Azalea (19 page)

After walking for a few moments, Azalea
found both her soreness and her confusion over her physical
response to Lord Glaedon easing somewhat. At the same time, her
curiosity reasserted itself. When he broke the silence to suggest
that she continue his instruction about the New World, she suddenly
thought of a way to satisfy it, at least in part.

"Before I begin, my lord, perhaps it would
be helpful if you could give me some idea of what you already know
about America. That way I shall not run the risk of boring you by
repeating information you are acquainted with."

She held her breath, half expecting either a
set-down for her prying or another tirade on the shortcomings of
her countrymen. Either would be a serious blow to her hopes. But
she received neither. Instead, Lord Glaedon looked thoughtful.

"Several years ago I intended to learn quite
a lot about your country," he said slowly, intently regarding a
pair of wrens pecking hopefully at the frozen ground. "I read about
its colonization and its rebellion against the King, and I have to
admit I rather admired the colonists for the stand they took. In
many ways, their cause was just."

He rubbed the back of his neck with one
hand. "When I set sail with my father six years ago, I was looking
forward to seeing that vast country for myself and forming my own
opinions of the land and its people. Our stay was to have been
brief, but I had already half formed the idea of returning to make
my fortune there if I liked what I saw. I was not then the heir, of
course, but the younger son."

He glanced at her briefly, with a slight
smile that made her heart pound. Surely he was about to mention
their marriage now?

But he turned and fixed his gaze on the
wrens again as he continued. "During the first week or two of the
voyage, I spoke often with the captain— Taylor, I think his name
was, or was it Whitten? I never can seem to remember. Anyway, I
spoke often to him about his experiences in the colonies. He had
some fascinating stories to tell. I was young enough then to become
easily carried away by his tales of battling the elements and
carving out one's own destiny. All too soon, however, I was given a
chance to battle the elements myself —and to lose."

The Earl seemed to forget Azalea's presence
completely as he relived the frightful events on the ship. "A storm
blew up suddenly. I remember the wind, the flapping sails, and
Captain Taylor's assurance that it would be a brief blow. He sent
my father and me below, but before I could reach the hatch, I was
hit on the head by a falling spar."

He closed his eyes briefly. "The next thing
I remember is being hauled aboard a different ship, half-dead, to
be told by a crewman I didn't recognize that he and I were the only
survivors of the wreckage. He was the one who always referred to
the captain as Whitten. But I'm almost certain that the name was
Taylor."

Christian's brow furrowed in an effort to
recall exactly what had happened, and Azalea realized she was
holding her breath. Slowly, she let it escape. She was beginning to
understand.

"Of course, at the time, I couldn't even
remember my own name," he went on, "and certainly no one else knew
it. I didn't know where I was from or where I was bound, so when
the captain of this ship, a merchantman heading for Jamaica, asked
if I wanted to join his crew, I had no reason to refuse.

"That captain's name was Farris, of that I'm
certain. I served aboard his ship for three months, and
unfortunately, I can remember every grisly moment of it. Farris was
a slaver, I discovered, and a ruthless one at that—if there is any
other kind. No one dared to criticize his running of the ship.
Twice, I recall, crewmen who spoke out against his treatment of the
'cargo' were flogged to death, then thrown overboard. I realized
even then that I was playing the coward by saying nothing, but I
assuaged my conscience with the conviction that dead heroes benefit
no one."

Azalea pressed her lips tightly together.
She wanted to reassure him, to comfort him, but was afraid that if
she spoke he would recall her presence and stop his outpouring of
memories. She wondered whether this might be the first time he had
related them to anyone since his return.

Oblivious to her struggle,
he continued. "In Jamaica, I was able to join the crew of another
merchantman, this one Dutch, which didn't depend on human misery
for its profits. I remained aboard the
Hyacinth
for nearly four years.
Though my life there was far better than it had been aboard the
slaver, I behaved as a common sailor —both aboard ship and in port.
I knew no better, I suppose, but some of the things I did during
those years..."

He stopped and swallowed before going on.
"During that time my memory began to return in bits and flashes.
One morning I awoke knowing, for the first time, who I was and
where I lived. As soon as I could contrive it, I returned to
England.

"In my absence, Herschel had gone to fight
in America, against our grandmother's pleading. He apparently felt
that it was his duty to represent the family on the battlefield, as
I was not available to go. Word came only a month before my return
that he'd been killed in Upper Canada, at the Battle of the
Thames."

Though Azalea's eyes filled as she listened,
his own remained dry. He spoke dispassionately, as though telling
of events that had happened to someone else.

"I had already realized that my father must
have perished in the shipwreck four years earlier. I was Earl of
Glaedon, and had been for some months, though the title had
erroneously passed to a cousin, as I was presumed dead. However, I
had no difficulty proving my identity, and my title and inheritance
were restored. Much happiness they have brought me." Sudden
bitterness spilled over into his voice.

"One can make one's own happiness, don't you
think?" asked Azalea softly, hoping to draw him out of his
melancholy mood. Quickly, she brushed her tears away.

Her words seemed to bring Lord Glaedon back
to the present with a start. He stared at her for a moment and then
his gaze hardened.

"So you see, Miss Clayton, I have good
reason to detest Americans. Not only did they cause my brother's
death and, inadvertently, my father's, but I have seen the horrors
of their abominable slave trade personally —the horrors 'innocent'
colonists, like yourself, try so hard to ignore. Perhaps I know all
that is necessary about America, after all. Good day, Miss
Clayton." Turning on his heel, the Earl walked quickly back to his
waiting horse and departed without a backward glance.

Azalea stood as though rooted to the spot,
staring after his retreating form. His abrupt return to the hostile
manner that had marked their first meetings had startled her, but
she was ready to forgive him after hearing his reasons.

What shocked her more was the certain
knowledge that he had never intended to deceive her. He was as
trustworthy as she had wanted to believe him. And most disturbing
of all was the fact that, in spite of everything, she still loved
him with all her heart.

* * *

Azalea had very little time to reflect on
these unsettling discoveries, as she and Marilyn spent all of the
morning and much of the afternoon combing the various shops for
just the right ribbons, gloves and other accessories to set off the
gowns they planned to wear to Lady Sunham's that evening.

In spite of the distracting thoughts that
would not be dismissed, Azalea could not help enjoying their
outing. With a substantial amount of spending money in her
reticule, she was free to indulge her tastes without regard to
price, a luxury she feared she could become quite accustomed to,
given half a chance.

She and Marilyn were dealing more pleasantly
with one another than they had ever done, almost like the sisters
Lady Beauforth enjoyed likening them to. But when her cousin
mentioned that blue was Lord Glaedon's favourite colour, as she
purchased a spray of artificial flowers in that hue, it cast a
brief shadow over Azalea's enjoyment.

The comment served to remind her that she
had come no closer to preventing the marriage that was due to take
place in only two months' time. Lord Glaedon's sudden change in
attitude toward her this morning made her hopes of a
reconciliation, leading to a full disclosure, even less likely.

She had hoped to somehow win him away from
Marilyn before attempting to explain about their marriage. Now it
appeared doubtful that she would have that chance. But she would
have to tell him soon, whatever his feelings towards her—
especially now that she knew he was indeed ignorant of the true
state of affairs. Too many people would be hurt if she remained
silent.

* * *

The gathering at Lady Sunham's elegant Town
house was noticeably smaller than the one at Lady Queesley's had
been. Christmas was only two weeks away now, and even the most
citified families were leaving daily for their country estates in
order to spend the holidays in the traditional manner.

This was to be a musical evening, with a
noted soprano engaged to delight the assembled guests, as well as a
young Italian gentleman said to be worth listening to on the
pianoforte. Dancing was to follow later.

As Lord Glaedon had implied that he would
attend, Azalea discreetly scanned the room for him upon her
arrival, but without success. She moved to take a seat next to Lady
Dinsmore, wondering unhappily whether he had changed his mind in
order to avoid encountering her. Could he possibly believe she
would hold him to his promise of a dance after the way they had
parted?

Azalea decided that it was just as well he
was not here, for most likely they would only quarrel again. No, it
would be better if they did not meet again until his temper had had
time to cool. Then she might have a chance of arranging to speak
with him privately.

Her thoughts were so busily engaged in
convincing herself she was glad Lord Glaedon had chosen to stay
away that she missed most of the soprano's performance.

"Not quite the quality we were promised,
don't you agree?" The question was spoken so close to her ear that
it made her start.

Glancing in some confusion at Lord Glaedon
sitting behind her, and wondering how long he had been there, she
replied rather at random that she had enjoyed the selection very
much.

"Gammon," he whispered back. "I've been
watching you, and you were hardly giving Signorina Devita your
undivided attention. If you can tear yourself away from this
riveting performance, I'd like to talk to you."

A few people in their immediate vicinity
were glancing curiously at them by this time, and Azalea felt it
would be wiser to accompany his lordship than to continue any
discussion here. She rose and stepped past an elderly lady in
purple crepe with a murmured apology.

Out of the comer of her eye Azalea saw
Marilyn watching them but decided she could not worry about that
just now. She was struggling with the decision she had made earlier
in the day—to tell Lord Glaedon the truth no matter what. Perhaps
this would be an opportunity to do so. Her heart began beating
uncomfortably fast.

As they left the room, she whispered, "After
this morning, I had expected you would avoid me like the
plague."

Lord Glaedon merely led her into the
supper-room with a light hand on her elbow.

In point of fact, that was exactly what
Christian had intended for about fifteen minutes after he left Miss
Clayton in the Park. His emotions had been in such a turmoil that
he could almost believe she had in fact bewitched him with her
charming smile and those sparkling green eyes. She had betrayed
him, somehow, into disclosing details of his past that he had
deliberately buried two years ago. He had even momentarily blamed
her for the sudden resurgence of grief he had felt at the double
loss of his father and brother.

As his temper had cooled, however, he was
able to sort through his conflicting feelings. In reality, he had
confided in Miss Clayton simply because it seemed somehow the right
thing to do. In just two days— two mornings, really —a closeness
had sprung up between them that he found both comforting and
alarming.

Talking to her seemed almost like talking to
himself. He knew, somehow, that anything he told her would be kept
in the strictest confidence. That he trusted her was in itself
astonishing to a man who had been cynical to the point of
bitterness since his return to England two years ago.

What he felt went even beyond trust,
however. There was also that recurring feeling of familiarity, that
he had known this girl before. He was now almost certain that she
had figured in the disturbing dreams that had plagued him at
intervals since the shipwreck.

Was fate drawing them together? While not a
particularly religious man, Christian had actually taken to prayer
occasionally since his experience in hopes of being imparted
insight about —or simply relief from— those dreams. Was this girl
an answer to his prayer? He felt as if he were on the edge of some
blinding revelation, and he was unsure whether to stave it off or
welcome it with open arms.

Miss Clayton attracted him on a far more
basic level as well. When he had first seen her in the Park this
morning, he had been seized by a wild desire to take her in his
arms. His brief anger had saved him from that folly, at least.

After much thought, he had decided to return
home to his estates to search through his father's papers in hopes
of finding some clue about her. He wasn't sure what he expected to
discover, but he had an inexplicable conviction that some answer
would be revealed there.

But first he needed to mend his fences with
this most extraordinary young lady. And what then? Not only was he
betrothed, but he shrank from the very idea of thrusting himself,
with his despicable past, on Miss Clayton's sweet innocence. He did
not pause to wonder why he'd had no similar reservations with
regard to Miss Beauforth.