Azalea (9 page)

"Thank you, Junie. You take very good care
of me," said Azalea warmly, making the abigail flush with
pleasure.

"No more than you deserve, miss," she said
brusquely. "Now, which dress will you wear? I got that stain out of
the white one, and hemmed up the blue."

At precisely nine o'clock Azalea descended
the front steps to the waiting carriage, wearing a charming morning
dress of sky blue. She was accompanied by a smart-looking Junie,
who had bought herself a dress at the market yesterday as well, in
keeping with her new post as a fashionable lady's maid. She had
informed Azalea that young ladies of Quality simply did not go
about in public alone, and stubbornly insisted upon coming with
her.

Azalea thought it absurd for Junie to waste
a whole morning trailing after her as if she were a child, but
finally agreed to abide by the social customs of the London ton.
Truth be told, she was somewhat nervous about the coming interview
and was just as glad to have Junie's company.

Leaning back against the velvet squabs in
the elegant carriage, Azalea tried to organize her thoughts for the
ordeal ahead. She had brought along every bit of legal
documentation she possessed and hoped it would be enough to satisfy
Mr. Timmons of the validity of her claims, at least regarding the
Kayce estate.

The marriage papers resided in her reticule,
separate from the rest. Two days ago she had regarded them as mere
sentimental keepsakes, but she now realized that they might well be
vitally important, in a legal sense, at least.

The mansions of the elite and fashionable
West End had been left behind and they were now travelling through
a less attractive part of London. Peering out of the carriage
window, Azalea was shocked at the squalor that existed less than
ten minutes from the elegant Mayfair neighbourhood where her
cousins lived. Nowhere in America had she seen such filth and human
degradation.

Slovenly and obviously inebriated women
lounged in gloomy doorways, many nursing infants. Azalea saw one
woman offer her baby something out of a bottle and she turned to
Junie in dismay.

"Look at that woman! Surely she is not
giving that poor baby liquor to drink?"

"Like as not, miss," replied the abigail
after a brief glance. "In these parts, gin is the lifeblood of the
poor folks. No doubt the child would get nearly as drunk on its
mother's milk."

"But that's terrible! Why doesn't someone do
something?"

Junie looked at her in amazement. "It's her
babe, to raise or kill as she sees fit."

Azalea lapsed into silence, feeling
immeasurably depressed by the scene of degrading poverty she had
just witnessed. In America, at least in the part of it she had
known, the poor worked where they could and kept their dignity. If
jobs were not to be had, they moved west, where there was farmland
for the taking.

A few minutes later her spirits revived
somewhat as the scene changed again to what was obviously a
business district. Well-dressed merchants and gentlemen moved
purposefully along the streets. No women were in evidence. The
carriage came to a stop in front of an imposing red brick edifice
identified by a brass plate that simply read Law Offices.

Stepping out of the carriage, Azalea told
her maid firmly to remain where she was. Though Junie looked as
though she would have liked to argue, she obeyed.

Following the directions she had been given,
Azalea proceeded to a suite on the second floor of the Law Offices
with a door plate reading John J. Timmons, Esq., Barr. Opening the
door, she found herself in a plush but rather musty chamber facing
an owlish man of indeterminate age seated at an enormous wooden
desk.

He looked up from his sheaf of papers with a
frown that gave way to blank astonishment as he beheld a lady in
these sacred male precincts.

As the man appeared totally bereft of
speech, Azalea opened the conversation herself, speaking quickly
before she could lose her courage.

"Mr. Timmons? I am Azalea Clayton. I was
referred to you by my grandfather, the Reverend Gregory Simpson. I
believe you handled his business when he was young, as well as that
of his father, Sir Philip Simpson."

She was running out of opening remarks when
he finally recovered himself enough to speak.

"Oh, uh... no, ma'am. I mean, I'm not Mr.
Timmons at all. I am Peter Greene, his clerk. I—I'll tell him
you're here. Miss Clayton, was it?"

Mr. Greene disappeared through a heavy door
at the rear of the room, obviously more intimidated by her presence
than by the task of informing his employer of it, however unwelcome
such information might be.

Looking absently around at the innumerable
leather-bound volumes lining the walls and stacked on the floor,
Azalea mentally prepared her arguments against the possibility of
Mr. Timmons refusing to see her. She had worked herself into a
state of imaginary indignation when Mr. Greene reappeared and
indicated, mainly by gesture, that she could proceed into the inner
sanctum.

The second office was immaculate in
comparison to the dusty disorder of the first. An elderly and
rather stout gentleman rose to greet her, bowing with old-fashioned
courtesy.

"Miss Clayton? I am honoured to make your
acquaintance. Pray sit down. In what way may I be of service to
you?" His tone was formally polite, but Azalea thought the man
looked puzzled, and wondered what garbled account of her
connections Mr. Greene had given him.

"Mr. Timmons," she began tentatively,
perching on the edge of the overstuffed leather chair opposite the
desk, "I believe you knew my grandfather slightly and conducted
business for his father, Sir Philip Simpson, before his death."

"Of course, of course," replied the lawyer,
now more at ease. "I remember young Gregory well, though I suppose
I shouldn't say young exactly, as we are almost of an age. Is he
still in Virginia? How is he?"

"He died eight months ago, which is why I am
here."

"I am sorry," said Mr. Timmons sincerely. "I
remember him as an unusually intelligent man. He went to America to
teach at one of the universities, I recollect."

Azalea lost some of her diffidence. "Yes, at
the College of William and Mary, in Williamsburg. He became one of
their most respected faculty members," she added with unconscious
pride.

"And in what circumstances are you left? He
was your guardian?" She nodded. "What became of your parents?"

"Both died when I was very young. My mother
was his only daughter. My father was Walter Clayton, fifth Baron
Kayce. On his death, my grandfather left me everything he had, on
the condition that I sell the property and come to England. I am
presently staying with my cousin, Lady Beauforth, in Curzon
Street."

"I know of Lady Beauforth," said Mr. Timmons
mildly when she paused. "An estimable woman, I believe."

Azalea took a deep breath before continuing.
"Grandfather wished me to take steps to reclaim my inheritance.
Indeed, I have found that I must do so, as a Season with Lady
Beauforth will cost a great deal more than I can presently afford.
On my grandfather's recommendation, I would like to engage you as
my man of business here in London, if that would be acceptable to
you?"

"Why, of course, my child. I thought that
was settled already." Mr. Timmons's eyes twinkled with a trace of
humour. "It appears you have a measure of your grandfather's
independence, and likely his intelligence as well. Otherwise, you
wouldn't have come to me."

Gratefully, Azalea pushed the packet of
papers across the desk to him. "Here is a summary of the fourth
Lord Kayce's will, which was sent to my father on his death. The
estate itself, as I understand it, was entailed, but there was a
substantial sum that was brought into the family by marriage and
that should have come to me at my father's death."

Mr. Timmons opened the packet and began
sorting through the papers it contained. "I shall need to look over
the original will, of course. It should be filed at Somerset House.
I assume your father left none?" Azalea shook her head.

"Not unusual in so young a man. We shall
also need indisputable proof of your own identity —ah, here we are.
Yes, these will be more than sufficient."

He met her eyes solemnly. "I shall not
attempt to deceive you, Miss Clayton. Lord Kayce, your uncle, is a
very powerful man. He may very well attempt to counter your claims.
After all, he could stand to lose a good deal of money as a result.
Have you communicated with him at all?"

"No, I haven't. From certain things my
grandfather told me, I thought that might be... unwise. In fact,
I'm not sure he's even aware of my existence." Mr. Timmons raised
his brows at this and she hurried on. "In any event, I arrived in
London only the day before yesterday, and thought it would be
prudent to consult with an expert in legal matters before deciding
upon any course of action."

"A wise precaution," the lawyer replied
noncommittally. "However, as you are under age, Miss Clayton, you
will need a guardian —and the most natural person for that role
would be your uncle."

Azalea stared at the lawyer in dismay. "But
I am perfectly happy with Lady Beauforth, and it was my
grandfather's express wish that she act as my guardian. And...
suppose Lord Kayce wishes me ill?"

Mr. Timmons blinked.

"Well," she continued more cautiously,
"Grandfather once hinted at something like that, though he was sick
at the time and I suppose I might have misunderstood him." Here, in
the face of the lawyer's skeptical gaze, her grandfather's
accusations seemed rather unlikely.

"As to that, I cannot say." Mr. Timmons had
retreated into cool professionalism now. "Though I would imagine
that any danger from your uncle would be financial rather than
physical. But the fact remains that in the normal course of things,
Lord Kayce would legally be named your guardian until you come of
age or, of course, marry."

At this last word, her head came up. She
believed that Mr. Timmons was a man she could trust and that he had
a certain interest in her welfare, if only because of his memories
of her grandfather. Decisively, she pulled the remaining papers
from her reticule and handed them to the lawyer.

"Perhaps this will make a difference."

Frowning puzzlement gave way to incredulous
amazement as the lawyer unfolded and perused the documents. "These
appear to be genuine. Why did you say nothing of this before?"

Azalea thought she detected a hint of
suspicion behind the kindly brown eyes. She knew instinctively that
her only course must be one of total honesty if she were not to
lose Mr. Timmons as an ally.

Adhering strictly to the facts, she
explained the circumstances of her marriage and subsequent supposed
widowhood. She then confided her belief that grief at Howard
Morely's death had precipitated her grandfather's decline and
eventual demise. Throughout the recital, she kept her voice
carefully level, drawing on the control she had cultivated over the
past six years.

"It was only yesterday that I discovered
that Christian Morely, now Earl of Glaedon, is still alive," she
concluded. "I still do not understand how that can be, but I met
him myself in Hyde Park."

"I do seem to remember some furor over the
Earl, or perhaps it was his brother, a year or two ago," said Mr.
Timmons thoughtfully. "I cannot seem to recall the details, but
something was in the papers, I believe. However, this would seem to
be the answer to both of your problems. Glaedon is not so wealthy
as your uncle, but he is quite well situated, I believe."

He turned his keen gaze back to Azalea.
"What is it, my dear? Is he unwilling to acknowledge you?" When she
did not answer, his brows drew together. "I assure you he can be
legally forced to do so. These documents constitute sufficient
proof—"

"Not precisely that, Mr. Timmons," Azalea
broke in. "At least, I'm not certain that is the case. When I met
him yesterday, he seemed not to recognize me, even when we were
introduced. As a matter of fact, he was almost rude to me."

Mr. Timmons opened his
mouth, but Azalea hurried on. "So, if you don't mind, I'd rather
not make these documents public just yet. I want to discover what
is going on first. Perhaps it will transpire that I don't care to
acknowledge
him!"
she concluded with a defiant lift of her chin.

A half smile played about the old
solicitor's mouth, but he seemed compelled to try again.
"Understand, my dear lady—or Miss Clayton, if you will—that the
resources you would have at your disposal as Countess of Glaedon
could make all the difference in the world to your legal battle
with Lord Kayce. It is unlikely—"

"Please, Mr. Timmons, can you not
understand?" she interrupted urgently. "Lord Glaedon already
dislikes Americans. If I were to declare myself his wife now, not
only might he not believe me, but it could serve to confirm his
negative opinion. I also think it would not be very conducive to my
future happiness in marriage. Promise me you will say nothing of
this to anyone, at least for the present."

Mr. Timmons regarded her gravely for a long
moment, but finally nodded. "Very well, my dear. For the present,
though it goes against my better judgement. I shall see what I can
manage with the other documents you have given me. And I must
recommend that you entrust the marriage papers to me as well, for
safe keeping."

"Of course." She leaned forward. "And you
won't inform my uncle about my presence in London just yet either,
will you?"

He shook his head. "No, though he must be
told eventually, of course. I am sure he will be very surprised.
But you have given me enough to work on for the present, I believe,
without complicating matters further. I shall send word when I have
made some progress. My first step will be to obtain your paternal
grandfather's will."