Lady Barbara's Dilemma (12 page)

If Mr. Gower’s exile to belowstairs bothered him, you could not tell from his playing, thought Barbara later in the evening as she danced a country dance with her fiancé. All the musicians were good, but it was Gower she listened for as she danced and as she socialized with her future neighbors. His versatility again struck her: she had heard him at a country fair, been amazed at his classical skill, and now heard him adapt to gentler dance music.

As the featured guest, she was in great demand and hardly sat down all evening. Her dances with Wardour were even more welcome than during the Season. Now that they had progressed to a greater physical intimacy, the touch of his hand around her waist during a waltz was more exciting than it had been in the spring. And he was clearly pleased with the evening. All his neighbors and friends had expressed their approval of his betrothed.

And why should they not? he thought to himself. She looked beautiful in her blue silk. The shade matched her eyes and the simple gold necklace set with small sapphires made one glance up and admire her hair. They were an attractive couple, he thought, not for the first time, and he smiled down at her.

“Are you happy, Barbara?”

Barbara, who had been lost in the music and the pleasant feelings his closeness brought her, looked up in surprise.

“Of course, Peter. Do you doubt it?”

“No, not really. I think I am feeling so satisfied with myself and my future bride that I just had to talk about it!”

“I am very happy, Peter,” repeated Barbara, allowing him to pull her a little closer and ignoring the small voice inside her, which asked, “But if I am so happy, then why do I only feel that bubble of joy when I am with Alec Gower?”

* * * *

Alec was apparently bent over his bow all evening, but Barbara was never far from his sight. She is magnificent, he thought, as he watched her dance. Tall and graceful and slender, with alluring curves revealed as the silk clung to her as she danced. She reminded him of the statues of goddesses he had seen in Greece.

There would be no dancing for him tonight. This was no Midsummer Fair, with all rules suspended. The fiddler ate belowstairs and most certainly could not approach a lady for a waltz. And after tonight, who knew when he would see her again, if ever? If he won his wager, and it certainly appeared he would, he’d move to London, but their paths were not likely to cross. From what he had heard, Wardour was very much a stay-at-home. Alec felt a great sadness at the thought of never again experiencing the joy of playing with Barbara. There had been more than a perfect blending of pianoforte and violin. It had seemed like a very blending of souls. For his music came from his deepest self, and so, he thought, did hers.

* * * *

Barbara was exhausted by the end of the evening. She had had to perform, act as hostess, and maintain polite conversation with people she barely knew. As soon as her guests had gone, she said her good-nights to Wardour and his mother and sought the solitude of her bedroom. She dismissed her maid as soon as her dress was over her head and slipped into her lawn nightrail. Just as she was about to slide under the covers, however, she heard it…the sound of a violin. It could only be Gower, she thought, and curious, she slipped on a dressing gown and crept down the stairs. The ballroom was dark except for one branch of candles by the musicians’ platform. There was Gower, playing the loveliest, saddest piece Barbara had ever heard. He was playing softly, which only added to the feeling of lingering sadness.

She stood there and listened until the last note had died away. When Alec finally looked up, he saw her standing there and immediately stood up.

“Lady Barbara! Is there anything wrong? Can I help you?” he stammered.

“I heard the music and came down to listen. I thought you had already gone.”

“I had a few drams with the other musicians, lass, and decided to wait a bit till my head cleared before I walked back to the inn.”

“I thought strong liquor lifted one’s spirits. The tune you were playing was very sad.”

“Aye, I call it ‘MacLeod’s Lament.’ ”

“You wrote it? You are a composer also?”

“Almost all Scottish fiddlers can improvise and invent their own tunes, lass. Where do you think all the strathspeys and reels come from?”

“I confess I have never given it much thought, Mr. Gower. I have taken it for granted as something that is just there.”

“Aye. The
real
composers are Mozart and Bach,” replied Alec with a tinge of bitterness. “We keep our music as separate as we do the classes, don’t we?”

“I suppose we do,” Barbara said thoughtfully. “But that was as haunting a piece as any I’ve played or heard. I am privileged to have heard you play it.”

“Thank you, my lady. And I am glad you were my audience of one.” Although you could not have heard what the music was saying and be standing there in your night-clothes so coolly, he thought. For what was I lamenting but the fact I shall never have the right to kiss you or take you in my arms. “It is late, and you will get a chill standing here,” said Alec. And if you don’t get yourself off to bed, I will not answer for myself, he wanted to add.

Barbara had completely forgotten her state of undress and nervously pulled at her dressing gown. “Oh, yes, I must. Good night, Mr. Gower.”

“Good-bye, Lady Barbara.”

Barbara turned to go, and then stopped.

“Mr. Gower.”

“Yes, Lady Barbara?”

“Will your travels take you to London?”

“Aye, as it gets colder I seek more indoor employment,” he replied with a smile.

“Well, then, if you are in London this fall, you must look up a friend of mine. He is something of a patron of the arts and may be able to help you make your way in the city. His name is Sir David Treves.”

“Why, that is kind of you, lass, to be thoughtful of me. I will look him up.”

“Well, good night again.” As she hurried back to her room, Barbara wondered just why she had given him David’s name. Was it truly an unselfish suggestion to help him get the attention his talent deserved, or did she want to make sure she had some way of hearing about him?

David had invited Deborah and Sarah out for several drives during the summer. They revisited Richmond for another picnic and, at Sarah’s request, rode one afternoon in Hyde Park. She had been eager to see where the quality went. David warned her that the park would be fairly empty during the summer, but as long as she saw a few lords and ladies, Sarah said she would be perfectly happy. Luckily for her, there were a few people out and David took great pleasure in pointing out a viscount and a duchess, and watching her eyes open wide.

“Now, Sarah,” he teased, “surely you have lifted a handkerchief from an earl’s pocket or cut the reticule from a lady’s arm in the past?”

“I may ‘ave, Sir David,” she replied seriously, “but I never
knew
it were an earl or a duchess.”

David couldn’t help laughing, and when Sarah looked hurt, he assured her he wasn’t laughing at her.

“You are quite at home here, Sir David,” commented Deborah, having watched him lift his hand to acknowledge several greetings.

“You are surprised, Miss Cohen?”

“It is hard for me to comprehend such acceptance.”

“One is not accepted everywhere. But yes, it is possible for a Jew to live the life of a gentleman.”

“Does it not feel strange at times? Or rather, don’t you feel like the stranger, Sir David?” Deborah’s voice had lost its edge, and David could hear both curiosity and concern in it.

“There are certain places where I feel I am only tolerated because of my wealth, but I am certain by the time my children are grown, they will move freely in English society.”

“And leave Judaism behind?”

“There are many Sephardim who are religious, Miss Cohen. I am not one of them, so I will have little to leave behind. And you and your father?”

“We do not attend temple regularly, nor keep to all dietary regulations,” Deborah admitted. “But we observe the high holy days and the Sabbath. And I will always consider myself first a Jewish woman, then an Englishwoman. And although there are many intermarriages in the East End, I would never marry a Christian.”

“Have you ever met a Christian, Miss Cohen?” David asked half humorously, half seriously.

“Of course, Sir David,” Deborah replied tartly. “We do business with many of them.”

“I meant socially.”

“No, and I have never had the desire to.”

“Hmmm. Well, perhaps I will have to remedy that,” said David thoughtfully.

And so their next outing was to a small cottage on the edge of Hampstead. When Lord and Lady Vane had to be in town during the summer, they stayed on the Heath rather than in their townhouse, so they could pretend they hadn’t left the country.

“Sarah,” David announced as they drove through the village, “we will be meeting a viscountess.”

Sarah’s sat absolutely still. “You are not funning me, Sir David?”

“Certainly not.” replied David, his eyes twinkling. But when they reached the cottage and were greeted by a small auburn-haired woman in an old muslin gown, Sarah pulled David aside as Nora introduced herself to Deborah.

“You lied to me,” she said angrily.

“Of course I didn’t.”

“She can’t be a viscountess. Look at ‘er clothes,” said Sarah disgustedly.

“David, introduce me to your other friend,” said Nora, approaching them.

“This is Sarah, Miss Cohen’s ‘abigail’ for the day, Lady Vane.”

“I am pleased to meet you, Sarah.”

“Now you got ‘er in on it,” muttered Sarah.

“In on what, David?” asked Nora.

“Sarah cannot believe you are a viscountess, Lady Vane.”

Nora laughed and looked down at her dress. “I know I don’t look much like one, Sarah, but I assure you David is telling the truth. My husband and I much prefer to be informal, which is why we enjoy our cottage retreat.”

“Now, Sarah, curtsy to Lady Vane,” said Deborah sternly.

“No, no,” Nora protested as Sarah sank down to her knees.

“Don’t worry, Lady Vane,” said Deborah as Nora led them to a small table and chairs placed under the old apple tree, “Sarah has always dreamed of meeting quality. She will get great attention from the story of her curtsy on Mitre Street.”

“Ah, yes, David told me you lived in the East End.”

“My father is a wholesaler of fruit,” announced Deborah with a glint in her eye.

“And David says you are his valued assistant and keep the books.”

“I have always had a good head for figures, Lady Vane.”

“I admire you, then, Deborah. My least favorite task before I was married was dealing with my publisher on financial matters. Now, come sit down, and help yourself to biscuits and lemonade. Sarah, there is an old swing over there that you might enjoy. It was my daughter’s.”

Sarah grabbed a few biscuits and sat herself down on the swing. She let it move on its own, back and forth, back and forth, before she experimented with pushing off with her feet.

“That’s right, Sarah,” encouraged Deborah, “push and then lift your feet up.”

Sarah slowly got the rhythm and Deborah turned to Nora and said, “I am afraid we’ll never get her to leave. She has never been on a swing before.”

“How sad,” Nora commented.

“She never did have much chance to be a child, Lady Vane. She was out on the streets by the time she was seven.”

“Yes, I forget how hard it is to be poor in the city. I am glad Miranda and I stayed in Hampstead when we first came south. At least there was fresh air and little crime. But let us forget depressing topics for a few moments, and enjoy the afternoon.”

Nora skillfully got Deborah to reveal more of herself in a half hour than David had done in all their afternoons put together. He heard how her grandfather had come from Poland and in only a few years had moved from being a hawker to owning an outdoor stall. Deborah’s father had been the one to expand the business to its present size.

“And what will happen when your father dies?” inquired Nora.

“I suppose that my husband-to-be will take it over.”

“You are betrothed, then, Miss Cohen?” asked Nora.

David found himself holding his breath as he awaited her answer.

“Oh, no,” said Deborah, blushing. “I just meant that one day I will no doubt marry someone who wishes to continue in the business.”

Nora chatted on with Deborah for a few minutes and then turned to David.

“Excuse me, Miss Cohen, but I wished to share some news of a mutual friend with David,” she said apologetically. “I received a letter from Lady Barbara yesterday, David.”

David’s face lit up and Deborah felt as though she were on the swing with Sarah and had pumped herself almost over the top before plunging back down to the ground. Of course Sir David had lady friends. Or, more to the point, friends who were ladies. She hadn’t thought she believed his interest in her was more than curiosity at best or an attempt at eventual seduction at worst, but apparently she was as foolish as the next woman, for why else would she feel so awful at the thought of him with an English gentlewoman?

“She wrote from Arundel,” Nora continued, “where she has met her prospective mama-in-law, and appears to be quite happily getting to know Wardour’s home.”

Deborah’s heart lifted as the full meaning of Nora’s words sank in. Lady Barbara was only a friend. Of course, that still does not mean his interest in me is anything serious, she cautioned herself, but for the moment she was too relieved to heed her own warnings.

* * * *

“How did you enjoy your visit, Miss Cohen?” David asked as they drove back to the city.

“Very much, thank you. Lady Vane is a lovely woman.”

“I thought you would like her. She supported herself for years by her writing.”

“So I gathered.”

“That’s why I thought you might be sympathetic to
one
another. You are both very much self-sufficient women.”

“Do you see that as an admirable quality, Sir David?”

“Oh, yes.”

“Then you are quite unusual, I think.”