Azalea

AZALEA

Brenda Hiatt

Smashwords edition

Copyright 1994 by Brenda H. Barber

This is a work of fiction. Though some actual
historical places, persons and events are depicted in this work,
the primary characters and their stories are fictional. Any
resemblance between those characters and actual persons, living or
dead, are purely coincidental.

License Notes

This ebook is licensed for your personal
enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to
other people. If you would like to share this book with another
person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient.
Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

* * *

DEDICATION

For my family. Thank you for your
patience.

PROLOGUE

March 1809

Another wave swept across the pitching deck
of the
Artemis,
almost wrenching Christian loose from the
rail he grasped with one hand. Instead of alarm, he felt only
exhilaration. For so long he had dreamed of this, his first sea
voyage! The reality was even more exciting than he had imagined.
Shaking the salt spray from his hair, he laughed into the screaming
gale.

When his father had invited
him to sail along on a business trip to America, Christian had
jumped at the chance, the still-novel pleasures of London paling
against the visions of adventure conjured up. What were gaming
hells and cockfights, even the lights of the
demi-monde,
compared to this battle
with the elements, the raw fury of wind and ocean? He had never
felt more alive in all his eighteen years.

"It's gettin' mighty rough, lad. Best you go
below with the other passengers." Captain Taylor, a stringy,
dark-haired man with a clean-shaven, leathery face, clapped a
gnarled hand on his shoulder. "I've told you what a storm at sea
can do— haven't you seen enough?"

Christian breathed deeply of the fierce,
fresh wind. "Not yet. It's my first storm, after all. Are we in
some danger then?"

The captain shrugged. "Any storm can spell
trouble this far out and I'd as lief not lose a paying guest
overboard. Why, I remember a time... But there's his lordship, your
father, come for you. We can talk later. I've work to do."

Captain Taylor turned to bellow orders at
his crew, leaving Christian to grin after him. The captain's
frequent tales of life at sea had been the best part of this voyage
—up until now, anyway. Another splash of icy sea water caught
Christian full in the face, making him gasp and sputter. Wiping the
salt from his eyes, he saw his father beckoning him from the
hatchway. With a last, reluctant look at the raging sea, he left
the rail, stumbling slightly as the deck pitched beneath him.

"Here you are, Son! Let's get below, where
we'll be out of the crew's way." Lord Glaedon spoke heartily, but
Christian couldn't mistake the concern in his eyes. "This looks
like a bad blow."

His father had spent a great deal of time at
sea in his youth, Christian knew, which meant his caution, based as
it was on experience, could not be ignored. Still, he couldn't
suppress a cocky grin as he stepped forward.

"Sailing is every bit the adventure you
promised, Father," he said exultantly. "I hate to miss any of it.
If you don't mind, I'd like to stay on deck for just a bit longer.
Captain Taylor doesn't seem unduly worried—"

At that moment a falling spar, torn loose
from the mast above, struck him a glancing blow on the shoulder,
knocking him heavily to the deck.

For a few seconds he was dazed, not certain
what had happened. Blinking as his vision cleared, he saw his
father leaning over him, white-faced.

"My God, Chris, that was a close one!" He
had never seen his father so shaken. "Can you stand?"

Christian nodded vigorously, though for the
moment speech was beyond him. Scrambling to his feet, he followed
the Earl down the ladder that led to their cabin, his enthusiasm
about the storm temporarily dampened.

The next morning dawned fair; a fresh breeze
filled the sails while the sun sparkled on the deceptively innocent
ocean. Christian, looking out from the same rail where he'd stood
the evening before, marvelled at the change. It would seem that the
sea was as fickle as he'd always heard.

Perhaps with the return of fine weather,
Captain Taylor would have more time to answer his myriad questions
about the New World they approached. Not for the first time, he
thought about what it would be like to carve out a life for himself
in that untamed wilderness —a far different life than that awaiting
him as second son to an earl, back in England.

"Well, my boy, we'll be in sight of land in
just over a week," said his father, coming up to stand beside him
at the rail. "I suppose it's high time I told you the real reason I
asked you to accompany me to America."

* * *

CHAPTER 1

April 1809

"Azalea! Are you out here?" The
housekeeper's voice floated across the paddock to the stables,
where a small, trousered figure was currying a dainty, silver-grey
mare with long, brisk strokes.

"In here, Swannee!" the girl answered
without pausing in her work. "What is it?"

"Your grandfather wants you up to the house
right away. Visitors, I believe. And just look at you!" Mrs. Swann
exclaimed in dismay. Azalea emerged from the stall, grinning
impishly as she ran quick fingers through her tousled red curls.
Enormous, grey-green eyes of startling beauty sparkled up at the
distracted housekeeper, who at this moment was more inclined to
notice the smear of stable dirt across the girl's left cheek than
the flawlessness of the complexion it disguised.

Mrs. Swann sighed gustily and opened her
mouth in preparation for a well-rehearsed homily on her young
mistress's shortcomings, but Azalea forestalled her with an
affectionate hug.

"Don't fuss, Swannee! Ten to one it's just
Jonathan, and he won't mind seeing me in breeches. At any rate, I
can go in by the pantry door and reach my bedroom without being
seen."

Mrs. Swann, plump fists on plumper hips,
shook her greying blond head in resignation and gazed fondly at the
glowing, untidy girl before her. For the past eight years she had
been the nearest thing to a mother Azalea had known, and in truth,
she couldn't have loved her more had the girl been her own
daughter.

Of course, who would not love such a
beautiful child, with her bright, flame-coloured curls,
thick-lashed liquid eyes and sweet, winning ways? But there was
also a certain wildness about her that Mrs. Swann had done her best
to control over the years—a task as futile as trying to control the
fresh east wind that blew in from the coast.

"All right, miss," she conceded gruffly,
"but do hurry. And I don't believe it is Master Jonathan coming to
call. Your grandfather has ordered supper set back an hour and an
extra chicken killed. He wouldn't likely do that for one of your
young friends."

"Oh, how interesting —I shall hurry!"

Azalea raced across the field at a pace that
caused the long-suffering Mrs. Swann to emit another sigh and hope
the girl's grandfather was well away from the back windows. At this
distance, Azalea looked more like a stable-lad than a young lady of
Quality.

* * *

A scant fifteen minutes later, a hastily
scrubbed and gowned Azalea clattered down to the library, where her
grandfather customarily received callers. She was surprised to find
the old gentleman quietly reading alone.

"Oh, have they gone already?" She stopped
just inside the door, disappointed. "I did hurry, Grandfather,
truly I did! Swannee said our guests would be staying for supper.
Were they ladies or gentlemen? Are they staying here in
Williamsburg? Or was it someone I already know? Was it Jonathan,
after all? Why—"

"My dear, my dear, always leaping to
conclusions," Reverend Simpson said, breaking in mildly. "Taking
your questions in order, they have not yet arrived, but are due
within the hour. They will be staying for supper, which has been
set back to eight o'clock. They are gentlemen, two in number, and
are staying at Wetherburn's Tavern until rooms can be prepared for
them here. You have never met them, but have often heard me refer
to the elder of the two, my old friend Howard Morely, Earl of
Glaedon. The other gentleman is his second son, Christian, whom I
have yet to meet. Obviously not Jonathan. Did I miss anything?" The
old gentleman's austere, scholarly demeanour was softened by the
twinkle in his bright blue eyes.

"You know you didn't." She smiled fondly at
her grandfather. "But I still want to know all about them. Why have
we had no word that they were coming? How long do they stay?"
Azalea fairly danced with impatience. She could not recollect when
they had last had overnight visitors. And Lord Glaedon! The hero of
so many of Grandfather's tales about his time in India, the one
with whom he had shared such splendid adventures...!

"Very well, my dear, stop twitching," the
Reverend said, relenting. "Due to a quirk of the mails, Howard's
letter informing me of the date of his proposed visit arrived on
the same ship that carried Christian and himself hither. They
arrived in America only yesterday, and will probably stay with us
but a few days, as Howard has pressing business in Richmond.
However—" he interrupted himself with a brief fit of coughing "—I
hope they will return for a longer visit when their affairs have
been concluded."

This answer seemed clear enough, but there
was something evasive in the old gentleman's manner that convinced
Azalea there was more to the matter. "And?" she prompted. "What
aren't you telling me, Grandfather?"

"Precocious child! Can you read my mind
now?"

"If I could, I wouldn't need to ask. But I
can tell when you've decided something doesn't concern me, or that
I'm too young to hear all of the interesting details." Azalea
almost pouted before hastily remembering that she was now too old
for such behaviour.

Reverend Simpson sighed. "No, Azalea, young
you may be, but this matter very definitely concerns you. Still, I
would prefer to speak with Howard in person before acquainting you
fully with the 'interesting details,' as you term them. I do
promise to tell you all I can once I am completely in possession of
the facts. Will that content you for now?"

Azalea smiled reluctantly. "I suppose it
must."

"Good. Now perhaps you'd like to complete
your toilette before supper —and I suggest you use a mirror this
time. You missed a spot or two." He winked knowingly over his
spectacles. Azalea grimaced, but hurried back upstairs to wash more
thoroughly and put her hair in better order. She wanted to look her
best for these distinguished visitors from England.

* * *

The warm spring afternoon was beginning to
cool when Azalea returned to the library. She stopped short on the
threshold, startled to find their visitors already present. Her
soft surprised, "Oh!" caused all three gentlemen to turn.

"Ah, my dear, here you are," exclaimed her
grandfather, coming forward. "Let me present Lord Glaedon and his
son, the Honourable Christian Morely. Gentlemen, my granddaughter,
Miss Azalea Clayton."

She dropped a curtsy and lowered her gaze in
confusion. "I—I beg pardon for not greeting you upon your arrival!
I was in the garden and thought surely I would hear the approach of
your carriage—"

"No need for apologies, child," the elder of
the two visitors said, interrupting her warmly. "We have scarce
been here ten minutes, and you could hardly have been expected to
hear our carriage, as we rode instead. And let me say that I am
delighted to make your acquaintance at last, though I feel I know
you well from your grandfather's letters. You are even prettier
than he described you."

Azalea looked up quickly at the unlikely
words to find kindly grey eyes regarding her. Timidly, she returned
the Earl's smile.

Lord Glaedon was a hearty man in his late
fifties, with very little grey in his thick black hair. He looked,
Azalea thought, as an earl ought to: confident rather than
arrogant, and dressed with a simple elegance that rendered him by
far the most fashionable gentleman she'd ever seen. He was also the
tallest man she could remember meeting. That is, unless she counted
Judd Bellby, a local farmer's son who was certainly no
gentleman.

"Thank you, my lord," answered Azalea, a
heartbeat before she could be accused of staring. "Grandfather has
told me much about you, also, and about the adventures you shared
in India. Such wonderful stories!"

"And stories they no doubt were, for the
most part," Lord Glaedon replied somewhat gruffly, glancing at the
Reverend. "Gregory ever had a tendency to exaggerate. Christian, my
lad," he called, turning toward the other occupant of the room,
"come forward and make Miss Clayton's acquaintance."