Azalea Read Online Free PDF Page A

home from Jonathan's farewell party,
Azalea noticed the unmistakeable signs of autumn in the rosy blush
of the dogwood leaves and the prominence of their berries. A few
chrysanthemums bloomed in the tangle of weeds by the walls of the
old magazine.
    She did not pause long to admire such
botanical delights this afternoon, for there was already a
noticeable nip in the air, and dusk would be coming early. Azalea
was going to miss Jonathan. True, they had not been as close this
past year, but that was no doubt due mainly to the fact that they
had less free time to spend together.
    In the six months since her marriage, Azalea
felt that she had hardly kept her promise to Christian not to grow
up too fast. Everyone was pushing her to learn so many things. She
had little time now for horses and gardens —or for romping with
Jonathan.
    And now her friend was leaving for England,
to attend Oxford at his maternal grandfather, Lord Holte's,
insistence. Perhaps she'd see him when she went to London in
another few years. Wouldn't he be surprised!
    For Azalea had reluctantly agreed to keep
her marriage secret. Not even Swannee had been told. Although she
knew that her friends would treat her differently if they knew, she
would dearly have loved to tweak Missy Farmer's so superior nose
with the news.
    But the worst thing was not being able to
confide in Jonathan. But she knew he would never have been able to
keep such a plum to himself, no matter how many promises she
extracted from him. Perhaps it was just as well she had seen so
little of him since the wedding.
    She had managed to convince herself that
having such a delicious secret more than made up for missing the
satisfaction of seeing everybody's reaction to her news. It had
helped to keep life interesting in the absence of the rather
unconventional pastimes she had previously enjoyed. To think, it
had been three months and more since she had so much as climbed a
tree!
    Azalea sighed to herself as she pushed open
the self-closing gate, weighted by an old cannon-ball on a chain,
to enter the back gardens. If only the time would pass more
quickly. The years stretching ahead of her before she could join
Chris in England seemed like an eternity.
    He and Lord Glaedon had returned after their
trip to Richmond, but had been able to stay for a mere three days
before meeting their ship. Wistfully, Azalea wished again that she
and Chris could have had more time together.
    Perhaps Grandfather could be persuaded that
sixteen would be old enough for her to join her husband, she
thought, returning to her favourite subject. After all, only two
months ago Gwenny Pugh, the postmistress's youngest daughter, had
married at sixteen.
    With this argument in mind, Azalea skipped
up the front porch steps and entered the house. She let the door
slam behind her, and at once Millie, the young serving maid who
doubled as Cook's assistant, scurried from the parlour, where she
had apparently been waiting for her young mistress.
    "Oh, miss, thank the good Lord you've come
home at last!" she exclaimed in obvious agitation. "The Reverend,
he's been asking after you this past hour and more. Fair upset he
seems to be! You'd best go to him at once."
    "Upset? Do you mean he is angry with me?"
Azalea asked in some confusion, unable to think of any scrapes she
might have gotten into recently.
    "Oh, no, miss!" replied Millie. "I only
meant that he seems disturbed. He got some letter or message or
some such, and he's been—"
    Without waiting to hear the end of the
girl's sentence, Azalea turned and ran to the library, a deep
foreboding clutching at her heart.
    Opening the door a crack, she cautiously
peered inside to see her grandfather sitting before the dying fire,
a crumpled paper in his lap. He seemed not to have heard her, but
continued to stare unseeing into the flames. Azalea's apprehension
increased.
    "Grandfather?" she whispered.
    The old man slowly turned towards her, and
she was shocked at the change in his face.