breakfast, she summoned the coach and departed before her cousins could appear to question her actions. They would not approve, she knew— especially as she also intended to call at Lord Glaedon's Town house before returning.

  She went first to the Morning Post, since she knew beyond doubt that the announcement had appeared there and the retraction had not. The clerk who greeted her was polite, but very definite in his answers. No, the retraction had not been printed, and would not be unless it came from Lord Kayce himself. Those were his orders, and it was not for him or even his superiors to question a man in Kayce's position.

  The clerk managed to imply, without actually saying so, that he considered her a flighty young woman who could not make up her mind and who would do best to let herself be guided by her elders. Furious, Azalea departed.

  Her next stop was the office of the Morning News, where she met with the same story. Kayce had overlooked nothing, it seemed. She demanded to see someone in charge, and was shown into a smoke-filled office occupied by a very fat man with a thick cigar and a greasy black moustache. He did not bother to rise at her entrance.

  "How might I help you, missie?" he enquired insolently.

  Fighting down her revulsion and indignation, Azalea explained that her betrothal announcement had been submitted by Lord Kayce without her consent and that she wanted it retracted.

  "There will be no marriage," she concluded reasonably, "so it would be wrong to lead your readers to expect one."

  The man, who had not given her his name, laughed loudly. "If I only printed what was true, I'd be out of business before you could so much as blink, my girl! Lord Kayce said as how something like this might happen, and paid me well to deal with it his way. There'll be no retraction."

  Azalea turned on her heel and stalked out without another word.

  There seemed no point in going on to the Gazette. Obviously Lord Kayce had these fine businessmen so cowed that they were afraid to do anything that might displease him.

  She would have to deal with this problem at its source. She would inform her uncle of her existing marriage and make it plain to him that she would go public with that news if he attempted to push her into this marriage. Once that was settled, she would go to Christian and tell him everything. She would make him believe her!

  For the second time in two days, Azalea presented herself at Lord Kayce's front door, this time demanding to see her uncle rather than politely enquiring whether he were home.

  Almost to her surprise, she was shown into his presence at once, this time in the larger salon where she had greeted his guests at that dreadful dinner party nearly a month before. Kayce rose, smiling broadly.

  "My dear Azalea! What an unexpected delight!" he exclaimed in his most affected manner. Oddly, his delight seemed sincere.

  "Your coming here like this has saved me more trouble than you can possibly imagine," he continued, with such apparent satisfaction that Azalea began to feel more than a little uneasy. "You see, I had been racking my brains for a pretext to get you here without arousing your suspicions or those of the Beauforths. I very much wanted to avoid a scene, and was not at all sure that you would oblige me in that."

  He turned to his butler, who still hovered in the doorway. "Graves, pray send a footman to Lady Beauforth's to retrieve all of my niece's b
elongings, and to give her this message, informing her that Miss Clayton will be my... guest until her wedding takes place. He may take Lady Beauforth's carriage, which I imagine is outside."

  The butler bowed and departed, and Kayce turned back to Azalea. "I think it best, my dear, considering your recent activities and certain discoveries I have made, to keep you—ah— safe here until Lord Drowling can claim his prize. So much more convenient for all concerned, don't you agree?"

  * * *

  CHAPTER 15

  Christian rapped smartly at the front door of Beauforth House, his brisk manner concealing the uneasiness he felt at being there. Last night, and again this morning, he had made a few discreet enquiries about Town, and even at one of the newspaper offices. He had been forced to the conclusion that Azalea's betrothal to Drowling was perfectly genuine, fully sanctioned by her guardian, Lord Kayce. He had come this afternoon only because it would have been cowardly not to.

  He would put a good face on it, he was determined. But he also hoped to discover why Azalea, whom he had thought so different from the other young ladies of the ton, had agreed to such a match —and why she had concealed it from him.

  "Lord Glaedon!" exclaimed Lady Beauforth in delight when he was announced. "Azalea told us you were returned to Town. We looked to see you before this, in fact. I trust you had a pleasant Christmas and left your grandmother in good health?"

  Christian assented, nodding to his fiancée as he noted that Azalea was not present. "And I trust you enjoyed your house party, Miss Beauforth?" he asked pleasantly, though it cost him to maintain his smile.

  "Oh! Yes," Marilyn replied, colouring slightly. "I had quite a lively time." She lapsed into silence, but almost before he could notice the change in her manner, her mother launched herself into the breach.

  "You will have heard our happy news by now, I presume?" Lady Beauforth twittered. "Our little Azalea, to be a viscountess! And such a wealthy and personable man Lord Drowling is, to be sure!" Gritting his teeth, Christian managed a nod. "Yes, I saw the announcement in the papers. I had hoped to convey my congratulations to her."

  "Oh, I fear that will not be possible," replied Lady Beauforth with a nervous laugh. "She is gone to stay with her uncle until the wedding. He, ah, rather we thought that more appropriate, as she is to be married from his house."

  "The wedding is to be so soon then?" Christian asked, startled. No date had been mentioned in the papers.

  "Yes, well, you know how impetuous these young people are," replied Lady Beauforth, fluttering her fan.

  Christian raised his brows. Drowling was five and forty if he was a day, he was certain. "Then your cousin is excited about her betrothal?" he could not help but ask.

  Marilyn looked up quickly, but before she could say anything, her mother responded, with a brilliant smile, "Why, how can she not be? Lord Drowling is such a wonderful match, and so enamoured of her, too. I wish you could have seen how attentive he was when he called on her just after Christmas."

  Christian stayed only the quarter hour that politeness required before rising to take his leave. Closing the door behind him with unnecessary force, he strode quickly away from the house, with no clear destination in mind.

  What had he expected? Perhaps he had been hoping that Azalea would be there to throw herself into his arms, denying her betrothal and pledging him her undying love, he thought sarcastically.

  For a moment he considered calling on her at Lord Kayce's house but quickly decided against it. It would only be an added torment to him and, perhaps, an embarrassment to her.

  He had thought she was different, but it seemed she was no better than any of the other debutantes, out for whatever they could get. Christian had never cared much for the refinements of Society, which too often concealed greed and avarice under a thin veneer of polished manners and polite conversation. Now, that whole artificial world actively disgusted him.

  In Azalea, he thought he had finally found someone in tune with his feelings, someone he could trust. But he had been wrong. And that was what hurt the most—he had given his trust, his friendship, and it had been betrayed.

  That thought suddenly determined his destination: he would go back to Glaedon Oaks, to the one person he knew he could still trust. His grandmother had always had a remarkable talent for putting things in proper perspective. Right now, he needed her help to do just that.

  He turned abruptly, to walk decisively in the direction of his Town house to fetch his horse and a few belongings. As he did so, a ragged little man jumped out of his way with a muttered oath, then turned to follow him.

  * * *

  Lady Glaedon was delighted, though surprised, to see her grandson again so soon. It was perfectly obvious from the constraint in his manner that something was wrong, but she trusted he would confide in her eventually. In fact, as he drifted aimlessly from one piece of estate business to another during his first day at home, she began to suspect that his primary reason for returning was to talk to her.

  Several times when they were alone it seemed that Christian was on the verge of saying something to her, before changing his mind and lapsing again into a morose silence.

  After a full day of waiting for her grandson to tell her what was troubling him, the dowager decided that some prompting was in order.

  "You may as well go ahead and speak to me, Chris," she said bluntly after dinner that evening, when the two of them had retired to her ladyship's sitting-room. "We both know that you will eventually, and the wait is doing neither of us any good. In fact, just being around you in this mood has my nerves nearly as frazzled as yours plainly are."

  Christian looked up sharply with a forbidding frown, then nodded ruefully. "I never could keep a secret from you, Grandmother. You are perfectly right. I came here to ask your advice and to seek comfort, but my pride has kept me from doing so. Has it been so obvious?"

  "To me, at any rate," replied the dowager. "I take it that your wooing of Miss Clayton has gone less than successfully?" She held her breath, hoping the question would not bring a storm down upon her head.

  "Deuce take it, madam, can you read my mind?" exclaimed Christian in astonishment.

  "When a young man leaves for Town determined to bring back a bride, then returns less than a week later without her, it hardly takes supernatural powers to deduce that his courtship has received a setback. Not a permanent one, I hope? I very much liked what you told me of the girl." And what she had discovered through her own brief research into Miss Clayton's family history, as well.

  "Quite permanent, ma'am," replied Christian morosely. "And I fear the girl's character was not nearly so shining as I painted it."

  He proceeded to tell the dowager of the announcement in the papers. "I was nearly certain that she cared for me." He decided against mention of the kisses that they had shared just three days ago in Lady Beauforth's parlour. "I was on the point of making her an offer, in fact. I had high hopes of extricating myself from Miss Beauforth, as she has lately shown an interest in someone else. Now I may as well marry her after all, I suppose."

  The dowager became thoughtful, choosing her next words carefully. She knew how headstrong her grandson could be if his pride or honour were pricked; and she was aware that much more than honour was at stake here.

  "Did she give you no explanation? Why was her association with Drowling not generally known, if he were on the point of offering for her? Did you not press her for the details?"

  "I had no chance. When I called, she had already left Lady Beauforth's to reside with her uncle. I saw no particular reason to call upon her there. Besides," he continued angrily, "I understand her motivation well enough. Drowling's fortune is great enough to make me seem a pauper in comparison —it is said that he owns near a tenth of England. Mere affection, even were it genuine, could scarce compete with that." He lapsed back into sullen silence.

  "So you never bothered to hear her side of the story," concluded the dowager drily. "Is it not possible that the
betrothal was not her idea at all? Perhaps she was sent to stay with her uncle because she was resistant to the idea."

  Christian's head came up at that, a glimmer of hope in his eyes. "Do you think it possible, ma'am?" Then the hope faded. "But Lady Beauforth made it quite clear that Azalea was pleased with the match. She told me that she had gone to her uncle because she was to be married from his house. And that is another thing. Azalea never even mentioned to me that she was Kayce's niece. I discovered that from her grandfather's letters."

  "I can't say it's a relationship I would care to admit to," retorted the dowager tartly. "You say she herself never actually confirmed the betrothal to you?" she prodded then, an ugly suspicion beginning to form in her mind.

  He shook his head. "I never spoke to her after learning of it. But Lady Beauforth—"

  "A shatter-brained female if ever there was one." The dowager snorted. "She believes whatever Kayce wishes her to, I have no doubt." She leaned forward, putting a hand on her grandson's knee. "Consider this. Suppose there is a betrothal, but Miss Clayton had no hand in it."

  It was Christian's turn to snort. "Azalea does not strike me as a young lady who would allow such meddling without a fight, Grandmother. She is not a particularly, ah, biddable girl."

  "Precisely why her uncle might wish to have her where he can control her," exclaimed his grandmother triumphantly. "Kayce has been a scoundrel since boyhood, and hardly a man I would trust as guardian to an innocent young lady, be she his niece or not."

  "Do you think she could actually be in some danger, ma'am?" Christian suddenly sat up straighter, apparently ready now to take up the role of White Knight.

  "No physical danger, most likely," the dowager replied in a tone that deliberately implied other threats. "Was a wedding date mentioned in the paper?"

  "No, but Lady Beauforth implied that it was to be soon."

  "Then time may be running out for you to counter Drowling's claim upon her."