Lady Barbara's Dilemma (20 page)

“He could be anything, couldn’t he? What is most likely is that he comes from a good background, but decided he wanted music more than a position in the family business or becoming some nobleman’s secretary.”

“You are probably right. He is a puzzle,” said David with a smile. “But a most talented and amusing one.”

The talented and amusing puzzle in question was at that moment going through his belongings as he prepared for his return to Scotland. He should have been feeling triumphant; he had won his wager, or at least would have by the time he returned home. His grandfather would not be happy, but was a man of his word, so Alec would be free to pursue his music. He was certainly happy about that—but then, he had known from the beginning that he could win this wager. What took away from his victory was the tremendous sadness he felt at leaving Lady Barbara. She would be Lady Wardour by the time he returned to London in the spring, and there was nothing he could do about it. He had ten days left of being Alec Gower, and if he revealed himself, he forfeited his whole life. And even if he did speak, what could he say to her? “Don’t marry Wardour. I love you. And by the way, I am not an itinerant musician, but the grandson of a duke.” Whatever the feelings that had flowed between them when they played, Barbara seemed to be happy in her engagement and he had no right to disturb that.

* * * *

The next day, before he left, Alec returned to Treves and Son to bid David farewell.

“I am back to Scotland, David, but I wanted to thank you again for your help and bid you good-bye.”

“I did very little, Alec. Your own music is what insured your engagements.”

“Could you do a favor for me?”

“Of course.”

“Could you thank Lady Barbara Stanley…or perhaps she is already Lady Wardour…for her recommending me to you?”

“You haven’t heard? She has broken her engagement to Wardour. And I will convey your message to her.”

Alec was too astonished by the news not to express his disbelief. “I am truly surprised. When I was at Arundel this summer, it seemed as though all was going very well between them.”

“I don’t quite understand it myself,” admitted David. “And I have not pressed Barbara for a fuller explanation. But I must say that I never liked Wardour that much. I have always thought she needed someone more appreciative of her talent.”

“Wardour seemed very proud of her.”

“Oh, he would like to show off his talented wife, I am sure. He would think it no more than he deserved. No, I meant more that she needs someone more like yourself, who understands her passion for music.”

Alec said his good-byes quickly and found himself out on the street wanting to do a wild Highland fling. He allowed himself one side kick, to the great amusement of passers-by, before he hurried off to collect his things. If Barbara was not to marry Wardour, then there was some hope for him. He was anxious to reach Scotland as quickly as possible, and after counting his money, decided he could afford to take the stage as long as he was willing to play for his suppers.

David had watched him go and laughed at the sight of him kicking up his heels. What would have been funny in pantaloons was even more amusing with a kilt swinging out behind. He wondered what had brought on that small explosion of joie de vivre. Was Gower that happy to go home?

As he turned back to his work, he realized that he had spoken the truth. Barbara did need someone just like Gower, and what a pity it was that he was inappropriate.

The Stanleys left town a few days later. Barbara was happy to be home, where the only socializing to be done was with well-loved neighbors. No one mentioned the broken engagement except the vicar’s wife, who expressed her sympathy in such a considerate way that Barbara was not at all uncomfortable. She knew, of course, that people were gossiping, but country gossip at Ashurst didn’t bother her. Most of the people cared for her, and those who didn’t she had dismissed as unimportant long ago.

She rode as often as she could, although the ground was getting harder as cold weather set in. She found herself often riding by the copse where Alec Gower had camped, and instead of bare trees, saw sunlight and green leaves and a merry face smiling up at her.

The one good thing that had happened after the broken engagement was that music again become her consolation. She threw herself into practicing every morning, and succeeded for the most part at keeping memory at bay. She never played Mozart, for fear that even a measure of his music might bring back that particular sonata.

Judith had completely recovered, and Barbara was looking forward to the holidays, when the Suttons were planning to come for a week’s visit. She had also invited David, but he had written to excuse himself, explaining that he wanted to rediscover his own festival of light with Miss Cohen.

In early December the weather turned very cold. It snowed several times before Christmas and Barbara was worried that Judith and her family would not be able to travel. There was a thaw, however, a few days before Christmas, and so the Suttons arrived safely.

Baby Robin looked almost chubby, having begun to catch up with himself, and Judith was blooming. Sophy alternated between proudly holding her baby brother and then planting kisses on him that seemed designed to smother him. After one particularly vehement kiss, the baby started to howl. When Judith told her daughter that she must remember to be gentle with her baby brother, Sophy’s lower lip began to tremble, and she turned and clung to her father’s legs.

“I am afraid having two children around is a very different proposition than one,” said Judith.

“Don’t worry,” said Robin with a grin, as Sophy was borne away by her nurse. “We are used to it.”

“I only hope the holiday isn’t ruined.”

As it turned out, having other children around as well as several adults who doted on her greatly relieved Sophy’s jealousy, and so the week was peaceful after all.

One afternoon after Christmas, when Sophy was playing with the twins and the baby sleeping soundly, Judith and Barbara found the time for a quiet coze.

“You don’t look happy, Barbara. Are you suffering from any regrets about Wardour?” asked Judith, concerned about her friend.

“No, not really, Judith. As I told you in my letter, I could not have been happy under those circumstances. It is just that I feel I turned down my last chance for a home and family of my own.”

“I hardly think so,” protested Judith. “You are barely twenty-six!”

“And decidedly on the shelf.”

“Look at Nora. She found Sam even later in life. It is never too late for love, Barbara.”

“But Nora had a child to keep her company. I hope I can keep myself from becoming an eccentric or embittered old spinster aunt.”

“You do have your music.”

“Yes, and I am finding comfort in it again. Although, at times, it reminds me of someone I would wish not to remember,” she added, almost to herself.

“Mr. Gower?”

“Yes,” Barbara replied, looking shamefaced.

“I am sure that your feeling for Mr. Gower will fade away, and I predict that within a year you will have met someone who makes you forget everyone else.”

“Oh, and are you going to take the fortune-teller’s place at the Midsummer Fair this year, Madame Judith?” teased Barbara.

“Perhaps I will.” Judith laughed. “For I feel, in the oddest way, quite sure that I am right.”

Barbara laughed at herself many times over the next weeks. For some reason, absurd as it might seem, Judith’s confidence in her prediction gave her hope, and it was only that hope that got her through the lonely winter.

Alec had reached Strathyre well before the holidays. He went straight to his parents’ home, where he was greeted as a long-lost sheep by his mother. He received a more subdued welcome from his father, who looked with distaste at his ragged kilt and dirty plaid.

Alec tossed a shilling onto the hall table. “There…you are both witness to the fact that I came home with silver in my pocket.”

“You are determined to pursue this foolish course?” asked his father.

“I didna sleep in haymows and barns and freeze ma ar—knees off, Father, on a whim. Yes, I intend to go to London in the spring.”

“Ah, dinna talk of leaving again, Alec dearie,” said his mother, giving him a desperate hug.

“Why the two of you persist in that vulgar tongue, I’ll never know,” said his father, not for the first time.

“ ‘Tis the language of my home and heart, as well you know, George,” answered his wife in perfectly accented English. “And ‘twas one of the things you fell in love with me for, or so you told me then.”

“Aha, that’s a story I’ve never heard before,” said Alec.

“Enough, the two of you,” said his father. “Your grandfather will be expecting you tonight, Alec. You’d better bathe and shave and change, my boy. It is good to have you home.” He extended his hand and Alec grabbed it and pulled his father into a hearty hug.

He was more subdued when he went to call on the duke. His hair was trimmed, his beard gone, and he was impeccably dressed in a maroon coat and fawn breeches.

When he was admitted to the library, he couldn’t help smiling with delight, however. He loved the old man despite their disagreements and was genuinely glad to see him.

“I understand you have come to gloat,” said the duke, having successfully kept all expressions of happiness at the prodigal’s return from his face.

“Not at all, Grandfather,” protested Alec. “I am simply glad to see you.”

“Sit down, sit down. It makes me uncomfortable looking up at you.”

This time Alec avoided the sofa and pulled up a chair.

“So I am to understand that you made your way solely by your music?”

“I did, Your Grace.”

“You never used your name to gain anything?”

“Never, Grandfather. Although at the end I was sorely tempted.”

“Aha…you were running out of funds?”

“No, not at all. No, the truth is, I met a woman…”

“Hmmmph. What kind of woman could you have met while wandering the highways?”

“Perhaps I should have said I met a lady,” replied Alec dryly.

“A lady?”

“Lady Barbara Stanley.”

“Stanley…Stanley? Not the Stanleys of Norfolk?”

“No.”

“Good. A bunch of rakehell men and dim-witted women, from what I know.”

“The Earl of Ashurst’s daughter.”

“Ashurst, eh. Never very political. Nice enough fellow, bright enough. Just always racketing about with that wife of his. More than one child, wasn’t there?”

“Lady Barbara has a brother, Major Robert Stanley.”

“Ah, yes. One of Wellington’s men. I met him once, I think. A little too Whiggish for my taste. What of this Lady Barbara? You could hardly have been socializing with her.”

“I met her at their Midsummer Fair and then later at her fiancé’s house, where we had the opportunity to play together.”

“Play together?”

“She is a fine pianist, Grandfather. I was hired as a musician and she joined me on one piece.”

“She is betrothed to someone else. I hope she is not one of those women who dallies with the lower classes.”

Alec flushed with anger. “Barbara is a lady not just in name, Your Grace. Our relationship never went beyond proper bounds.”

“Well, it sounds as if you resisted temptation, which is all to the good, since she is betrothed.”

“I did resist, for her sake and mine. But just before I left London, I heard her engagement had been broken.”

“Who broke it off?”

“I don’t know, Your Grace, neither do I care. But I am looking forward to wooing her in the spring.”

“So you intend to pursue music?”

“I did win our wager, Grandfather.”

“And I am a man of my word, as well you know.”

“Thank you. I will return to London in the early spring. As I told you, I will be studying and composing for the most part. But if the opportunity to perform arises, I may take advantage of it infrequently.”

“Just so long as you do not turn yourself into a hired musician again.”

“With Grandmother’s legacy, I will hardly have to do that,” said Alec with a grateful smile.

“Do you think you have a chance with this Lady Barbara? Could she be interested in the eccentric grandson of a duke who persists in a wholly unsuitable career?”

“I don’t know, Your Grace, but I assure you, I fully intend to find out.”

Alec spent a comfortable winter with his family, but as the spring approached he became more and more restless. He made up his mind to leave Scotland as soon as the roads were clear. Accordingly, in early March, he was ready to leave for London to find permanent lodgings.

“We will be opening the townhouse this Season, Alec. You know you are welcome there,” said his mother.

“I know, Mother. But I need peace and quiet to play and to write. It is time I had my own rooms.”

“You will take part in the Season, won’t you?”

“Yes, this time you have me, my dear.”

“You don’t fool me, Alec. You will be there for Lady Barbara, not for your family.”

“Now, Mother, you have not socialized much with the Sassenach yourself these past years.”

“I know. It is your grandfather who prefers London to Edinburgh, not us. Take good care of yourself, my dear.”

“I will, Mother. And I look forward to seeing you in April.”

* * * *

When he arrived in town, Alec went straight to Fenton’s and reserved rooms for a week, while he sought out more permanent lodgings. After three days of searching and finding nothing suitable, he decided to enlist David Treves’ help. He had liked David instantly and was sure the feeling had been mutual, despite the difference in their social positions. And as a young man on the fringes of the
ton,
Treves should be able to direct him to the sort of neighborhood he wanted: not Mayfair, but not too unfashionable.

When he arrived at Treves and Son, he announced himself as Mr. Gower. This time the clerk was suitably obsequious, not because he remembered him, but because Alec was dressed impeccably. When David emerged from the back with a smile on his face, Alec was glad he had come, for he was sure there was potential for a firm friendship.