Azalea (30 page)

"Marilyn, my angel, have a care!"
interjected Lady Beauforth, but her daughter shook her head.

"No, Mother, I am persuaded that I will not
be happy as Lady Glaedon. You see, it is Jonathan that I love!" She
turned apologetically to Christian, who was striving to conceal a
smile. "I am so sorry to break your heart in this way, my lord, but
I pray you can become reconciled to losing me. You would not wish
me to marry you when I love another, would you?" Manfully,
Christian kept his expression serious. The fishlike opening and
closing of Lady Beauforth's mouth did not make it any easier.

"Certainly I cannot hold you to our
betrothal under the circumstances, Miss Beauforth. You may consider
it at an end. And now, I really must be going." He nodded to both
ladies and strode quickly from the room.

"He took it remarkably well," Marilyn
commented after he had gone. "Doubtless he wished to leave before
he could betray what he truly felt. Men do not care to express
their sorrow publicly, I have noted."

Lady Beauforth finally found her voice. "My
love, do you realize what you have just done?" she wailed. "You
would have been a countess!"

"I have discovered that there is more to
life than being a countess, Mother," replied Marilyn loftily. "I do
feel badly for poor Glaedon, though. And after he came directly to
see me first thing on returning to Town."

"Actually, my dear, I believe he came to
speak to Azalea," returned Lady Beauforth somewhat distractedly,
trying to sort out everything that had just occurred.

"Indeed?" asked Marilyn in surprise. "I
thought... Oh, well, no matter. What do you think of this dress,
Mother? Jonathan —er, Mr. Plummer —is due back from his
grandfather's estates tomorrow, and I thought I would wear this
when he comes to call." She pirouetted for her mother's
evaluation.

"What? Oh, very nice, my love," said Lady
Beauforth, scarcely looking at her. Oddly, she discovered that
Marilyn's broken betrothal did not upset her as much as the thought
of Azalea's possible danger. What could Lord Glaedon possibly do
for her? And would he be in time?

* * *

Azalea raised herself on one elbow and shook
her head, trying to clear the fog from her brain. How much time had
passed since her uncle had imprisoned her in this sumptuous
bedroom?

She clearly remembered arriving at Kayce's
Town house, and that she had tried to leave after he informed her
that she was to be his "guest" until the wedding. Two footmen —a
fancy name, she thought, for hired thugs —had blocked the front
door, while Kayce told her she had a choice between being carried
to her chamber and being escorted to it. She had chosen the latter
only because open resistance would obviously do her no good,
whereas a show of submission might.

Bit by bit, she pieced together what had
occurred afterward. First, there had been hours of solitude, broken
only by the delivery of a meal tray at noon, and another shortly
after dark. That had given her ample time for thought, and for
regret.

She had believed that the surest way to
avert her uncle's plan was to inform him of her marriage to the
Earl of Glaedon, much as she would have preferred to tell Christian
first. But the very fact that he had imprisoned her implied that
Kayce must already know of it, and must know also that she no
longer possessed any proofs. By coming here instead of going to
Christian, she had unwittingly played right into her uncle's
hands.

As long as he held her prisoner, she could
have no opportunity to convince Christian or anyone else of the
truth, so that they might come to her aid in preventing a lawless
union with Drowling. Which meant her only recourse was escape.

Accordingly, that night, after all was quiet
in the house, she had climbed down the tree outside her
second-storey window. She remembered bolstering her courage by
thinking how she would love to see her uncle's face when he
received her note from Lady Beauforth's in the morning.

But alas, her ambitious scheme had come to
naught. Kayce had evidently been suspicious of his niece's
uncharacteristic compliance and had posted a guard in the garden
below her window. The man had seized her before her feet touched
the ground and dragged her ignominiously back into the house
through a rear entrance.

When called to the scene, Kayce had chuckled
at her obvious chagrin and had ordered her taken back to her
chamber and the window to be locked, in addition to posting an
additional guard outside her door.

The next morning he had allowed her to
descend and join him at breakfast. He had conversed on general
topics as though absolutely nothing were amiss, while Azalea
remained stubbornly silent, refusing to play along with his
dreadful charade. Her uncle had completely ignored the glares she
sent his way, and she had finally decided to devote herself to the
excellent breakfast set before her with the rationale that if she
were ever to make good her escape from this monster, she would need
her strength.

That, apparently, had been a mistake.

She realized now that something in glass or
plate must have contained a drug, for it was at that point that her
memory failed. All she could recall after that were hazy images of
being carried back to her bed, of being fed and ministered to at
intervals by a large, grey-haired woman with a deep voice, and of
disjointed sentences being spoken over her by Kayce and this woman,
who was presumably some sort of nurse. Now she tried to organize
her confused thoughts, to remember anything that they had said,
feeling vaguely that it might be important —but she could not.

At that moment, Azalea heard voices outside
her chamber door and the rattle of a key in the lock. Hoping to
discover something of use, she closed her eyes to feign sleep. She
heard two sets of footsteps enter the room, one heavier than the
other, and then detected a glow against her closed eyelids.
Presumably, the bedside lamp had been lit.

"Still sleeping, my lord," said the deep
female voice she remembered. "Shall I give her another dose to be
safe?" Before Azalea could begin to plan some way to avoid
swallowing the drug, Kayce's voice responded.

"No, I think not. We can hardly have an
unconscious bride, after all. Check in on her periodically, and
when she begins to stir, give her just enough to keep her quiet
without putting her back to sleep. I have paid the clergyman well,
but he still might balk if she were to protest too violently during
the ceremony. We certainly don't want any repetitions of those
claims to a previous marriage she was ranting about earlier, even
if they were mere fancies brought on by the drug. Report to me when
she wakes."

"Yes, my lord," replied the woman, and
Kayce's footfalls receded.

Azalea forced herself to remain limp as the
big woman turned her body from side to side, washing her and
changing the cotton shift she wore.

She had told her uncle of
her marriage? She had no recollection of it. Had she mentioned Lord
Glaedon by name? Had her uncle perhaps
not
obtained the marriage proofs, as
she had feared? Or was he merely hiding that fact from this
servant? She had no way of knowing.

The woman completed her ministrations and
left, and Azalea cautiously opened her eyes again. The door and
window were no doubt still locked, nor was she at all certain that
she could walk yet, in any event. Experimentally, she tried to sit
up in bed, and the room rocked crazily about her. No, even standing
would be impossible for the present. She would try again later. In
the meantime, she could at least think through her situation.

Why had Lady Beauforth not come to enquire
about her? Of course, she very well might have, Azalea realized,
and been fobbed off by some story of Kayce's. She would have to
assume that there would be no help from that quarter. Lady
Beauforth had always been strongly in favour of a match with
Drowling anyway, and would hardly work to prevent it.

What about Marilyn then, or, better yet,
Jonathan? She was positive that he would help her if she could
somehow get word to him. But he would know no more of her situation
than the Beauforths did—he might not even be in Town. Hadn't he
been about to leave for his grandfather's estates the last time he
called? Who else might possibly help her?

Involuntarily, her thoughts turned to
Christian. If only she had gone to him and explained everything
before coming here! He had called himself her friend, and had
implied much, much more. And somehow Azalea knew that he would have
no trouble dealing with Kayce and Drowling if he chose to do
so.

But such fantasies were pointless. By now he
would think that she had entered into a betrothal with Drowling
willingly, since that was doubtless what Lady Beauforth would tell
people. Even if she were somehow to escape, could she really bring
herself to go to him and tell him that she was his wife, as she had
once thought to do? Undoubtedly he would laugh and shut the door in
her face.

No, she would return to America, she
decided. Even if her uncle somehow forced her to go through with
this wedding —which would not be a true one, she consoled herself
—they could hardly keep her under guard for the rest of her life.
Somehow, someday —very soon —she would escape and make her way
back, if not to Williamsburg, then at least to the New World, where
no one would know of her humiliation here in England. If she could
not have Christian's love, then she would take the secret of their
marriage with her to the grave.

And that was another option, she suddenly
realized. While her conscience recoiled at the sinful idea of
suicide, a practical voice somewhere in her still-fuzzy mind told
her that it would be infinitely preferable to a marriage with
Drowling.

Thrusting that thought hastily aside, to be
considered again only if no other solution presented itself, Azalea
forced herself to prepare arguments that would convince any
clergyman —even a well-paid clergyman —that this wedding ceremony
could not possibly take place.

By the time she again heard footsteps, she
had composed a speech, to be delivered at the altar, if necessary,
that she was nearly certain would free her, at least temporarily.
She again pretended sleep, hoping to avoid another dose of whatever
she had been given. Only if she were fully in control of her
faculties would she be able to convince the clergyman not to
perform the ceremony.

So far, her ruse appeared successful. The
woman merely looked closely at Azalea and shook her gently by the
shoulder before leaving the room.

It might have been two hours later when the
door reopened. By now, Azalea had managed a brief walk about the
room and was fairly certain that she had shaken off most of the
effects of the drug. As before, she appeared to be sound asleep
when her uncle and his henchwoman entered.

"Time grows short," said Kayce impatiently.
"Surely she should be awake by now?"

"Aye, she should, my lord," replied the
woman. "Mayhap we gave her a bit too much last time. She's smaller
than anyone I've dosed before."

"Well, let's sit her up and see if we can
bring her to. If possible, I'd like to have some conversation with
her before the wedding."

Curiosity almost caused Azalea to open her
eyes. What could Kayce wish to speak to her about? Should she try
to convince him one last time, or would it be safer to pretend to
be drugged until she could talk to the clergyman?

The beefy arm of her erstwhile nurse raised
her into a sitting position while Kayce's footsteps receded across
the room, then returned. Before Azalea could decide how to react,
the decision was made for her— cold water was unexpectedly flung in
her face.

She gasped and sputtered from the shock of
it, her eyes flying open in astonishment.

"There!" said Kayce in evident satisfaction.
"That was easy enough. Now, my dear, as soon as you have your wits
about you, we must have a talk."

Azalea glared at him, forgetting in her
anger that she should pretend to be still under the influence of
the drug. "May I have a robe first?" she asked icily, glancing down
at her wet cotton shift, which clung to her body in a most immodest
manner.

Kayce nodded to the nurse, who brought
Azalea's own velvet wrapper, apparently transported from Lady
Beauforth's during her long sleep. Pulling it closely about her,
she looked defiantly at her uncle.

"Well?" She knew she should try to placate
Kayce somewhat if she were to talk him out of his plans, but she
was simply too angry at the moment to care. "What do you need to
say that necessitated waking me in such a manner?"

"You seem to be in complete possession of
your senses," said Kayce, with a significant glance at the nurse.
"Perhaps now you will tell me what your ravings about a previous
marriage signified."

So he did not have the marriage papers!
Azalea felt a surge of relief and triumph, suddenly seeing an easy
way out of her predicament.

"I had intended to inform you of it, dear
Uncle, had you but given me a chance," she said with false
sweetness. "I did, if you recall, tell you that a marriage with
Lord Drowling was impossible, but you did not believe me."

Kayce's eyes narrowed. "And who is this
alleged husband? Some American commoner whom you abandoned to seek
your fortune —or rather, my fortune —in England? Is he here to step
forward and claim you?" Disbelief showed openly in his face.

"Hardly that, Uncle,"
retorted Azalea, stung. "Lord Glaedon is no commoner, nor is he in
America. And he
will
be here to claim me—in time to stop this ridiculous marriage
you want so badly." She knew this last was a lie, but prayed that
Kayce would believe it.