Azalea Page 5

  Lady Beauforth's tone, while concerned, did not indicate any suspicion that Azalea had told considerably less than the truth. For that, Azalea could only be relieved. She had no intention of acquainting her cousins with the details of her early life. However, she had no reason to believe that Lord Glaedon would be so reticent once he knew who she was. It was even possible he might hold her partially responsible for the deaths of his father and younger brother.

  She stifled a sigh. That was one problem she refused to worry about before it materialized.

  "No, I'm certain I will be able to encounter his lordship with composure, Cousin Alice," Azalea assured her, hoping she spoke the truth. "It was merely the unexpectedness of hearing his name that overset me for a moment."

  Reassured on that point, Lady Beauforth resumed her instructions to the girls on where they were to shop on the morrow, since she would be unable to accompany them.

  "I find my uncertain state of health makes it difficult for me to get about. I quite rejoice at the idea of your being able to accompany Marilyn to the shops and functions when I am unable to, Azalea— though of course we are delighted to have you here for your own sake, as well."

  This last statement was added almost as an afterthought, and gave Azalea some insight into her cousin's real motive for offering her a home. It also helped to explain the contradictory nature of the letter sent to her grandfather. The thought bothered Azalea very little. She liked to know where she stood with people, and acting as Marilyn's companion made staying here smack even less of accepting charity.

  * * *

  Back in her room, Azalea dismissed Junie for the night after repeating Lady Beauforth's compliments on her hairstyle. Feeling no inclination to sleep, due, no doubt, to her nap earlier, Azalea reviewed her first day in London. In all, she found more to be pleased with than she had expected.

  She doubted whether she would ever become truly close to her cousins, but they had treated her cordially enough and she saw no cause for complaint. By the end of the week, she would begin her campaign to regain her inheritance.

  Since leaving America, she had thought of little else, regarding it as her grandfather's dying wish. If nothing more, dwelling on it served to distract her from her grief over her grandfather, and yes, over Christian as well. That loss still had the power to cause her pain, even after all this time.

  On the passage from America, she had found the very sea a constant reminder of him. She had tried to spend as little time as possible on deck, devoting her days instead to needlework and to Millie, who had been seasick for most of the voyage. Occasionally, however, she had been irresistibly drawn to the railings of the foredeck, where she would gaze out across that beautiful, treacherous expanse, keeping her mind carefully blank.

  The only time she allowed herself to think of Christian was in her prayers when, against all reason, she would unfailingly ask for a miracle to bring him back. She had done so every night since learning of his death six years ago.

  Staring sightlessly down at the gardens, where wisps of fog trailed across the paths, Azalea deliberately lowered her rigid shield and allowed herself the luxury of remembering.

  Immediately, Christian arose vividly in her mind, just as he had appeared the first evening they had met: handsome, carefree and self-assured. The few conversations they had shared replayed themselves word for word, until Azalea glanced over her shoulder, so strongly did she feel his presence.

  She stopped her reverie abruptly on arriving at that fatal day that had destroyed her happy dreams and shook her head fiercely, surprised to find her cheeks wet with tears. For she was not really sad.

  Instead, she felt oddly cleansed by the memories she had suppressed for so long. It was as if a tight knot within her had become untied, releasing her and allowing a freedom she had forgotten existed.

  After six long years, Azalea was finally able to let Christian go, into the past where he now belonged. Suddenly tired, she turned back to the bed and slipped beneath the quilts. With a little sigh, she drifted off to sleep, dreaming of the future, rather than the past.

  * * *

  CHAPTER 3

  Azalea descended at eight o'clock the next morning in search of breakfast, only to be informed by a startled maidservant that the ladies were still abed. In fact, the girl stammered, they did not customarily appear before ten o'clock, and then only after an early evening.

  The bright morning sunshine helped to relieve the sombreness of the dining-room, with its dark panelled wainscotting and beige-and-brown-figured wallpaper, making it bearable if not cheerful. Still, it was hardly in keeping with her high spirits. Azalea hoped that the sunshine was a good omen for her first full day in London.

  "Could I perhaps have some breakfast in the garden?" she asked the little maid. "I'm very hungry." She smiled hopefully at the nervous girl, whose mouth twitched timidly in return.

  "Certainly, miss! I'll fetch it at once."

  "Or perhaps you could have Millie, the girl I brought with me, bring it out?" suggested Azalea. "And I'd very much like to speak with Mrs. Swann, as well, if that can be arranged." She broadened her smile to disguise her discomfort at dispensing orders. She wondered if she'd ever get used to it.

  When Millie and Mrs. Swann joined her in the gardens, they compared notes as Azalea ate. Mrs. Swann related that Mrs. Straite had agreed to keep her on as under-housekeeper and still-room maid until she could find a housekeeping position elsewhere. Though she professed herself content, Azalea noticed she pursed her mouth whenever she spoke of the housekeeper.

  "Not to worry, miss," she concluded with a sniff. "I'll stay here as long as you have any need of me."

  Azalea knew that it must be galling to her to be relegated to such a position, but was too grateful for her support to say so.

  "Have you located your sisters, Swannee?" she asked her old friend with a smile. "Are they still living in London?"

  "Drusilla is, I think, for I had a letter from her after I wrote that we might be coming. Margaret moved to Yorkshire some years back, though, so I don't expect I'll be seeing her any time soon."

  Azalea nodded and turned to Millie.

  The younger girl seemed quite uncomfortable with her prospective position as Azalea's abigail. "Folks do seem to stare at me a bit, Miss Azalea. I never thought much about my looks back home, but here... Couldn't I find some sort of work to do in the kitchens? I've already made friends with the scullery maid and one or two others there."

  Her mixed ancestry had caused little comment in Virginia, where free Negroes and mulattos were not uncommon. But for the first time, Azalea realized how noticeable Millie must be in London. She agreed to this arrangement, recognizing that the shy girl might be happier occupying a less-conspicuous position than that of abigail.

  With this matter settled to the satisfaction of all concerned, Azalea returned to the house to discover that Lady Beauforth was awake, but had sent word that she would remain in her room until nuncheon.

  Marilyn descended half an hour later and asked if Azalea were ready to commence their shopping expedition.

  "More than ready," Azalea replied. She had grown a bit bored with no one to talk to and no duties to perform. "I am eager to make myself presentable for London Society. I will appreciate any advice you can spare me, Cousin, for I can see that your taste is flawless." She was determined to do what she could to overcome the young lady's animosity, whatever its cause.

  Seemingly gratified by the compliment, Marilyn bestowed a brief, dazzling smile on her cousin and agreed to guide her selections if necessary.

  The girls' first stop was at the establishment of Madame Jeannine, the hairdresser Lady Beauforth had proclaimed to be superior to all others. That lady exclaimed over the thickness and rich auburn colour of Azalea's hair as she deftly cut and styled it with rapidly moving scissors and comb.

  "A delight to work with, mademoiselle," she said more than once during the process.

  In a surprisingly short time, she handed
Azalea a mirror and invited her to view the result. Azalea gasped with pleasure. Relieved of excess weight, her natural curls had reasserted themselves and framed her face charmingly. The back remained long, though not so heavy, and was piled loosely but artfully on top of her head.

  She looked questioningly at Marilyn, who reluctantly admitted that it looked very well. Azalea thanked Madame Jeannine as they took their leave of her with a profuseness that Marilyn appeared to consider slightly ill-bred.

  En route to their next destination, the shop of a very fashionable modiste on Bond Street, Azalea couldn't help noticing the unusual level of noise in the streets. She commented on it to her companion.

  "What do you mean? I perceive nothing out of the ordinary," said Marilyn in some surprise.

  "Why all the shouting, singing, and street shows. And see those jongleurs over there? Is some type of fair or festival in Town?"

  "No, my dear, it is merely London." Marilyn's breathy voice held amused condescension. "Do you mean to say there are no hawkers or entertainers on the streets in America?" she asked, betraying more interest than she had yet shown in a conversation with her cousin.

  "Why, no. At least, not in Williamsburg. The merchants confine their selling to their shops, for the most part, and the public entertainment is to be found in the theatres, or in the town square during summer lay-by festivals. But I find all of this most interesting and exciting," she added quickly, not wishing Marilyn to think her critical of London.

  Her cousin merely looked thoughtful, however.

  Azalea was entranced by the dazzling array of silks, satins, velvets, muslins and laces paraded before her at Madame Clarisse's exclusive shop. Still, she was not so dazzled that she neglected to enquire about prices before ordering anything to be made up for her. She was secretly shocked by the replies, delivered in an accent that belied Madame's fashionably French name.

  It took little of her mathematical training to tell her that her small competence could quickly be consumed by far less than Lady Beauforth's idea of an adequate wardrobe. Nevertheless, she ordered three morning dresses and an evening gown, slightly less elaborate than what the modiste recommended. She also purchased a pair of stockings, some drawing-room slippers and a parasol.

  "I believe that will be all for today, thank you. Shall we return home for nuncheon, Cousin?" she enquired brightly, turning to Marilyn.

  "All?" repeated Marilyn in obvious disbelief.

  Before she could continue, Azalea spoke again. She was not about to mention her lack of funds in front of the sharp-eared modiste, who had shared enough gossip during the past hour to demonstrate how carefully she listened to her customers' chance comments.

  "For the present. I find myself quite fatigued, as well as hungry." Luckily Marilyn was not aware of the hearty breakfast she had enjoyed three hours earlier.

  "Very well. I must not forget you are new to Town and unaccustomed to the exertions of shopping," said Marilyn pityingly.

  Nor do I sleep until ten o'clock, thought Azalea, though she only nodded in reply.

  During the carriage ride back to Curzon Street, Marilyn kindly offered to bring her cousin up to date on the current gossip. While she chattered on, Azalea was busy planning an early, discreet visit to the solicitor her grandfather had mentioned. It was obvious her present funds would scarcely last the Season if she were to enter Society as planned.

  Why had no one told her London was so expensive? She determined to have a private conference with Lady Beauforth at the earliest opportunity. She thought it might be unwise to mention her problem to Marilyn, who seemed as prone to carrying tales as the modiste had been.

  Upon their return, the ladies were informed by Smythe that Lord Glaedon had called in their absence and would look to see them in the Park that afternoon. Azalea was glad they had missed him. She needed a chance to compose herself first, and to decide what sort of enquiries about his family would be appropriate.

  She wondered whether Marilyn or her mother had told him of their American cousin's visit. It seemed likely, given the degree of intimacy Marilyn had claimed last night. If so, it seemed odd that he had not mentioned to them the connection between the two families. She finally decided that her best course would be to take her cue from him, and to neither volunteer nor request any information unless he seemed disposed to be friendly.

  After the meal, Azalea rang for Junie and asked if it would be possible to speak with Lady Beauforth, as she had not appeared at table. Junie seemed doubtful, but went to enquire. She returned after a moment to say that her ladyship was resting, and then asked how the morning's shopping had gone.

  "I can see you took my advice about your hair, miss. It looks lovely!" she declared.

  "Thank you, Junie. Perhaps you can advise me again," said Azalea tentatively. It had occurred to her that Lady Beauforth might not entirely welcome the news of her guest's lack of funds.

  "Of course, Miss Azalea," said Junie importantly. Plainly, she was enjoying her new role as abigail/adviser to the American girl.

  "Well, I seem to have a problem. I hadn't realized London would be so, well, expensive. Can you tell me if there is any way to make over my wardrobe without squandering all I have in the world? I'm afraid Lady Beauforth might not understand. After all, she recommended the modiste I visited today, so she must not consider her prices outrageous. But I don't see how I can possibly purchase one fourth of what my cousin seems to think necessary for the coming Season on what my grandfather left me."

  Junie fairly swelled with pride at this evidence of Azalea's reliance on both her judgement and her discretion. "Well, miss, I know there are stalls down in Soho where there are bargains to be had, but it would never do for you to be seen there. I could go for you, with your permission. We're much the same size, and I'm handy enough with a needle to make what changes might be necessary."

  "Oh, Junie, would you? That would be famous! But... do you think Lady Beauforth would be angry if she found out?" Azalea suddenly sobered. "I won't allow you to run that risk on my account."

  Junie smiled with genuine affection for this unique young lady who actually put concern for an abigail above her own wants. "I'll just be certain she don't find out, that's all," she replied confidently. "You be thinking of a way to account for the new clothes you'll be having shortly, and I'll leave this very moment!"

  Impulsively, Azalea hugged the girl, assuring her that she could come up with a plausible story.

  When Junie returned, less than an hour before Azalea and Marilyn were to leave for the Park, she brought with her four dresses that rivalled those ordered that morning at Madame Clarisse's.

  "There were lots to choose from, miss, but I thought you might need me to help you dress. I can go back tomorrow, if you like." Junie was nearly breathless, making Azalea wonder if she had run part of the way home in order to be back in time to help her new mistress.

  Azalea was astonished and delighted when the abigail revealed what the gowns had cost—a mere fraction of the modiste's prices. Junie explained that most of the gowns at the Soho markets had been worn only once or twice, since it was considered bad ton to be seen twice in the same dress, particularly a ball gown.

  "Then won't the ladies who originally had these made up recognize them if I wear them in public?" asked Azalea uneasily. That would be a snag in their ingenious plan.

  "Not if I make a few little changes —add a ruffle here, remove some artificial flowers there. So many dresses are nearly alike anyway, no one will notice," Junie reassured her. "Now, what will you wear for your drive in the Park?"

  Half an hour later, Azalea descended wearing one of the new gowns, hastily basted in at the waist. She felt positively elegant. True, there was a small stain near the hem at the back which there had not been time to remove, but if she remained seated in the carriage, no one should notice it.

  Marilyn joined her a few moments later, resplendent in jonquil silk. "We must hurry," she said as they proceeded to the waiting barouche. "
Lord Glaedon dislikes to keep his horse standing in the Park." Azalea wondered why Lord Glaedon had not come to fetch them, but refrained from voicing her thoughts. The drive to Hyde Park was short and in the opposite direction from Bond Street, affording her a look at more of Mayfair's imposing homes. The atmosphere here was far quieter than it had been in the shopping district, she noticed.

  When they turned into the Park, Azalea had to stifle a gasp. So this was where everyone was! Lady Beauforth had complained last night that London was thin of company, but it seemed to Azalea that a veritable horde of fashionable people were here to take advantage of the fine weather, walking, riding and driving. How on earth did Marilyn intend to find her betrothed in this throng?

  As if in answer, the girl at her side waved as a tall man in a dark blue riding coat trotted up on an enormous black gelding. "Lord Glaedon! I trust we have not kept you waiting long?"

  "Not at all, my dear," he said smoothly, as he bent over her extended hand. Marilyn simpered prettily for a moment before belatedly recalling her manners.

  "This is my cousin, Miss Clayton," she said, and Lord Glaedon turned his attention to Azalea.

  As he bowed in acknowledgement, his eyes fastened on her face with an expression of mingled curiosity and bemusement.

  Azalea felt similarly bemused, and only just remembered to nod in return. She had expected some slight resemblance to Christian, but the likeness was so striking it left her momentarily speechless. Herschel had the same dark hair and stormy blue-grey eyes as his younger brother. Even his voice was amazingly similar. He could have been Christian himself, risen from the dead.

  Suddenly aware that they had been staring at one another, she made a determined effort to pull herself together.

  "I'm pleased to make your acquaintance, my lord," she said rather lamely.

  As she spoke, his gaze seemed to harden slightly and he hastily withdrew his hand before it could touch hers. He flicked a glance at Marilyn.

  "Perhaps I should have warned you that my cousin is newly come from— from America to live with us," she stammered. "Nothing was really settled until she arrived yesterday, so I did not mention it before."