Lady Barbara's Dilemma (3 page)

“I believe that we do have that in common, Lady Barbara. You, by virtue of being a woman and a lady, will never appear on a concert stage, and I, by virtue of being born a Jew, will never sit in Parliament or even enter a profession.”

“But your name is Treves,” said Barbara, without thinking.

“You are pronouncing it the English way. Originally it was Spanish.”

“Yes, I thought you looked Spanish or Portuguese. But you are every inch the English gentleman,” protested Barbara.

“My people have been quite successful in adopting the culture of their host country,” he said with a touch of irony. “It is the way we have survived. And I
am
an English gentleman. The Treveses have been here since Cromwell readmitted the Jews.”

“Then you are one of the Sephardim?” said Barbara, pronouncing the word carefully.

“Correct. I am surprised that you did not know immediately when you heard my father’s name. Lady Diana recognized it…”

“So that is why she was rude!” exclaimed Barbara.

“Oh, I wouldn’t say rude. Just subtly disapproving of my presence. I may be every inch the English gentleman, but there are homes in which I would not be welcome.”

“I feel very ignorant,” confessed Barbara. “Of course, I was aware that much of Wellington’s financial support came from…” She hesitated.

“Jews. It is all right, my lady, you can say it. The word itself is not an insult,” said Treves sardonically.

“What I meant was that I didn’t recognize your father’s name. I have heard of Moses Montefiore, of course. Simon and Sam have spoken of him often. They have also spoken of Jewish emancipation. Is that the particular issue to which you referred?”

“Indeed it is, Lady Barbara, although I feel very alone in my concern. Most Jews seem satisfied with the degree of acceptance we have achieved. I am not. I wish full citizenship. The opportunity to send my son to a university. The right to vote. The right to live as the loyal English citizens that we already are. But it is hard to convince the English that we are English too.”

“Well, we do have something in common,” Barbara said. “We are both kept from full citizenship. Judith and I were quite fond of Mary Wollstonecraft when we were at school. I haven’t thought of her in a while. Perhaps I need to reread her book and get back some of my youthful fervor for radical ideas. I must confess I have felt quite old lately.”

“It would be ungentlemanly of me to even hazard a guess, but surely not old!”

“I am quite on the shelf.”

“Nonsense.”

“Not nonsense at all, Sir David. Judith is forever trying to match me up with someone. In fact, I was afraid you were another of her attempts,” Barbara confessed with a becoming blush.

“I doubt it. Even the Duke and Duchess of Sutton are not so liberal as to consider a Jewish suitor for Lady Barbara Stanley.”

“If I thought I could feel for you what Simon and Judith feel for each other, I assure you your Jewishness would not matter, Sir David.”

“Quite charmingly said, Lady Barbara. I think I thank you, although it was a rather backhanded compliment,” replied David with a teasing smile.

“But you do not believe me?”

“No. However, that is not because I doubt your sincerity, but because of the ways of the world. But I am glad to hear that you have not fallen in love at first sight!”

Barbara blushed again. “Oh, dear, that didn’t come out quite the way I meant it. But I can say I instantly
liked
you.”

Treves laughed. “And I you. Perhaps we can be good friends, then? I would be most honored to accompany you to an occasional musicale and hope that someday I will have the privilege of hearing you play.”

“Friends it is, then,” agreed Barbara.

She felt better than she had in weeks. Her conversation with Sir David had reminded her of her talks with Judith. There had been instant rapport and openness. And with Judith so preoccupied, she could only rejoice that she had found a new friend.

Peter Rushcliffe, the Marquess of Wardour, was not present at the Harlech ball. He had only arrived in London late that afternoon, having traveled all day from Kent. He had hoped to be in town before the beginning of the new Season in order to have every possible opportunity of seeing Lady Barbara Stanley, but the week before he was to leave, his estate manager had presented him with three separate crises. The marquess was nothing if not a conscientious landowner and so he ignored his mother’s suggestion that he leave it all to Evans.

In fact, had it not been for his planned courtship, he would not be going to London at all. He only went up for the Season infrequently, and had been there last autumn because his niece was getting married. Attending the festivities leading up to the wedding had led to more socializing than was usual for him, and that was how he had been introduced to Lady Barbara.

He had never experienced more than a passing attraction to a woman before Barbara Stanley. She was mature, a fact that pleased him. She was also a most attractive lady: tall enough so that he did not feel he towered over her, but not so tall that he didn’t top her by a few inches. Hers was a classic English beauty, with her blond hair and blue eyes. He decided that the old adage that opposites attract was clearly wrong, for here, obviously, liked called to like. He himself was more serious than many of his contemporaries, he himself was above average height, and his hair was even a shade lighter than hers.

From the beginning he knew she would make him an excellent wife, and by the end of the Little Season, having received some encouragement from her, had decided, if all continued as it had begun, to make her an offer by the end of the spring.

He had, of course, no doubt that should he decide to make an offer, it would be accepted, for he was used to getting what he wanted. He had inherited the title when he was only ten, and had been supported, protected, and even a little spoiled by his mother and older sister. It was not that he got away with any wrongdoing. In fact, he had never been inclined, even as a child, to get into mischief. He had been a perfectly behaved boy and had grown up into a perfectly behaved young man. He never made unreasonable demands—or any demands. It was just that his mother and his sister had been so sympathetic to him being fatherless at such an early age that his every want was satisfied almost before it was expressed. Luckily he was not a greedy or a selfish young man, or he might have turned into a monster of egocentricity. Instead, he was a devoted son, caring brother, responsible landowner, and good neighbor. However, he always expected that things would go his way, for they always had. His was a subtle kind of pride, the kind that takes respect and privilege for granted, for the Wardours of Arundel were an old family, the title was an early one, and the property extensive.

The second day he was in Town, therefore, Wardour sent Barbara a small bouquet with a note informing her that he hoped to see her at the Whiting rout.

* * * *

“Barbara, you look absolutely stunning.”

“Thank you, Robin.”

“I imagine that the dress will complement Wardour’s coloring,” added Robin with a wicked grin. “Do you expect him to be at the Whitings’ tonight?”

Barbara blushed.

“Ah, a direct hit, I see,” said her brother.

“Now, Robin, don’t tease,” chided Diana. “We are all aware that Wardour seemed attracted to Barbara in the fall. But let us wait and see what the Season brings.”

“Thank you, Diana,” said Barbara with a grateful smile. “I am happy to know that one member of my family respects my privacy,” she continued with mock anger.

Robin looked not one whit remorseful. Brother and sister shared the same sense of humor and he knew Barbara was not really offended. But her blush had confirmed what he suspected: an interest in Wardour that went beyond anything she had felt for years. Her blush also diminished the mild sense of anxiety he had felt over the past week. Barbara had attended an opera and a concert in the company of the Vanes and Sir David Treves. Robin liked and respected Treves. But he was surprised to discover that despite his politics, he would not be happy seeing his sister marry a Jew.

“Of course, the Nile green that you wore to the opera only made Treves look handsomer.” Robin couldn’t resist any opportunity to tease, but this time he hoped his worries would be laid to rest.

“David and I are nothing but good friends, Robin. We discovered our mutual love of music at Simon and Judith’s the other night, and it has been delightful to have his company, rather than my brother’s, who has been known to fall asleep! Come, it is getting late,” said Barbara, starting for the door.

Robin and Diana shared a look of relief and followed her to the carriage.

* * * *

Lady Whiting always invited more people than her house could comfortably hold, and so it took the Stanleys a few minutes to go through the receiving line and search out Viscount Vane and Lord Alverstoke.

Barbara found herself aware of everyone, and listening for the distinct tone of Wardour’s voice. She was surprised at herself, pleasantly surprised, for surely this indicated that she was ready and willing to fall in love with him.

When they at last reached their friends, Barbara was delighted to see that one of their company was Wardour. He seemed equally delighted to see her. In fact, he had approached the viscount and immediately renewed their acquaintance precisely because he was the Stanleys’ friend. He did not intend a subtle and slow courtship. He intended to win Barbara, and he intended to do it straightforwardly.

He was disappointed, therefore, when she could not offer him her first dance. But his disappointment was short-lived, for she offered him her first waltz. She had saved it on purpose, hoping that he would ask her.

Wardour waited patiently, and when they at last moved off onto the dance floor, neither was disappointed. The marquess was one of those rare dance partners whom one followed without being aware of following. The waltz was effortless, and they could not keep from smiling at each other in sheer enjoyment. She was pleasantly conscious that the steady pressure of his hand on her back did indeed raise her temperature more than could be expected from the exercise. And at one point in the dance, their fingers linked together naturally and unconsciously. When Wardour finally noticed, he gave her hand a squeeze before flattening her palm and holding her less intimately.

When the dance was over and he left to dance with his sister, Barbara realized that her legs were shaky and her cheeks flushed. It was such a relief to know that this Season might very well bring her everything she wished for that she felt a bit giddy, and moved next to Robin and placed her hand on his arm. When he asked if she were all right, she answered that she was just a little dizzy from her waltz. They smiled at each other in the same instant, both happy at the way things appeared to be working out.

And while Wardour was careful not to monopolize Barbara’s attention, it was clear by the end of the evening that Lady Barbara Stanley had a serious suitor, and one, moreover, that she seemed to be taking seriously.

It became even more evident over the next few weeks that Wardour was indeed serious, and Barbara found herself liking him as much as she had suspected she would, although there were more than a few political issues on which Barbara suspected they would differ. It was clear that Wardour was a Tory, but one, Barbara realized, with a genuine concern for his people that went generations deep. It was obvious that he had compassion for the working classes, and although his political solutions seemed illogical to her, she was more than happy to change the subject when a major disagreement loomed.

Whenever the marquess approached her for a dance, while her heart might not leap up, it gave a most decidedly satisfying flutter. Their waltzes lived up to the promise of the first one. Wardour’s touch was delightful, whether on the dance floor or helping her up into his curricle, and she went to bed wondering what it would feel like when he finally kissed her. For she knew he would, and she knew if it wasn’t in the next few days, she could most probably maneuver them onto a private balcony to speed things along.

In the meantime, she was also enjoying her developing friendship with David Treves. They had gotten into the habit of attending a musicale at least once a week, accompanied by one or another of their mutual acquaintances. And when Barbara discovered while she was out with her groom that David was fond of early morning rides, she suggested meeting in the park one day a week. Usually after an invigorating gallop, they would walk their horses and talk nonstop about anything and everything, for they had become fast friends.

On one particular morning David, who had happened to attend the same rout the previous evening, teased Barbara about the gossip he had been hearing. “I have heard that the odds are in favor of a betrothal before the end of the Season between Lady Barbara Stanley and the Marquess of Wardour. Would I be premature in congratulating you?” he asked with a teasing grin.

“Much too premature. We haven’t even kissed yet,” she replied without thinking. Her hand flew up to her mouth in horror at what she had said.

David laughed out loud.

“Oh, David, you are too dangerous to be with,” confessed Barbara. “I feel so comfortable with you that I don’t think before I speak. I talk to you just as I used to talk to Judith. I suppose, having blurted that out, I must either pretend that I didn’t or explain.”

“Am I to understand from your previous statement, Lady Barbara,” said David with mock solemnity, “that you honestly will admit the matter of kissing into your decision-making about an eligible suitor?”

“It isn’t just my decision, you know.”

“Oh, but the man will ask you, Barbara. The signs are all there. The question is rather what you will answer. And does your answer depend on how well he kisses?”

“I think I will answer him ‘yes,’ and yes, I think my answer will partly depend on how I feel when he kisses me. For I have already told you that Judith and Robin are my models in this. I’ve been spoiled in that the two people closest to me have found marriages where passion plays a prominent part.”