Fragrant Flower by Barbara Cartland Page B

excuses for the very devil himself, my darling!”
    “And why not?” Mrs. Osmund asked. “After all, he has to spend the whole of his existence in hell!”
    Azalea’s father had laughed but she had often remembered her mother’s words.
    Perhaps, she sometimes told herself, her aunt, because she was so bitter, cruel and unkind, was in fact suffering, although it was hard to believe that she did not enjoy making people, and herself in particular, unhappy.
    Perhaps when the General was alone he was no longer pompous and overwhelmingly superior, but afraid that because he was growing old, he might be passed over for a younger man.
    ‘How am I to know,’ Azalea thought, ‘what such people think and feel unless I can talk to them?’
    She wondered if she would ever be able to talk intimately to her aunt or her uncle. It was very unlikely!
    The dinner, which consisted of a large number of courses, none of which had been outstandingly delectable, came to an end, and Lady Osmund rose from the table.
    As she passed Lord Sheldon she paused and he got to his feet.
    “I hope you will join us in the lounge for coffee?” she said graciously.
    “You must forgive me, Ma’am,” he replied, “but I have some very important work to do.”
    “In that case, I will say goodnight.”
    “Goodnight, Lady Osmund.”
    He bowed as she moved away from the table.
    The twins passed him giggling again with each other, and then his eyes rested on Azalea.
    She told herself she would not look at him, but somehow, as if he compelled her to do so, as she reached him, she raised her eyes involuntarily to his.
    The expression on his face made her feel shy and embarrassed.
    “Goodnight, Miss Azalea,” he said very quietly.
    She wanted to answer him, but somehow the words would not come.
    Quickly, with the grace of a frightened fawn, she turned and hurried after the twins.
    She wanted to look back but she did not dare.
    Only as she reached the top of the stairway which led from the Dining Saloon did she feel the thumping of her heart begin to subside and know that once again she could speak normally.

Chapter Three
    Lord Sheldon walked unsteadily to the Captain’s table in the Dining Saloon to find that he was the only passenger there. There were half-a-dozen men at other tables in the room, somewhat green about the gills and turning away most of the dishes the stewards offered to them, but the large Saloon was otherwise empty.
    It was not surprising that there was such a sparse attendance seeing that the sea had been unprecedentedly rough since they had left England.
    “There’s not much more the Orissa can do, my Lord except stand on her head!” the steward who called Lord Sheldon that morning had said.
    Even as he spoke he had been flung across the cabin and only managed to retain his balance by holding on to the bed.
    “I imagine most of the passengers are not enjoying the voyage,” Lord Sheldon remarked.
    “Nearly every one of them’s prostrate, my Lord,” the steward replied, “and as your Lordship can imagine, we’re run off our feet.”
    Lord Sheldon certainly gave little trouble.
    He was a good sailor and enjoyed the sea. When he had taken some exercise – he was the only person in sight on the wave-washed deck – the storm gave him a good excuse to get on with his writing.
    It might be uncomfortable to write at strange angles and to have to fasten his ink pot down securely, but it was to his mind far more agreeable than having to chatter to the many women on board. They invariably pursued him relentlessly in what they fondly imagined was an unobtrusive manner, but which he found both embarrassing and a bore.
    There had been no sign of Lady Osmund, Lord Sheldon thought with satisfaction as he ordered quite a large luncheon, since the first night at sea.
    She was the type of Army wife whom he disliked, and he could not help remembering how George Widcombe had disparaged her, and that her aspirations as far as he was concerned