Lady Barbara's Dilemma (4 page)

“Yes, I have become quite envious myself, listening to you,” said David, albeit with a trace of cynicism in his voice.

“And what of you, my friend. It is your turn to be embarrassed. Is there anyone in your life whom you have been kissing or wanting to kiss?”

“Now, Lady Barbara, you are aware, although it is not spoken of in polite company—but then we have agreed not to be polite—that most men have some woman in their lives whom they have been…ah…kissing.”

“You will not put me to the blush again, David. Of course I know that. And of course you know what I was talking about. Is there anyone you care about? Have you thought of marriage yet?”

“Oh, I’ve thought of it. My grandfather and father will let me think of nothing else,” he replied bitterly.

“This sounds like a sensitive topic. I am sorry I teased you about it, David. You need not continue,” said Barbara with ready sympathy. “Close friends need to respect privacy as well as share intimacies, you know.”

“No, I don’t mind speaking of it with you. The question for me,” he continued, “will never be one of passion. I am, as you once noted, every inch the English gentleman, and as such, I will choose my bride for practical reasons, not sentimental ones. And, of course, since I am also
not
the typical English gentleman, the process is a bit more complicated.”

“Do you feel that you must marry a woman of your own faith?”

“What faith is that? You are a woman of my own faith, Barbara. A woman who is educated and intelligent and who appreciates music with all her heart and soul, as I do. Although you are an artist, as I am not.”

“But you have a splendid voice, David,” Barbara interjected.

“Thank you. But to continue, you are a person of some wealth and position in your community, as I am in mine. And a woman with interest in the important questions of our time. Being Jewish has nothing to do with all that. You know, we are quite lucky we are only good friends,” said David, turning in his saddle to face her.

“Why is that?”

“Because were we romantically inclined we never could marry.”

“But you told me your uncle married a Christian.”

“Ah, yes, but a woman of lower rank than you, whose family was willing to sell her to the highest bidder, even though he was a Jew. I don’t want to buy a wife.”

“There must be girls from other Jewish families to whom you are introduced?”

“Yes. Our socializing works much like yours. But I haven’t met anyone I can talk to, much less one who has kindled any feeling of attraction. But this is all too serious to worry about further on such a glorious morning, my dear friend. Come, let’s have another gallop to clear our heads. And I hope that by next time we meet, we will have Wardour’s kiss to talk about!”

It was more than a week before Barbara had anything to report, and she was beginning to wonder if Wardour was planning to make his offer without attempting any kisses at all. She sincerely hoped not, for although she was almost sure she would accept him, she still wanted to know that she would enjoy kissing Wardour as much as she enjoyed dancing with him. Unfortunately, every time she had tried to find a few moments alone with him, someone had spoiled her plans by joining them in conversation. And if it weren’t someone joining their tête-à-tête, it was some pushing mama, introducing her daughter, and pulling Lady Barbara off for a coze. Some mothers never despair, even when a man has clearly indicated his interest, she would think as she was dragged off.

Finally, on the night of the Langtons’ ball, when Barbara complained of being quite warm from their last waltz, Wardour solicitously asked if she wanted a breath of fresh air. Fortunately, all their friends seemed to be on the other side of the room, and they reached a window uninterrupted. And when they got there, Barbara, who was fully intending to pull Wardour out onto the balcony if she had to, was pleasantly surprised when he asked in a low voice if she would prefer moving outside. She nodded her head in assent and as they stepped out, Wardour pulled the French doors halfway closed behind him.

“Ah, there is a breeze here,” Barbara said with a sigh.

She
had
been hot after the last dance, for the weather was sultry for the end of May. Wardour brought the back of his hand up to her cheek.

“You are quite warm, Lady Barbara. I hope our waltz was not too much for you?” He paused, and then continued, “And yet, I hope that we both feel some warmth that is not directly related to the weather or our exertion.”

His hand was still against her cheek and Barbara reached up and, linking her fingers with his, moved both their hands to his cheek, a little surprised at her own boldness.

“We do seem to be suffering from the same condition,” she said softly.

Wardour leaned down and kissed her lightly on the mouth. “I hope that our condition has a similar cause,” he whispered. “I am warm from wanting to kiss you, but I fear,” he said, “that if I kiss you again neither of us will cool off.”

Barbara felt a thrill go through her as he lowered his head and she felt his breath against her neck. She closed her eyes and lifted her face and Wardour kissed her again, this time a little more insistently. His lips explored hers, but just as she began to respond and her mouth began to relax and open under his, he pulled back. Her eyes opened wide with surprise and disappointment.

“I must ask you something before I forget myself,” Wardour said solemnly.

Barbara wanted to say, “Yes, yes, ask away and I’ll answer and let us get back to what is truly important.” In truth, for all her anticipation of the moment, she was so distracted that she didn’t guess what he was about to ask.

“I should talk to your father first, I know, and I fully intended to,” he continued. “But I fear I have lost control over my good intentions, and must ask now, for the sake of your reputation as well as my own peace of mind.”

Lost control? wondered Barbara. Oh, let us lose control!

“Lady Barbara, I do not think I am mistaken that we have an affection for one another. And this evening proves that we respond to one another in…other ways. Will you do me the honor of consenting to be my wife?”

Now that the moment had come, Barbara felt herself go from hot to cold in an instant.
Did
she want to spend her life with this man? She thought so. She thought they could make each other comfortable and happy. And this evening had proved they would be physically compatible, if one could judge by a kiss or two. Did she love him as Judith loved Simon? She didn’t know, but she did know she was tired of waiting. And she also knew she wanted another kiss.

“Yes, yes, I will,” she replied quietly.

Wardour smiled. It was a spontaneous smile, which lit up his whole face, but it also had in it a trace of satisfaction. There was no surprise on his face, no lover’s insecurity. He had, to judge by his smile, expected her answer to be yes. As why should he not, she told herself. But still, it bothered her a little.

Just then Wardour leaned down and kissed her again, and the moment of doubt passed. This third kiss was the best of all, for as her lips parted, he pulled her closer and pushed his tongue gently into her mouth. She wanted the kiss to go on for a long time, but he pulled away from her again, saying, “I wouldn’t like us to be discovered like this, my dear, even though we are now betrothed. People would say that I only proposed to avoid a scandal. I will ride out to Ashurst tomorrow and talk to your father.”

Barbara found herself reluctant to start thinking practically. She knew he was right. It would be embarrassing to be caught in his arms. And he did have to speak to her father before an announcement could be made, so she swallowed her disappointment that they couldn’t go on exploring the delights of kissing for another hour or so and smoothed her hair and smiled up at him.

“You are right, Peter. Although I hate to go back, I suppose we must.”

He dropped a quick kiss on her head. “Soon we will be able to kiss as long as we want, my dear.” He pulled his cravat straight, and then opened the door.

Wardour left the next day for Ashurst. He did not see Barbara before he went, but that morning an exquisite bouquet of hothouse flowers arrived for her. Robin, who had joined her for a late breakfast, quizzed her about them.

“Wardour has done everything to express his interest, but this is quite a floral tribute, Barb. Does this mean anything?”

“It does, Robin,” she said with a smile.

Her brother set down his coffee cup and looked over at her, his eyebrows raised inquiringly.

“Peter and I became betrothed last night,” she announced.

Delighted, Robin got up and went over to Barbara to give her a hug. Barbara felt tears come to her eyes as he pressed his cheek to hers. Robin was the person she felt closest to in the world. They might not have shared as many confidences as she had with her friends, but they had grown up supporting one another in the frequent absences of their parents.

Robin straightened up and cleared his throat. “I wish you happy, my dear. Diana and I have been concerned this past year that you would not be happy until you had a husband and family of your own, but there was no one before Wardour who seemed right for you. You do love him?”

“Yes, Robin,” replied Barbara, after a slight hesitation.

“I know he does not come up to town for every Season. Do you think you will be content living in Kent the year round? What of your music?”

“What of my music, Robin? I can take it no further. In some ways, living in London makes me more frustrated. I think I am ready to retire and play occasionally for family. And I am eager to be a mother,” said Barbara, blushing a little.

“And one more along the lines of Judith than of our mother, I would bet,” said her brother.

“Most definitely,” agreed Barbara. “And since I do want to spend more time with my children, it is just as well that I relegate my music to a pastime. Motherhood is a realistic vocation; music could never be.”

“Well, don’t give it up entirely, Barbara,” cautioned Robin. “You may be distracted by other things now, but it is very much a part of who you are.”

“We shall see. Anyway,” she continued, “Wardour is on his way to speak to Father today.”

“You are lucky Peter proposed this week, then,” joked her brother, “for he and Mother plan to leave for Scotland in a few days’ time. I hope you can squeeze a betrothal party, not to mention your marriage, in between their jaunts.”

Robin and Barbara looked at each other and laughed. They had long ago accepted the fact that their parents’ devotion was reserved for each other. Much of their childhood had been spent awaiting the earl and countess’s return from one or another of their trips, which seemed to function as perpetual honeymoons.

“You would think they would be content to remain at home now that they are older, Robin.”

“I doubt they will ever change. And at this point, having Father around underfoot at Ashurst would be difficult. I have had things my way for the last few years because of his indifference, and I would resent any interference at this point.”

“You and Diana have made it very much a home, Robin. Something it never was before. I appreciate that. In fact, I am looking forward to the end of the Season and a last summer in Ashurst.”

“You have decided on a date?”

“Not yet. But I suspect Peter won’t want to wait, so I think I will suggest a fall wedding.”

* * * *

Having announced her betrothal to Robin, Barbara was eager to tell Judith. She decided to forgo her morning ride, hoping that an early visit would find her friend alone. When she arrived, she was pleased to see that she had succeeded. Judith was in the library, her feet up on a footstool, reading the morning paper.

“Barbara! What a delightful surprise,” she exclaimed, starting to get up.

“Don’t disturb yourself, Judith,” said Barbara.

“I am not that cumbersome yet, that I can’t get up and greet a friend,” protested the duchess.

“You look too comfortable to disturb.”

“What brings you here this early in the day?” asked Judith, settling back against her cushion.

“I have some news that I wanted you to be the first to hear. Well, the second, since I announced it to Robin this morning.”

“Wardour has proposed! And you…?”

“I have accepted.”

“Oh, Barbara, I am so happy for you. Or, at least, I am if you indeed love him.”

“I think I do,” confessed Barbara, looking down at her feet in embarrassment.

“You think you do?” echoed Judith.

“I am sure I do. He is everything I could wish for: attentive, caring, an affectionate son and brother. We have been good friends from the first, but although friendship is a good basis for marriage, I wanted to be sure there could be more…and now that I am, I am looking forward to many years of happiness.”

“Hmmm. And
how
do you know there could be more than friendship?” teased Judith.

“Last night he finally kissed me,” announced Barbara.

“Only once?”

“There were a few kisses…very satisfactory kisses, I might add,” Barbara told her. “I would not have said ‘yes’ otherwise. I have always held you and Simon up as my ideal. Most likely too high an ideal, or I might have accepted an offer before this. But I am very glad I waited.”

“And have you set a date?”

“Not yet. He is off to Ashurst for my father’s permission. I am hoping we both agree on a fall wedding.”

“Promise me you won’t have it before October in case the ‘heir’ is a bit late. Sophy kept us waiting for three weeks, if you remember.”

“October it will be, if Peter is agreeable.”

“He is not a frequent visitor to London. Do you think that will change?”

“I don’t think so. And I am perfectly content with that, except for seeing my friends.”

“We will just have to make sure we have several long visits a year. After all, Sutton is not that far from Arundel.”

Judith ordered some lemonade and biscuits and they settled in for a cozy chat about wedding details. One thing was quickly settled: whatever the size of the celebration, Sophy would be a flower girl.