by Brenda Hiatt
"Whatever his claim, I won't allow her to be forced to marry against her will," vowed Christian, in a tone that boded ill for Lord Kayce. The dowager smiled to herself.
"Of course not, my dear," she said soothingly. "Now, if you would be so kind as to set up the table, I could fancy a game of piquet." She realized that her best course now would be to let Christian mull over their conversation. She would be very surprised if he did not find some pressing reason to return to Town on the morrow.
* * *
Christian did indeed think over that conversation —many times, in fact— during a long and sleepless night. Could his grandmother's theory be correct? Might Kayce have forced Azalea into a betrothal against her will?
The dowager's carefully chosen words tormented him until, in the wee hours of the morning, he felt ready to race back to London at that very instant to assure himself of Azalea's safety. He burned to protect her with his name, to comfort her with his words, his body....
The only thing that prevented him from leaving at once was the possibility that the betrothal was genuine. What a fool he would look then! Still, by the time he fell into a dreamless sleep just before dawn, he had resolved to return directly after breakfast. Better to risk looking like a lovesick idiot than to allow Azalea's life —and his own—to be ruined by his own mistaken pride and jealousy.
He acquainted the dowager with his intentions over a late breakfast and was surprised at his grandmother's reaction. She actually seemed to have expected his decision.
"You must do whatever you think best, of course, Christian," was all she said.
They were just rising from the table when an interruption occurred. Semple, the butler, entered with the information that there was a "person" below requesting an interview with Lord Glaedon. Christian felt a sudden certainty that it was Azalea herself, come to explain everything and to beg for his protection against her uncle.
"Is it a young lady, Semple?" he asked eagerly, already starting for the door.
"No, my lord, a man. And not very young," replied that worthy with a lack of expression that somehow conveyed his disapproval. "I would never have admitted him, but he said that you would remember him. He gave his name as Luke Sykes." He spoke the syllables with distaste.
Christian experienced a sharp stab of disappointment. Just for a moment, he had been so sure... The visitor's name meant nothing to him, in spite of his message to the butler. Still, he would have to see him, he supposed.
"If you will excuse me for a moment, ma'am?"
The dowager nodded. "Let me know what it is about, Chris. I could do with some diversion."
When Christian saw the scarecrow figure that awaited him in the front parlour, he understood Semple's reservations. The man was short and wiry, with a shock of brownish hair and several day's growth of stubble on his chin. He was dressed in sailor's garb, little better than rags, and his bleary eyes and red nose proclaimed his fondness for drink. Christian was almost certain he had never seen him before, though there was something vaguely familiar about him.
The man rose eagerly at his entrance and stepped forward with a gap-toothed smile. "Thank ye, my lord, I knew ye wouldn't turn me away after all the trouble I had to track ye down," the scruffy little man exclaimed in delight. He seemed to expect Christian to recognize him on sight.
"Mr.—ah—Sykes?" said the Earl uncertainly. "You have some business with me, I collect?" A nasty suspicion began to form. Could this old sailor know him from his days aboard the Angel or the Hyacinth and have come to blackmail him?
Certainly there were details about that time that he would not care to have come to light. More than anything right now, however, Christian begrudged the time— time he was losing in getting to Azalea. But he would have to hear the sailor out. Perhaps the man was no more than a common beggar, with some cleverly spun tale of woe.
"Ye don't remember me then, me lord?" the man asked, apparently disappointed. "I feared that were the case when ye went past me in Lunnon, day before yesterday. 'Twas the first time I got a good-enough look at ye to be sure of who ye was, and then ye went and left for the country straight off. Devil of a time I had gettin' here, too." He stroked the stubble on his chin. "I guess I has changed a bit, and not for the better, since ye see'd me last. But I thought certain ye'd not forget old Luke what saved yer life!"
"My life?" asked Christian skeptically. "And when might this have been?"
"Why, nigh on six years ago, me lord, out o' the wreck of the Fortitude afore we was picked up by that filthy slaver, Farris. Course, ye didn't know yer own name then, nor did I. 'Twas just by chance I found out who the lad was that I saved, and that just a couple o' months ago. I been trying to find ye ever since, hoping ye might see fit to reward old Luke for the little favour I done ye."
He had the Earl's full attention now. The man certainly had some of the facts straight —but he could be anyone who had been aboard that slave ship. Christian said as much to the fellow.
"I suppose ye be right, me lord, seein's how ye don't remember me face. I didn't recognize yours right off, neither. I had to follow ye about Lunnon a bit, to be sure. But there must be some way to convince ye. Let's see—do ye remember how Captain Whitten of the Fortitude used to yank on his beard when he got riled? Thick red beard he had. No one on the Angel— what a name for a slaver, eh?— would know that. The captain was lost afore ever they found us." He watched Lord Glaedon expectantly.
"Whitten... The Fortitude... I do remember a red beard. But surely the captain's name was Taylor, and the ship the Artemis. I'm certain the captain who told me about the colonies was Taylor, and dark haired." Christian was becoming more confused instead of less.
"Aye, I remember back then ye kept saying something about a Captain Taylor. There weren't no Taylor, captain or crewman, aboard the Fortitude, that's certain. But ye say ye remember the beard. If so, ye must remember the storm, at least!"
At Glaedon's blank look, he continued. "We was two er three weeks out of Virginia, 'most halfway to England, when it broke. It started with that dead calm under a funny-colour sky, then the thunder started rumbling, and almost afore we could batten down the hatches, the wind was on us! The chickens got swept overboard first thing, then we lost two crewmen —one was that tall, skinny fellow with the squeaky voice, do you recollect him?"
Christian nodded vaguely. He was thinking very hard, snippets of old nightmares swimming into focus and then retreating.
"Anyways, we ran afore that wind for two days, losing bits and pieces of the ship as we went. Finally, we was too bad hurt to stay afloat and started to go down. You and me and Jacob got into one of the boats, but Jacob got washed over by a wave, so then it was just you and me. Ye won't remember that part, though, 'cause ye was out cold —a spar knocked ye in the head, I think. Lucky for us, the wind died down a few hours later, but there weren't nothing left of the Fortitude that I could see. A couple days later the Angel picked us up. Ye was awake, but real dizzy. Neither of us hadn't had no water for prob'ly three days by then."
At this point Christian interrupted his narrative. "Wait, wait! I'm remembering all of this, I think. I certainly remember the chickens going over the side. But you said we were halfway to England? Don't you mean from England?"
Sykes looked at him strangely. "Ye never did remember it all, did ye? That must have been a worse knock on the head than I thought. No, we sailed out of port in Hampton, Virginia, in America. Not a real big town, but busy, and with plenty of amusements for sailors with time and a bit o' money on their hands. There was a big church tower in sight of the docks —red brick it was…."
Suddenly, Christian could see that church tower and the buildings surrounding it. He could hear the sound of the bell and... he could see another church, this one of grey stone. The day was bright, but the interior of the church was dim. There were only a few people in it: his father, the rector of the church performing the ceremony and, at his own side, a young girl with bright red curls under a lace veil.
With a suddenness that nearly sent him reeling, full memory returned —the remainder of his westward voyage, his meeting with thirteen-year-old Azalea, their marriage, everything. He sat down abruptly, trying to grasp it all.
Luke Sykes had stopped speaking, and was looking at the young nobleman before him in concern. "Be ye all right, me lord?" he asked tentatively. "Shall I fetch someone to bring ye some water or brandy, like?"
Christian looked at him dazedly. "I am fine, Mr. Sykes. Perhaps for the first time in six years. You shall certainly have that reward —you have earned it twice over now!"
* * *
CHAPTER 16
Within the hour, Christian set off for London at a pace a less skillful driver would never have attempted. He was determined to get to the bottom of the deception Azalea had been practising on him since her arrival in London.
Though he might have forgotten that they were married due to the injuries he had sustained in the shipwreck, she had no such excuse. Remembering certain looks and words she had sent his way, he knew it must have been on her mind from the first. Why hadn't she told him at once?
He intended to find out.
Before leaving, he had briefly acquainted the dowager with all of the particulars of his suddenly recovered memory. She was at first astonished and then relieved. She informed him that for the past two years she had been aware that something had been haunting Christian, and now she hoped that his ghosts could be laid to rest.
"Of course, you must speak to her at once, Chris," she agreed. "If she is indeed your Countess, you must bring her here as soon as everything is settled. There must be records, if there was truly a wedding, which obviously there was," she continued quickly, encountering Christian's glance. "Those records may well be in America, I suppose." She had chuckled then. "This will be quite a setback for Kayce. I wish I could be there to see his face when you arrive!"
Christian could not help but feel that his grandmother was taking the situation a little too lightly, but he was at least relieved that she appeared more supportive than shocked. Somehow, he thought that she and his bride would deal very well together... if he didn't throttle Azalea first.
Now, he almost laughed at the anguish he had felt at "sullying" the innocent Azalea with his caresses. She was an innocent, there was no doubt of that, but to think that all along she had been his wife —and that she knew it perfectly well. Her lack of resistance was one more thing his full knowledge of the past explained. Already he found himself eager to show her how much more pleasure could be in store for them both.
It was late afternoon when Christian pulled up in front of Beauforth House, where he meant to make enquiries before proceeding to Lord Kayce's. After a great deal of thought during the day's drive, he felt he now partially understood Azalea's reluctance to mention their marriage, when he himself had been so obviously unaware of it.
He had also rehashed each and every detail of their last conversation in the Park, and was now convinced that Azalea had not willingly entered into any betrothal. In only a few moments he would know for certain, he told himself, striding up to the front door.
"Is Miss Clayton in?" he asked the butler the moment the door opened.
"No, my lord," came the expected answer. "Shall I announce you to Lady Beauforth?" At the Earl's curt nod, Smythe showed him into the front parlour with an expression suspiciously like relief on his normally passive face. "Perhaps now something will be done," Christian heard him mutter under his breath as he went to make his lordship's presence known.
"Lord Glaedon!" exclaimed Lady Beauforth eagerly as she came into the parlour a few moments later, her hands fluttering nervously. "One of the very people I was hoping to see! Perhaps you can offer me advice, for I am very nearly certain that something is not quite right. But I was unsure what I could do about it even if that were the case, for Kayce is her guardian, after all. But maybe nothing is truly wrong, in which case I would feel terribly foolish for interfering! I would have asked Mr. Plummer, except he is out of Town. But, of course, you understand." She dropped into the chair closest to him and fanned herself vigorously.
"No, ma'am, I am afraid I do not understand at all," said Christian more severely than he had intended. Lady Beauforth's disjointed manner had never been more irritating. "When I was here last, if you recall, you told me that Miss Clayton was excited about her upcoming nuptials. Are you now saying that she is in some sort of trouble? What has Kayce done to her?"
"Well... nothing, so far as I know," said Lady Beauforth, twisting her fan in her hands. "She is staying with him until the wedding, as I told you before, but I fear that I did deceive you a bit on one point. She was not at all pleased with the betrothal, I confess. At the time I thought I was acting for the best, but now..."
"I think you had better tell me the whole, madam," said Christian, striving for patience he did not feel. "Start with the betrothal announcement. You say that it was not Azalea's idea?"
"No, she was quite surprised, even angry, I fear, that it had gone in. Apparently it was all her uncle's doing, and I must admit it seemed odd at the time that he would not consult her first, even though Lord Drowling is such a good match. I do know that she sent retractions to all of the papers, but they never appeared in print. At least not in the Post, which is the only one I seem to find time to read."
Distractedly, she moved from the chair she'd been sitting in to the sofa, and motioned him to sit opposite.
"And?" he prompted, seating himself on the edge of the chair indicated.
"Yes, I suppose that is neither here nor there. At any rate, on the morning of the day you last called, Azalea went out without telling anyone where she was going, and the next thing I knew I had received a message from Lord Kayce saying that in the interests of convenience, she would be staying with him until the wedding, which is apparently to take place much, sooner than anyone told me about." Lady Beauforth paused to catch her breath.
"When?" snapped the Earl. "When is the wedding taking place?"
"Why, as I just said, no one has told me anything. And I've practically acted as a mother to the girl these two months past! I have sent a note round twice asking Azalea for particulars, and whether she wants my help in selecting her trousseau —her uncle is hardly the one she would prefer for that sort of help, I am certain —and all I have received in reply is a formal note from Kayce saying that poor Azalea is too busy at present to answer her correspondence. So, as I said at the first, I am beginning to worry, for it is not at all like her to ignore me. She has always been most considerate and sweet-tempered with me."
"Could Kayce be keeping her prisoner, do you think?" asked Christian sharply. Why had this shatter-brained female not done something the day Azalea disappeared?
"That is precisely what I am beginning to fear," answered Lady Beauforth worriedly. "At first I thought that perhaps it was for her own good, as she kept declaring that she would never marry Drowling no matter what arrangements had been made. I thought she was merely being headstrong, as young people can be, and that her uncle likely knew best. Such a good match, you understand, my lord! Much better than she could have hoped for in the ordinary way."
At Lord Glaedon's scowl, Lady Beauforth broke off uncertainly, before continuing in a slightly different vein.
"Anyway, the more I thought about it, the more wrong it seemed. Azalea really has become almost a daughter to me, and not for the world would I wish to see her truly unhappy in marriage. I fear her temperament is such that even great wealth may not compensate for her dislike of Lord Drowling. And so I would like your advice. Do you see any way that I might help poor Azalea? Without creating any sort of scandal, of course," she added hastily.
"Lady Beauforth, I believe you can leave this entirely to me. Was there any man of business —a solicitor, perhaps —with whom Azalea has consulted since her arrival in London?"
"Why, yes, a Mr. Timmons," replied Lady Beauforth in surprise. "Why?"
"Do you have his direction, b
y chance?" Lord Glaedon was becoming more impatient by the moment to be gone. He must not arrive too late!
"Well, I did at one time... Ah! The coachman will know," said her ladyship, increasingly bewildered. "He drove her there more than once."
"Thank you, I'll speak to him on my way out. I shall be in touch with you on the matter shortly." Christian rose to depart.
At that moment, Marilyn hurried into the room. She was stunningly dressed in a powder blue gown that matched her eyes to perfection, but Christian scarcely noticed.
"Mother, Smythe told me... Oh! You are still here! Good afternoon, my lord."
Christian nodded curtly, impatient to be gone. "Your servant, Miss Beauforth." He took a step towards the door, but Marilyn stopped him.
"Might— might I have a word with you, Lord Glaedon —in private?"
"Marilyn, Lord Glaedon is in something of a hurry just now, I'm afraid," put in Lady Beauforth, to Christian's relief. "Perhaps later—"
"But Jonathan will be back tomorrow, and I promised to speak to Lord Glaedon before then," protested Marilyn, earning a startled look from her mother and a frown from the Earl. "And you have been from Town as well, my lord." She turned back to Christian accusingly.
He sighed and sat back down, realizing that he might as well get his unpleasant business with Miss Beauforth out of the way, as well.
Before he could speak, however, she hurried on, with a distracted glance at her mother. "It—it is about our betrothal, my lord. You see, I have thought much about it and I fear that— that we should not suit."
"Marilyn, my angel, have a care!" interjected Lady Beauforth, but her daughter shook her head.
"No, Mother, I am persuaded that I will not be happy as Lady Glaedon. You see, it is Jonathan that I love!" She turned apologetically to Christian, who was striving to conceal a smile. "I am so sorry to break your heart in this way, my lord, but I pray you can become reconciled to losing me. You would not wish me to marry you when I love another, would you?" Manfully, Christian kept his expression serious. The fishlike opening and closing of Lady Beauforth's mouth did not make it any easier.