Azalea (15 page)

Marilyn's unusual animation did not escape
Christian's notice any more than it had escaped Azalea's, and he
was just as able to make a shrewd guess as to its cause. He was
surprised to realize that the idea did not disturb him in the
least. Instead, he was aware of a distinct sense of relief that it
was Marilyn and not her cousin who drew Mr. Plummer here.

Clearly he had not engaged Miss Beauforth's
affections to the extent she had led him to believe. Of a
certainty, he had never been able to evoke the animation of spirits
she was evincing now at the rustic tales of this colonial.

To be fair, the fellow seemed likable
enough, and did tell a good story. But who was he? Plummer?
Christian couldn't remember ever having heard the name before last
night. A friend of Miss Clayton's, Lady Beauforth had said.

He listened more closely to the conversation
in hopes of discovering more about him—and, perhaps, about the
intriguing, maddening Miss Clayton as well. Though she sat in
silence beside him, he was profoundly aware of her nearness.

"So you see," Plummer was saying, "my
grandfather had to be obeyed, even if it meant travelling halfway
around the world for my education when there was a perfectly
adequate, probably superior, university within walking distance of
my home."

"And what school might that be?" asked
Christian, raising one brow sceptically. He seriously doubted that
any "higher education" the colonies had to offer could compare to
Cambridge or Oxford.

"Why, the College of William and Mary, of
course!" the other man answered with some surprise. "like Azalea, I
am from Williamsburg," he said carefully. "We both grew up
practically in the shadow of the College. It so dominated our lives
that it is difficult to remember that there are those, especially
here across the Atlantic, who may be unaware of its very
existence." He regarded Christian rather strangely.

"No, not quite that, I assure you. As a
matter of fact, my father had a very close friend who, I believe,
was a professor at that school."

Mr. Plummer glanced at Miss Clayton, who
seemed completely absorbed in examining the lace edging of her
sleeve. "Who might that have been, my lord?" he asked after a
moment. "I knew several of the faculty, and I believe Azalea was
well acquainted with nearly all of them through her grandfather,
who also taught there."

Christian turned to the young woman at his
side, but she still did not look up. Lady Beauforth began hastily
to clear her throat, apparently preparatory to changing the
subject, but Christian answered the question without
hesitation.

"A Reverend Gregory Simpson," he said. "He
teaches, or taught, mathematics, I believe."

"Well, if it ain't a small world!" exclaimed
Mr. Plummer. He looked again at Miss Clayton, who this time was
moved to speak.

"He was my grandfather, my lord," she said
quietly, meeting Christian's eyes for the first time since his
arrival. "He died last spring, which is why I find myself in
England. I—I knew of his friendship with the late Earl, but there
seemed no opportunity, or reason, to mention it before this." She
looked as though she were about to say more, but then decided
against it.

"I'm sorry, Miss Clayton," he said
sincerely. "Believe me, I had no wish to distress you with painful
recollections."

He continued to regard her intently for a
moment and was startled to see her colour rise. His own body began
to stir in response and his pulse quickened.

Christian had done his best to put Miss
Clayton from his mind since last night's ball, and he'd thought
he'd succeeded. But now, in her presence, he found himself more
disturbed by her face and voice as ever. It was almost as though a
part of him, deeply buried, was linked to a similar part of her. It
made no sense.

At this point, Lady Beauforth broke in with
an observation on the decorations used at the Queesley's ball and
Jonathan joined in determinedly, giving both Azalea and Christian a
chance to reflect while appearing politely interested in the
conversation.

Azalea had known it was inevitable that the
bond between their two families would come out in conversation
sooner or later. She had even hoped for an opportunity to bring it
up so that she could watch Lord Glaedon's expression for evidence
of deception.

His face had told her precisely nothing.

He seemed genuinely sorry
for her loss, and had betrayed not the slightest consciousness at
the disclosure. For a moment, there
had
been something else in his eyes,
a warmth that went beyond sympathy, but then it was
gone.

Now he merely looked thoughtful. Either Lord
Glaedon was such an accomplished actor that he could give Edmund
Keane a run for his money, or he honestly had no recollection of
his weeks in Virginia.

Or I'm losing my mind, and the marriage
never took place.

No! She had the papers to prove it.

Christian, meanwhile, was every bit as
preoccupied as the girl sitting beside him.

Had his father mentioned Simpson's
granddaughter? Was that why her name seemed familiar to him? It
seemed the most probable explanation yet. He recalled that their
disastrous trip to America was to have included a visit to
Simpson's home, and she would likely have been mentioned in that
context, though she could have been little more than a child at the
time.

But what of that elusive familiarity? Was it
possible that Reverend Simpson had sent a likeness of the girl to
his father and that he himself had seen it years ago? He could not
remember such a thing among the old Earl's belongings. He resolved
to go through them more carefully when he was next at Glaedon Oaks.
He had to discover why she affected him so strongly.

When Lady Beauforth had exhausted the
subject of last night's decorations and began criticizing the
refreshments served, Lord Glaedon rose and rather absently took his
leave.

Azalea was not sorry to see him go. She
tried to enter more fully into the discussion so that her
companions would not notice her distraction, but Jonathan seemed
well aware of the constraint in his friend's manner. He shot
several significant looks her way, particularly when Lady Beauforth
mentioned Lord Kayce's visit, making Azalea wonder if he knew
something about her uncle.

When Jonathan rose to leave, she quickly
asked him to accompany her to the library to see a letter she had
just received from a mutual friend in Williamsburg. He acceded
willingly and to her relief, neither of her cousins seemed inclined
to join them.

His first words when they were alone,
however, had nothing to do with Lord Kayce. "Say, 'Zalea, that
fellow who just left, Lord Glaedon —isn't he the one who came to
visit you in Williamsburg? I thought for certain it was when I
first saw him, but then when he started talking, I wasn't so
sure."

Azalea froze. She had totally forgotten that
brief meeting with Jonathan all those years ago. Swiftly, she made
a decision. "No, that was his brother, who died in the recent war.
I'm told they looked very much alike."

To her relief, Jonathan appeared to accept
her fabrication. She hated to lie, but she was completely
unprepared to offer an explanation for Lord Glaedon's memory lapse,
especially since she herself did not know what had caused it.
Before he could ask any more questions, she changed the
subject.

"Tell me, Jonathan, what do you know of my
uncle, Lord Kayce? You looked startled, even displeased, when Lady
Beauforth mentioned him." Azalea realized that a man was more
likely to have accurate information than even the best-informed
female, and Jonathan moved in circles that would allow him to hear
more than Mr. Timmons might ever discover.

Jonathan looked uncomfortable. "I'll admit I
have heard a few unpleasant things about him. Kayce has a
reputation as a hard man, for all that soft front he puts on. And
there are rumours that, well, cast doubt on his integrity."

"Rumors?" Azalea asked sharply. "Have you
specifics?"

"Nothing's been proven, mind you," Jonathan
replied. "But poor Jim Sykes challenged him to a duel last year
over some business deal where he claimed Kayce cheated him, and was
found dead— killed by footpads, it was said— before the meeting
ever took place. My guess is Kayce didn't want to risk his precious
person any more than his honour. Don't trust him, Azalea."

"Thank you, Jonathan, I won't. Don't bruit
it about just yet that he is my uncle, please. And let me know if
you hear anything that you think I should know."

She wished suddenly that she could ask him
about Lord Glaedon, too. No doubt Jonathan could find out what sort
of reputation he had and perhaps other things about him, as well.
But she could not, not without giving explanations that she was not
yet ready to give.

Preoccupied with such thoughts, she bade him
farewell.

"Mr. Plummer seems a fine young man,"
declared Lady Beauforth when Jonathan had gone.

"Did you not say he was but a year older
than yourself?" asked Marilyn. "He seems far older, somehow.
Doubtless due to his life in the wilds of America." A smile played
about her lips.

"And grandson to Lord Holte!" continued her
mother. "Why did you never tell us before last night that you were
acquainted with such an eligible gentleman, Azalea?"

"Eligible, ma'am?" asked Azalea, startled to
hear Jonathan mentioned in those terms.

"Oh, quite!" Lady Beauforth assured her.
"And he seems greatly taken with you, I notice. I doubt not with a
little encouragement, he could be brought to make you an
offer."

Marilyn's delicate brows drew down in a
quick frown, but Azalea almost choked on a laugh. "An offer? From
Jonathan? I assure you, ma'am, that he regards me with nothing more
than brotherly affection. Why, we practically grew up
together!"

Immediately, Marilyn's expression cleared.
"Yes, Mama, you speak foolishness, surely," she said with something
suspiciously like relief.

Azalea did not hear Lady Beauforth's reply,
for she was struck by the sudden realization that some gentleman
might very well make her an offer if she continued to go on as she
had last night, flirting and accepting dances as though she were in
fact seeking a husband. It would not at all do to forget, amid the
excitement of making new friends in London, that she was already a
married woman.

She would be more careful from now on, she
vowed, and not encourage any such expectations. On no account would
she risk breaking some poor man's heart. She knew only too well how
that felt.

* * *

CHAPTER 8

"I'm sorry, my lord. I have looked into
every point of law that could be even remotely relevant to our
case, but there is nothing we can do. The girl's claim cannot be
doubted. Timmons, her man of business, has all the necessary
proofs."

"Yes, yes, you told me that before. That's
why I called on her today." Lord Kayce eyed his fat solicitor with
disfavour. "I pay you an exorbitant fee to protect my interests,
Mr. Greely. Those interests are now threatened by a mere slip of a
girl—a girl whose existence you somehow failed to apprise me of
until last month. I must wonder whether you are worth your keep
after all."

The lawyer mopped his brow with an already
damp handkerchief. "My lord, her claim against the Kayce estates is
insignificant in comparison to the total. Your interests—"

"That is not the point," snapped Kayce. "Why
was I never informed that my fool of a brother had offspring? Is
that not the sort of thing I employ you for? I dislike surprises,
Mr. Greely."

"It is usual that such heirs make
application to the estate upon the decease of the holder, my lord.
I have no idea why Miss Clayton or her representatives never wrote
to us after your brother's death. Naturally, I assumed—"

"I do not pay you to assume. What we must do
now is figure a way out of this predicament. While the money
involved may represent but a fraction of my holdings, I would
prefer not to lose that particular acreage. If you recall, I had
made certain arrangements that might be an, ah, embarrassment if
they came to light."

Mr. Greely paled visibly. "The right of way.
I had forgotten, my lord. And if your niece contests the property,
there will certainly be a full investigation." He appeared to think
hard for a moment. "I cannot think she will care overmuch whether
she receives the land itself, my lord. Perhaps she can be bought
off. If you were to offer her a fair price for the acreage, she'd
likely take it, particularly if she is as short of funds as you
say."

Kayce nodded slowly. "Perhaps. She would not
be sending her maid to buy gowns for her in Soho were she
well-fixed."

Heartened, the lawyer went on eagerly. "She
must surely be grateful for the way you have increased her
inheritance over the years. It may even be possible to induce her
to accept the original value rather than what it is worth now. That
seems only fair. The extent of the Kayce holdings, to include her
small piece of it, is solely to your credit. You had little enough
to work with when your father died."

That much was true. Though he had
successfully forced his elder brother, Walter, to leave England
permanently after their father's death, Simon had still struggled
to bring profit out of the estates. The fourth Baron's gaming and
spendthrift ways had all but depleted his resources. Simon had
succeeded beyond anyone's expectations. He rather regretted that
his father, who had always favoured Walter, could not have lived to
see it.

Word of Walter's death had changed nothing
for Simon, except that he could now claim the title he had already
felt entitled to by his brother's long absence. The fact that he
had precipitated that absence himself was yet another matter he
preferred not come to light. Not even Greely knew of it.