Azalea (22 page)

Perplexed, she lingered in the empty
hallway, biting her lower lip. Could the lawyer have left Town for
the holidays? Surely he would have sent a message, at least, as his
work on her behalf was by no means done.

Half-heartedly, she reached out to try the
doorknob and was surprised when it turned easily in her grasp. She
pushed the door open and gasped in astonishment at the scene that
greeted her.

The outer office had been far from
immaculate before, but it was now in a state of complete chaos.
Papers were everywhere, books lay open upon the floor and one large
wooden cabinet had been overturned and broken. She stepped further
into the room, torn between curiosity and a growing sense of
misgiving.

Suddenly, Mr. Greene stood up from behind
his desk, where he had apparently taken cover at her entrance,
causing her to start violently.

"Oh, Miss Clayton, it is you!" he exclaimed
in obvious relief. "I thought they might have returned."

"Who?" asked Azalea, as soon as her heart
resumed beating. She was still shaken, but determined to find out
what she could. "Whatever has happened here? Where is Mr. Timmons?"
She looked about her, half expecting the lawyer to emerge from his
inner office at the sound of her voice.

"He's laid up at home, senseless," replied
Mr. Greene, seemingly agitated out of his shyness by recent
events.

"Senseless? What has happened to him? Is he
injured?" asked Azalea in alarm, her concern for the old gentleman
temporarily overshadowing her own problems.

"Set upon by footpads last night, miss, not
two blocks from here," said Mr. Greene, shaking his head as if he
still could not believe it. "They took what little money he had,
and his keys, and beat him badly. Left him for dead, or so the
Runners think."

"So the same footpads are the ones who did
this, also, I presume," Azalea concluded, gesturing about the
office. "What do you suppose they were after?" Her mind had already
jumped to an ugly suspicion, but she had no intention of voicing it
without any evidence to support it. At least not yet.

"After?" asked Mr. Greene in surprise.
Apparently he had not yet thought that far into the matter. "Why,
money, I suppose. What else?"

"Come, Mr. Greene, even a common footpad
would hardly expect to find much money in a solicitor's office, and
I rather doubt these were common footpads. It seems obvious to me
that they attacked poor Mr. Timmons primarily for the keys to these
rooms, and that they were looking for something specific here. Do
not tell me that the Bow Street Runners had no similar theory?"

"No, miss," replied Mr. Greene, beginning to
return to his usual flustered manner. "At least, I don't think so.
No, no they couldn't have, for they didn't know the office had been
ransacked. I just found out two hours ago when I came to put the
sign on the door."

Perhaps to cover his embarrassment for not
having thought of that obvious explanation himself, Mr. Greene
turned away to resume the thankless task of straightening up.

"They certainly must be told, and
immediately," said Azalea decisively. "Will you do so, Mr. Greene,
or shall I?"

The clerk gaped at her. "You, miss? Why ever
would you want to involve yourself in this business? No, they will
be back later today, and I shall tell them then —or, rather, show
them. I'll hardly have the place cleaned up by then." He looked
around hopelessly.

"Perhaps you should leave everything as it
is until they've seen it," she suggested. Mr. Greene's face
brightened noticeably. "Meanwhile, I don't suppose there is any
chance you might know where Mr. Timmons kept certain documents I
left with him?"

The clerk's face clouded again. "No, miss,
I'm sorry. Nothing is in its proper place, as far as I have been
able to tell, and Mr. Timmons's personal office is in worse shape
than this one. That is where he kept the most important
papers."

She had feared that would be the case.
"Well, if you should find any papers connected with me, please send
me a message or, better, the papers themselves," she said, but
without much hope.

"Yes, miss, I'll certainly do that,"
promised Mr. Greene, appearing more optimistic than she was.

Thinking furiously, Azalea
left the office.
Could
Kayce have been behind this? Had he somehow suspected her
marriage to Lord Glaedon? That seemed unlikely, as the only person
in London she had told was Mr. Timmons.

No, it seemed more probable that Kayce had
been after the proofs of her identity if, in fact, he was
responsible. Without those, she would have a difficult, if not
impossible, time establishing any claim to her inheritance. Her
uncle might be planning to declare her a fraud if she refused to go
along with his plans. Of course, if he now had all the papers, he
would know that marriage to one of his cronies was out of the
question— wouldn't he?

Still deep in thought, she descended to the
carriage.

* * *

CHAPTER 12

Christmas was nearly upon them. Azalea was
glad that Lady Beauforth felt disposed to make little of the
holiday season, since her own heart wasn't in it. She had called on
Mr. Timmons at his home the previous afternoon, only to be told by
his wife that the doctor had expressly forbidden visitors. Mrs.
Timmons had agreed to convey a message as soon as her husband was
on the mend, and Azalea tried to be satisfied with that.

Marilyn, however, was not nearly so willing
to forgo Christmas festivities as her mother and Azalea seemed to
be. At the breakfast table she bemoaned the scarcity of parties and
routs in Town at this season, complaining that this was certain to
be the dullest Christmas she had ever spent. Her mother's reluctant
suggestion that they might go to their country estate for the
holidays was quickly rejected.

"Maple Park is bound to be even duller than
Town," Marilyn declared with a pretty pout. "If we could but give a
party or, better, a ball of our own, it might serve to divert
me."

"With Lord Glaedon in the country? People
might think it odd, my dear. Besides, with Town so thin of company,
who would we invite?"

Such discussions were diverted, however, by
the arrival of a letter a short time later.

"Who is it from, my dearest?" asked Lady
Beauforth, always eager for news of any kind.

"Mary Trentham," answered her daughter
somewhat absently, as she was still perusing the contents of her
letter. "Oh! She invites me to Alder House for the holidays! She
mentions some of those to be present, and... oh, Mother, do say I
may go! It will be ever so much more festive than staying
here."

Marilyn's pout had been magically
transformed into a radiant smile. Lady Beauforth could not be
expected to deny her angel any treat that could bring her such
happiness.

"Of course you must go, darling. It will be
just the thing for you. It has been putting me about dreadfully to
see you so in the doldrums. Do you suppose Miss Trentham could be
prevailed upon to extend the invitation to include your cousin, as
well?" she asked as an afterthought. She glanced guiltily at
Azalea.

Marilyn looked distractedly at her in turn.
"What? Oh. I suppose I could write to Mary, but there is so little
time...." It was obvious she had no thought to spare for her cousin
just then.

"No, please, do not go to any such trouble,"
Azalea insisted. "I assure you that I have not the least desire to
go. I shall be perfectly happy to stay here, catching up on my
reading, which I have sadly neglected, and keeping dear Cousin
Alice company through the holidays."

Her smile at Lady Beauforth during this last
remark was perfectly genuine. Azalea did not wish to risk being
away from London when Mr. Timmons recovered —or when Lord Glaedon
returned.

Marilyn required no convincing whatsoever.
"Well, then, since that is settled, I shall write at once to tell
dear, dear Mary that I shall be there." She was out the
breakfast-room door before she had finished speaking, and a moment
later Azalea could hear her calling out to one of the footmen for a
newly mended pen.

* * *

The rest of that day and the next passed in
a whirl of preparation for Marilyn's visit. Azalea helped with
enthusiasm, glad to have her cousin in such happy spirits for a
change. Running out to the shops to find just the right shade of
ribbon or a fan to go with the gowns being packed provided a
welcome distraction to her own problems.

The night before her departure, Marilyn
surprised Azalea by coming to her bedchamber. "Cousin, I have a
favour to ask," she said with unwonted diffidence.

"Of course," exclaimed Azalea, warming to
the welcome change in her cousin's manner. "How may I help
you?"

Marilyn hesitated for a moment, then met her
eyes with a rather sheepish smile. "Your gold dress —the one Lord
Kayce gave you. Do you suppose... that is, could I borrow it for
the house party?" she finished her request in a rush.

Struggling between amazement and amusement,
Azalea was careful to let neither show on her face. She realized
that it must be very difficult for Marilyn, who had always been
accustomed to having everything she wished, to actually beg a
favour of her country cousin. And lending clothes seemed so... so
sisterly.

At this thought, Azalea smiled broadly. "Of
course. I had no plans to wear it again any time soon."

She opened her clothes-press and removed the
shimmering gold gown. In truth, after the evening she now
associated with this dress, she had no intention of ever wearing it
again.

"Feel free to make any necessary
alterations," she said cheerfully. "I expect it will look better on
you, anyway."

Marilyn thanked her graciously. "You don't
think it will make me too... all one colour?" she asked suddenly,
as she turned to leave the room.

"Oh, no!" Azalea assured her. "You'll look
like spun gold, I'm certain."

Marilyn smiled. "Jonathan —your friend, Mr.
Plummer —once said something like that. I thought he might recall
it if he saw me in this dress."

"Oh, is he to be there?" asked Azalea.
Suddenly, Marilyn's careful preparations took on new meaning.

"Yes, but pray do not say anything to Mama
about it. I—I wouldn't wish her to worry."

Azalea assured her that she saw no reason to
mention the fact to Lady Beauforth. Thanking her again, Marilyn
left to finally complete her packing.

The coach drew up to the door directly after
breakfast the next day. Marilyn's maid and Tom, the head groom,
were to accompany her, and her ladyship had managed to convince
herself that her greatest treasure would be safe in their care.
Still, Lady Beauforth could not suppress a tear or two at their
parting, as this would be the first time in Marilyn's eighteen
years that mother and daughter would be separated by any distance,
even if it was to be for only a fortnight.

"Are you certain you don't wish to come,
too?" Marilyn asked Azalea impulsively as she was turning to climb
into the waiting coach.

Though extremely gratified, Azalea shook her
head firmly. "No, I really would prefer to stay here and Cousin
Alice is rather counting on my company, I flatter myself. But thank
you for asking."

Marilyn's smile was as genuine as her
cousin's. "I shall see you in a fortnight, then. If anything
interesting should occur in my absence, you must write to tell me
all about it." With that, the door was closed and the coachman
whipped up the team.

Azalea and Lady Beauforth were left standing
by the railings. Azalea perceived her cousin's melancholy at once
and quickly guided her back into the house to divert her with a
humorous tale she had overheard at one of the shops yesterday and
saved for exactly this occasion.

* * *

Yuletide passed as uneventfully as Marilyn
had foretold. Virtually all of their acquaintances had taken
advantage of the unusually good travelling conditions to visit
family or friends in the country. Azalea, far from bemoaning the
lack of diversion, welcomed this respite when she might read,
write, ride and, most of all, think to her heart's content.

Christmas passed without any word from Mr.
Timmons, and Azalea reluctantly realized that she would have to
solve her problems without his assistance. And she must do it soon.
Marilyn's and Lord Glaedon's wedding loomed less than six weeks
away.

It was always possible that
Jonathan and Marilyn might come to some understanding while at Miss
Trentham's house party, but she could not count on that. No, when
Lord Glaedon returned to Town, she would do everything possible
to
make
him
remember.

Failing that, she must try to charm him away
from her cousin. Without the marriage papers to back up her claim,
it was the only solution she could think of.

One morning only a few days after Christmas,
while Azalea was reading aloud to Lady Beauforth in the
drawing-room, Lord Drowling was announced. Azalea tried to quell
her instinctive dismay as Lady Beauforth rose to greet him
effusively.

"Why, Lord Drowling! What an honour, to be
sure! I suppose I may construe your call as a compliment to my dear
Azalea?"

"Indeed, my lady. As she may have told you,
I made her acquaintance at the home of her uncle two weeks ago.
Since then, I have been unable to think of anything else. I am but
this moment returned from my estates and wished to pay my respects
immediately." Though he spoke to Lady Beauforth, his eyes caressed
Azalea possessively as he spoke.

"How kind of you, my lord." Azalea kept her
voice cool.

"Ah, kindness has nothing to do with it, my
vision," he replied, seating himself in the chair closest to her.
"My very sanity demanded that I come."