Azalea Page 9

  "I thought you said everyone was away from London this close to Christmas!" she said to Lady Beauforth, raising her voice slightly to be heard over the collective, well-modulated tones of the guests.

  "Oh, they are, my dear!" replied her cousin. "You will see the difference next spring, when the Season has begun. This is a fairly intimate and quite comfortable gathering. I assure you, at a successful ball at the height of the Season, one can scarcely breathe, much less move. Not nearly so pleasant as a small party like this one, in my opinion."

  Azalea shook her head and looked around her in disbelief. A small party? She had never in her life seen so many people gathered under one roof.

  Marilyn, meanwhile, had already located —or been located by— several admirers and was happily chatting and flirting with no less than four young men at once. As she made no move to introduce any of them to her cousin, Azalea turned away to observe another portion of the crowd.

  The sea of faces was beginning to resolve into individuals and Azalea noticed a few people she had met on morning calls with her cousins. Seeing Lady Dinsmore, a young matron she had befriended, a short distance away, she turned to ask Lady Beauforth whether it would be acceptable to approach her alone. Before she had opened her mouth, however, she saw the unmistakable figure of Lord Glaedon coming towards them.

  * * *

  CHAPTER 6

  Azalea was completely unprepared for the riot of emotions that assaulted her at her first sight of Lord Glaedon after his absence. She felt now that she must have been blind at their first meeting not to have realized instantly that he was Chris, the Christian Morely she had been so infatuated with in her youth. His height, his colouring, his stance and especially his eyes shouted his identity at her, though he was not even looking her way. In fact, he was making a beeline towards Marilyn.

  With a sinking sensation, she watched as he bent over her cousin's hand and neatly extricated her from the knot of admirers, to his apparent amusement and their equally obvious chagrin. He looked almost unbearably handsome to Azalea, his dark blue superfine coat matching his eyes, and the whiteness of his intricately tied cravat emphasizing the near blackness of his carefully disordered hair.

  Though she could not hear what was being said, she assumed from Marilyn's flirtatious fan and fluttering lashes that it was complimentary. Azalea's excitement at her first ball suddenly fell rather flat.

  Still, determined to enjoy herself as much as possible, she turned her back on Lord Glaedon and made her way over to Lady Dinsmore.

  That lady seemed sincerely delighted to renew their brief acquaintance, and they chatted for some minutes about botany and gardening, a shared passion. They debated the likely source of the potted holly bushes that had been placed about the ballroom in the spirit of the season, presenting a considerable hazard to those who carelessly passed too close to them. This led to a comparison of English and American hollies by Azalea, followed by a discussion of other differences between the flora of the two countries.

  "I hear that there are countless varieties of wildflowers in America that we never see here. I would love some descriptions," Lady Dinsmore was saying, when a slight "ahem" at her elbow caused Azalea to start and look around.

  Their hostess, Lady Queesley, stood there, accompanied by a fair, stout young man who had presumably been the one clearing his throat. Lady Dinsmore discreetly excused herself.

  "Miss Clayton, I promised to introduce you to my son," the countess said with a smile. "Viscount Mallows." Lady Queesley gestured grandly toward her treasure. "George, do show Miss Clayton about and introduce her to some of the young people," she added in an audible undertone before fading into the crowd.

  Lord Mallows seemed somewhat ill at ease and Azalea concluded that he was unused to being thrust forward by his mother. Overprotective was the word Cousin Alice had used, and Azalea suspected that it might be quite accurate. He seemed to be searching almost desperately for something to say, so she broke the awkward silence herself.

  "This is a lovely room, my lord. We have nothing to compare with such elegance in Williamsburg, I assure you." There. She had given him an opening, and she hoped he would have the courage to pick it up.

  "Will-Williamsburg?" he asked with a slight stammer. "That is in Virginia, is it not?"

  "Yes, in the southern part of the state."

  "I have a friend from that part of the world," Lord Mallows continued, obviously pleased to have something to say for himself. "I'll introduce you if I can find him. He—he's here somewhere." Whereupon he stood on tiptoe, being only an inch or two taller than Azalea herself, and scanned the room.

  "How kind of you!" she exclaimed. "But you needn't search for him this instant, surely." She was rather hoping to have her first public dance with the viscount, since she was certain he wouldn't be too critical of any mistakes she might make. But it was too late. He was already gesturing, quite conspicuously, to someone across the room.

  "He's on his way," Lord Mallows said smugly, turning back to Azalea with a smile. It was clear to her that he was extremely eager to escape her presence, but she could not take offence. She suspected that he behaved similarly with all ladies.

  "You wanted me, George?" A tall, sandy-haired young man shouldered his way between two imposing dowagers who blocked his path, ignoring their outraged murmurs. "What was so important that you had to summon me from the side of one of the most fascinating ... But who's this?"

  His glance fell on Azalea and remained there. "If this is the reason for my summons, I forgive you, George. Might you introduce me to Miss..."

  "Jonathan?" gasped Azalea incredulously.

  The young man's mouth fell open. "Azalea?" he exclaimed, equally taken aback.

  Thrown off his stride by their behaviour, the Viscount tried to steer the conversation back into more conventional channels. "Miss Clayton, I—I'd like to present Mr. Jonathan P-Plummer," he said as quickly as his stammer would allow.

  "It is you!" she cried. "I knew I could not be mistaken!"

  After gazing at one another for a few seconds, both began talking excitedly, almost as if trying to cover the last six years in ten minutes.

  "I vow I would never have known you...."

  "Yes, when I left your father was well...."

  "How are Missy and James and the others...?"

  "…with my cousins, in Curzon Street..."

  Finally, Lord Mallows's repeated attempts to take his leave brought them back to their surroundings.

  "Yes, George, off to the cards with you. I am deeply in your debt," said Jonathan, smiling broadly. Then, turning back to Azalea as if still unable to believe that this exquisite creature was the friend he had romped with in childhood, he bowed and said with mock formality, "Miss Clayton, may I have this dance?"

  Still dimpling with the pleasure of finding a friend from home among the cold London ton, Azalea dipped him a flawless half curtsy and replied in the same vein.

  "But of course, Mr. Plummer." Then she marred the effect by whispering, "You must not mind if I forget a few of the steps —I have only just learned to dance, and have never done so in public before."

  Jonathan chuckled as he led her onto the floor, where the first set was just forming. "I'm glad to see you haven't changed completely, 'Zalea," he said.

  The dance began and Azalea had opportunity to discover that Jonathan, at least, knew ail the steps. He was, in fact, a very accomplished dancer and neatly covered her few mistakes. She was relieved to find dancing less of a trial than she had expected, and as the set progressed, her steps became surer. Nor could she be especially conspicuous, she thought, with so many other couples whirling about the floor.

  In this last thought, however, Azalea was not quite correct. The two young Americans made a striking couple and drew glances from several quarters, some admiring, some envious and some merely thoughtful. Among the latter was Lord Kayce, who had discovered her identity by chance, having overheard a conversation between two of the envious watche
rs, a pair of spinsters about to enter their fourth Season.

  He had first learned of Azalea's existence less than a week ago, so he saw no immediate need to play the part of the devoted long-lost uncle. No, he was willing to await a more opportune moment for introductions. As he watched Azalea twirl past, her lovely face alight with laughter at some comment her partner had made, his pale brown eyes narrowed thoughtfully.

  Lord Glaedon was another thoughtful observer, watching the pair speculatively and trying, still unsuccessfully, to remember who the girl reminded him of. She had continued to thrust her way into his thoughts frequently during the past two weeks, sometimes at the most inopportune of times. She was the primary reason he had neglected to call at Beauforth House upon his return to Town yesterday, in fact.

  He could not deny that she was very beautiful, but he was certain now that that was not the reason behind her disturbing effect on him. It was almost as if she were trying to tell him something —not in words, but by her very presence. Shaking his head to clear it of such thoughts, he turned back to Marilyn, who had apparently not noticed his momentary defection and continued her avid recital of Miss Belgrave's most recent fall from grace.

  Suddenly, her manner irritated him. It occurred to him that Miss Beauforth's conversation consisted almost entirely of gossip. Though he had been about to ask her for another dance, he now chose not to intervene when young Smallwood stepped up and requested the honour. Christian glanced around as the couples took their places and, seeing no sign of the disturbing American beauty, retired to the balcony to think.

  Meanwhile, Azalea was having a better time than she would have thought possible a scant half hour before. Jonathan had introduced her to his circle of friends, a lively group of young people, and several of the gentlemen were already vying for her attention.

  Never having flirted before, Azalea was surprised to discover how easy and amusing it was, with no expectations raised on either side. She had essentially cut herself off from Society for the past six years, but now, surrounded by the light banter of her new acquaintances, she found herself opening up.

  Returning breathless and smiling from the exertions of a country dance with Lord Soames, Azalea suddenly found herself face to face with Lord Glaedon. Still in high spirits, she mastered the sudden shyness that threatened and dropped a quick curtsy, saying brightly, "How nice to see you again, my lord. I trust you are enjoying the evening?" Marilyn was nowhere to be seen.

  "Indeed, yes, Miss Clayton," replied the Earl gravely. "I was hoping to persuade you to stand up with me for the next dance in order to increase that enjoyment."

  He spoke so stiffly that Azalea was tempted to refuse, but realized that this might be a perfect opportunity to untangle some of the mystery surrounding him.

  "Of course, my lord," she answered, after only the briefest pause.

  Then, to her consternation, the orchestra proceeded to strike up a waltz. Chiding herself for her alarm, she told herself that this would make it that much easier to engage him in conversation.

  Still, Azalea was glad that it was not her first waltz of the evening, otherwise nervousness would have been sure to make her stumble. At his first touch, a light, perfectly proper clasp on her waist and hand, she had to struggle to keep her features composed.

  His palm seemed to burn against the small of her back, while his hand meshed with hers as no other gentleman's had. After the first shock, however, she floated almost effortlessly in his arms.

  His nearness, his touch, made her throat dry and took away her capacity for thought, and it began to appear that they would pass the entire dance without a word. Determined that this not be the case, Azalea had just steeled herself to ask her partner if he had ever been to America, when he caught her off guard with a question of his own.

  "Is it possible that we have met before, Miss Clayton? I felt when I first saw you that day in the Park that you reminded me of someone, and I have been unable to shake the impression." He spoke warily, as though expecting a rebuff.

  "It is possible, of course, my lord," she answered, seizing the opening. "Have you ever been to Virginia?"

  Lord Glaedon stiffened. "I fear not, Miss Clayton. I intended to visit it at one time, but the ship foundered in the crossing and my father, I regret to say, died at sea. I could never bring myself to repeat the trip."

  His tone was cold and emotionless, but Azalea was moved regardless. She remembered how close he and his father had been and realized that this must be one more grudge Christian bore against Americans. For the moment, she ignored his baffling assertion that the shipwreck had taken place on the outward voyage.

  "I am sorry, my lord. I, too, once lost a loved one at sea." How, she wondered, would he respond to that? But not even a flicker indicated that he was aware of her intent.

  "The sea, at least, takes life without motive or malice," Lord Glaedon replied after a moment. "So much cannot be said of people who kill and degrade their fellow human beings. Tell me, Miss Clayton, as an American, what are your views on slavery? Do you consider it a 'sad necessity,' as I hear is the fashionable view among your countrymen?"

  Although his sudden change of topic surprised her, Azalea answered without hesitation, for this was a subject near to her heart.

  "Slavery is 'necessary' only to the rich, my lord, so that they can remain so. Money is a paltry excuse for turning humans into possessions, and I am confident that the majority of Americans —voting Americans —feel the same way, and that the days of that reprehensible institution are numbered." She spoke with conviction, but Lord Glaedon's expression was cynical.

  "How touching, to be sure," he said. "But I'll wager you're not above eating the sugar or wearing the cotton that slave labourers have gathered. And how willing would you be, I wonder, to forgo any part of your personal comfort to change that institution? I have heard such high-sounding words from Americans before, but it would seem that words are all they are. Something must be fundamentally wrong with the citizens of a nation that would condone such inhumanity."

  Azalea was struck momentarily speechless. She felt as strongly about the matter as he did and knew full well that many of her countrymen were hypocrites on the subject. But she was furious that he should so deliberately choose to doubt her sincerity.

  The music had stopped, but he continued to look down at her, waiting sardonically for her answer.

  "You asked for my opinion and I gave it, my lord," said Azalea with deceptive sweetness. "I see it was not the opinion you expected or wished to hear. Obviously, you would rather mock me than believe me sincere, since to do that would be to admit that all Americans are not the heartless villains you wish to think us. What of your countrymen who must serve in the Royal Navy against their will? I don't believe America has a monopoly on inhumanity. Or on hypocrisy and deceit."

  With that parting shot, Azalea turned and left him without a backward glance.

  Luckily, the next dance was a cotillion and afforded little chance for conversation with her partner. As Azalea focused on the intricate steps of the dance, her temper cooled somewhat, though she still deeply resented Lord Glaedon's assumption that she shared the mercenary motives of the worst of her countrymen.

  Looking around at the outrageously expensive splendour of the ballroom, she suddenly felt a desire to laugh. Obviously wealth, and especially the ostentatious display of it, was at least as important to the English ton as to any American! By the end of the dance, she found she was looking forward to crossing swords with Lord Glaedon again.

  * * *

  Christian watched Azalea as she flounced away, struck less by her words than by the sweet seductiveness of her hips as they moved beneath the green satin of her gown. He had intended to discover more about her during that dance, in an attempt to allay the disquiet he felt in her presence. Instead, he had again been drawn into an attack on her homeland.

  As she danced the cotillion with another admirer, Christian was forced to admit that he was far more drawn than r
epelled by Miss Clayton. Not that it mattered, of course. He had already committed his future to Miss Beauforth and nothing could change that. After the mess he had already made of his life, he owed it to his family to marry her, a woman of fortune and impeccable breeding. The marriage would bring to fruition the honourable plans of his father and brother, now dead.

  But for the first time since his betrothal, those ringing, lofty arguments sounded hollow. Whatever his feelings, however, he would stand by his given word. To do otherwise would be unworthy of the name he bore, a name he had damaged enough. Rapping out an oath under his breath, he went in search of his fiancée to secure her for the supper dance.

  * * *

  On her way in to supper with Jonathan and a group of his friends, Azalea came face to face with Lord Glaedon once again. Marilyn clung to one of his arms and Lady Beauforth rested a hand on the other.

  After one brief glance at the Earl, Azalea turned quickly to her cousins. "Ma'am, may I present a very old friend of mine from Williamsburg? Jonathan Plummer, Lady Beauforth, Miss Beauforth... and Lord Glaedon." She did not hesitate quite long enough to be rude.

  Glaedon's nod, however, was curt. "Servant, Plummer. Miss Beauforth, my lady, I'll go ahead to reserve a table."

  Azalea nearly gaped at his retreating back, but before she could exclaim at his incivility, Lady Beauforth spoke.

  "Mr. Plummer, how charming to meet you. You knew our Azalea in America then?"

  Marilyn had looked as though she were about to follow Lord Glaedon's example, but at the sound of Jonathan's voice, she hesitated.

  "The pleasure is all mine, Lady Beauforth. Yes, I lived in Williamsburg until my grandfather, Lord Holte, insisted I attend Oxford. As he was footing the bills, my father sent me off with his blessing. Since finishing, I have found several reasons to prolong my stay in England." This was said with a lingering look at Marilyn, who fluttered her lashes in return.