Read Online Azalea by Brenda Hiatt - Free Book Online Page A

simpered prettily for a
moment before belatedly recalling her manners.
    "This is my cousin, Miss Clayton," she said,
and Lord Glaedon turned his attention to Azalea.
    As he bowed in acknowledgement, his eyes
fastened on her face with an expression of mingled curiosity and
bemusement.
    Azalea felt similarly bemused, and only just
remembered to nod in return. She had expected some slight
resemblance to Christian, but the likeness was so striking it left
her momentarily speechless. Herschel had the same dark hair and
stormy blue-grey eyes as his younger brother. Even his voice was
amazingly similar. He could have been Christian himself, risen from
the dead.
    Suddenly aware that they had been staring at
one another, she made a determined effort to pull herself
together.
    "I'm pleased to make your acquaintance, my
lord," she said rather lamely.
    As she spoke, his gaze seemed to harden
slightly and he hastily withdrew his hand before it could touch
hers. He flicked a glance at Marilyn.
    "Perhaps I should have warned you that my
cousin is newly come from— from America to live with us," she
stammered. "Nothing was really settled until she arrived yesterday,
so I did not mention it before."
    Her cousin seemed almost to be apologizing,
Azalea thought indignantly.
    "Yes. Quite," was all he said in reply.
"Shall we commence our tour of the Park?"
    Marilyn assented eagerly and the coachman
urged the horses on. Lord Glaedon rode comfortably alongside,
listening to his fiancée's chatter, and carefully avoided any
glance in Azalea's direction. This afforded her an excellent
opportunity to examine him at leisure, though she was careful not
to stare, as Marilyn might misinterpret her reasons.
    She had been right about the Earl's
resemblance to his younger brother, but there were subtle
differences that became apparent as she watched him. For one thing,
he looked— and acted —far older than Chris would have been if he
had lived, though Herschel was only a year or two older than
Christian, if her memory served her.
    Certainly, his manners were inferior to his
brother's. Even his smile had a decidedly cynical twist,
exaggerated by a faint scar that traced a line from his left ear to
the corner of his mouth. It occasionally gave him a mysterious,
almost sinister expression. No, perhaps the resemblance was not so
strong after all, she decided.
    He obviously had not recognized the name
Clayton, but then the marriage had been no certain thing when Chris
and his father had set out from England. Perhaps it was not
remarkable that Herschel had not been informed of it. His hostility
had seemed directed not so much at her as at Americans in general.
A holdover from the recent war, perhaps?
    Watching him surreptitiously, she also
decided that his attitude towards Marilyn was not what it should
be. There was no real warmth in his manner, for all her cousin's
earlier boasting about his impatient ardour. Of course, her own
presence might be inhibiting him somewhat, Azalea supposed, but
really, he looked almost bored.
    Their circuit of the Park was finished long
before Marilyn exhausted her store of gossip.
    "May I call upon you tomorrow?" Lord Glaedon
asked, almost perfunctorily.
    "You know you may, my lord," replied
Marilyn, dimpling at him. "We shall look forward to your
visit."
    He touched his hat to both of them and
turned his horse. As he rode away, he began to whistle a lilting
Irish tune. Frozen in sudden shock, Azalea was left staring
open-mouthed at his retreating back.

    * * *

CHAPTER 4

    Azalea took in none of the scenery during
the drive back to Beauforth House. Fortunately, Marilyn's aimless
chatter did not require anything in the way of a thoughtful
response. At any rate, her cousin seemed to detect nothing wrong in
her manner.
    Still trembling from the discovery she had
made, Azalea stared ahead blindly, trying desperately to force her
mind to function. She felt as if her whole world had just been
turned upside down without warning.