Lady Barbara's Dilemma (11 page)

“Of course,” said Barbara with some asperity.

“Have ye decided what we are to play, then, lass?”

“You cannot call me lass, Mr. Gower.”

“No, you are quite right, Lady Barbara,” Gower replied rather sadly. “Someone might comment on the familiarity.”

“Exactly.” Barbara was glad he was quick to understand, but a bit disappointed, for she rather liked being called lass. “There were to be several selections for cello and pianoforte, played by the vicar and his wife. And I was to play one piece, although I have not decided what.”

Alec leaned over and looked at Barbara’s music. “A sonatina. And some Bach? Aye, a typical evening’s entertainment. I had thought you were more of a musician than that.”

“As I think I once told you, I have not been playing much lately, Mr. Gower.”

“And does that not bother you, Lady Barbara?”

“Not really, Mr. Gower,” Barbara told him in a tone that forbade any further comment.

“Aye, it is none of my business, your face tells me. Well, now that you have a violin, what pieces do you have in mind?”

Barbara rifled through the sheets of music the vicar had sent over. “Here is a suitable trio. Lively enough to keep our guests awake.”

“Wait a moment. Is that a Mozart sonata?” asked Alec, reaching over and placing his hand on Barbara’s.

“Why, yes. The Sonata in B flat for pianoforte and violin. But we are to be four.”

“Is there any objection to us playing a duet together? This is certainly a piece more appropriate to your skill than the sonatina.”

“I suppose we could. But I have never played this before, and indeed, have not played many duets, but confined myself to solo music.”

“No matter, lass. Excuse me, ‘my lady.’ Start exploring your part and I will be right back with my fiddle.” Gower was gone before she could protest. Playing a short solo was one thing. But this duet would mean hours of practice, and she was not sure she wanted to throw herself back into music that way. But she opened the sheets and began running through her part. It
was
a lovely piece, she thought, and she forgot her surroundings and became lost in the music. She was able to follow the violin score after a few minutes, and began to hum it softly. She was so engrossed that she did not hear Gower’s return, and when he started to play, it was as though the music in her head had magically materialized, so expert was his entry.

They both stumbled over a few measures, but their first attempt convinced Barbara that it would be a rare treat to play with someone, especially one so talented.

“I should have guessed from your fiddle-playing that such skill would carry over into a different kind of music. I don’t think I have ever met anyone as versatile before. I am not sure I can do you justice.”

“The composer wrote this for both instruments, Lady Barbara, and you more than do it justice, ma dear,” he replied, rolling his r’s. “But we do need more than a few hours’ practice. Do you have the time?”

“I can meet you here in the late morning and perhaps a few afternoons. Lady Wardour has effectively taken over the preparations for the dance, but I would not like to neglect my fiancé. Where are you staying, Mr. Gower?”

“At the inn in Arundel, my lady.”

“That is a walk. I can send the carriage for you.”

“No, thank you, Lady Barbara. You forget, I am used to long walks. And late morning will be fine with me.”

Barbara stood up and waited for him to place his violin in its battered old case. She extended her hand and said gratefully, “It will be a privilege to play with you, Mr. Gower.”

Alec wanted to take her hand and bring it to his lips, but contented himself with a gentle squeeze. He reminded himself, as he walked back to the inn, that he was still only a busker, and Lady Barbara a very happily betrothed young woman.

For the next few days, Alec and Barbara shut themselves up in the music room, admitting no one except the vicar and his wife, who came to practice their trio. The Mozart piece was not technically difficult, but required a perfect blending of the two instruments. But the blending was subtle, and in some movements, it was the violin that the uneducated listener would hear and respond to. The violin needed the pianoforte, in the same way a bird’s song needed the sound of a brook or the wind in the trees. The song would be diminished if heard alone, but your everyday listener would never realize that. “Listen to the lark,” he or she would say.

Barbara didn’t really mind that the audience might appreciate Gower’s part more. He and she knew that it took great talent to allow the violin to sing without either competing with it or disappearing altogether. And there were moments of such sweetness that Barbara could only marvel that someone as large as Gower could produce them. His may be a natural talent, thought Barbara one morning as they sat silent a minute after bringing the piece to a close, but he must have had some formal training.

She turned to Alec, who gave her a smile as sweet as their music. It affected her as much as one of Wardour’s kisses. But she should not be thinking of kisses…

“Mr. Gower, you play so well that I cannot believe you have not studied somewhere. In fact, you remind me of one of your countrymen.”

“Oh, aye, lass, and who would ye be thinking of?”

“Of Robert Burns, of course. The man with two voices—that of a Scots plowman, and the other, an educated gentleman. And your music is like your accents: you can slip from one to the other. Surely you are not just an uneducated wanderer?”

“And what if I were, lass? ‘A man’s a man for a’ that.’ ”

“Of course. I did not mean to insult you, Mr. Gower. Merely to point out that I think you disguise the fact that you have had some education.”

“I am found out, Lady Barbara,” said Alec with an exaggerated bow. “You are right, I have had some classical training.”

“Then why do you wander around playing fairs and busking? You could find employment in London, I am sure.”

“Weel, I enjoy the outdoors, and prefer the country in good weather. I expect I will head to town when it gets cold. That answers your second question. As to the first, my family had means enough to educate me, but would have preferred me to be anything but a musician.”

Barbara imagined Gower as the son of a wealthy farmer or tradesman, who of course would not approve of a dilettante in the family.

“What would they have preferred? That you enter the family business?” Barbara knew she was prying, but was too intrigued to resist.

“In a manner of speaking, yes.”

“And so you chose a vagabond life instead of a settled one. Has it been worth it?”

Alec thought of the nights he had been without food or shelter. There hadn’t been many, but all of them seemed to have occurred in bad weather. He remembered his first month on the road, and how disorienting and painful it had been to be treated with no respect and sometimes hostility. Not everyone considered a busker a “traveling musician.” Many regarded him as a beggar and treated him as one. But then there were the days when the music seemed to flow through him and it didn’t matter that he was in a small town on market day instead of in front of an educated audience. And there was the freedom of the open road before him, the satisfaction of finding a good pace and reaching his destination tired, but satisfied by his physical exertion. And rewarded by a tankard of frothing ale. No champagne had ever come close to homebrewed, in his opinion. And there was Barbara herself.

“Aye, it has been worth it, my lady. Not least of all because I have met you.”

Barbara blushed and didn’t know what to say. There was a sort of friendship that had grown between them because of their practice, but surely he didn’t mean anything else?

“I have never before had the opportunity to play with such a fine musician,” Alec continued.

Barbara was relieved. He had only been talking about the sympathy between them as they played and not anything more. She had been frightened for a moment. But there was nothing else, she quickly told herself. How could there be? She was happily betrothed to a man of her own rank.

She folded the music closed and rose from the pianoforte. “I think we are ready for our first public appearance, Mr. Gower. Perhaps we should plan on a few minutes with the vicar and his wife just before tomorrow’s concert.”

“I will be here early, Lady Barbara.”

“Good day, then, and thank you for both your confidences and compliments.” Barbara left without looking back and Alec watched her go. He wondered where her blush came from. Had she guessed he meant more than just a musical compliment? “Ah, weel,” he muttered out loud as he picked up his instrument, “and what would a fine lady like herself want with a great gawk like me?”

* * * *

Alec looked nothing like a great gawk the next evening. He had managed to buy himself a new shirt, and had charmed the innkeeper’s wife into brushing and pressing his knee breeches and evening coat. He might not look like a fine gentleman, with his worn cuffs, but at least he was presentable.

A bit more than presentable, all the ladies would have agreed as they admired the way his black evening clothes set off his blue eyes. He looked like a gentleman, standing there next to the vicar and Lady Barbara, and it was easy to forget he was only a hired musician.

The guests sat quietly and clapped politely after the trios. But when the vicar and his wife stepped down and joined the audience, leaving Barbara to join Alec, the opening bars of the sonata demanded more than polite attention. A few people, like the vicar and his wife, realized that the caliber of the performance was equal to any on a concert stage. The others only knew that this duet was as enjoyable a piece as they had ever heard.

Lady Wardour looked over at her son during the performance. He seemed more concentrated than usual, but that was understandable, since it was his fiancée playing. She wondered, given his lack of genuine interest in music, if he could really appreciate Barbara’s talent. It was a revelation to her that this charming young woman who had spent so much of her time assiduously learning all about the household, was transformed when she played into a brilliant and powerful performer. She turned her attention to Gower, whose auburn hair glinted in the light as he bent his head over his violin. Now there was a comparable talent, she thought, and what a wonderful partnership they had formed. She realized that she had picked up on a sympathy between them as musicians that was almost palpable, and found herself wondering if such a sympathy existed between her son and Barbara. Of course, there must be, she reassured herself. And will be, as they begin to produce a family.

The applause was spontaneous and unrestrained, and Barbara and Alec flushed with pleasure as they took their bows.

“Encore!” someone cried enthusiastically.

Wardour stood up and quieted the applause by holding up his hand. “I am sure that Lady Barbara and Mr. Gower would love to oblige you, but supper, alas, awaits us.” He was every inch the perfect host, thoughtful of guests and performers alike, moving them into the dining room. It was quite reasonable not to allow another piece, thought Alec as he followed the vicar toward the dining room. But I wonder if he also doesn’t want the future marchioness so much the center of attention for musical performance.

Barbara had gone into the dining room first, having been escorted by the vicar. She always experienced a letdown after playing, as though having been lifted up by a wave of music, she was now experiencing the ebb. She barely heard what Wardour was saying and had left all seating arrangements to Lady Wardour, so she didn’t notice until she was seated that Mr. Gower was nowhere to be seen.

In fact, Alec had been rudely jolted out of his own post-performance letdown. He had been next to the vicar’s wife, congratulating her on her own skill, when suddenly the marquess was in front of him.

“Mr. Gower, we have arranged a light supper for you belowstairs,” Wardour said politely. “If you will follow James here,” he continued, motioning to one of the footmen, “he will take you down. A wonderful performance, wonderful.” Wardour patted him on the shoulder and then made his way into the dining room. The vicar’s wife looked pained, and reaching out to Alec, shook his hand, saying, “It was a great privilege to play with you, Mr. Gower,” before she followed her host into the dining room.

Alec was furious. That he, Alexander MacLeod, should be condescended to like that, was unimaginable. He wanted to pick Wardour up by his oh so well-arranged cravat and shake him. When the footman touched him on the arm and said, “This way, Mr. Gower,” he almost turned on his heel and walked out the front door. But he controlled himself and followed the man downstairs. There was a tempting plate set out for him and a glass of cider, and he realized that he was indeed hungry and thirsty and had better eat or he would never be able to play afterward. As his anger drained away, he had to admit that there was no real reason to be so furious with Wardour. After all, no hired musicians sat as guests at his grandfather’s table. Why he had expected to be treated differently, he wasn’t sure. Perhaps it was because he had played with Lady Barbara as an equal and had therefore felt like one.

* * * *

As soon as Barbara realized that Gower was not seated at the table and there was no empty place waiting for him, she turned to Wardour, who was seated on her right.

“Peter, I do not see Mr. Gower.”

“Why, no, of course not, my dear. It would not at all be the thing to seat an employee at table with us. He is downstairs, where I promise you he is being fed well.”

Barbara opened her mouth and then closed it. What was there to say? Wardour was right and she was not sure why she had expected Mr. Gower to be at supper. It would, in fact, have looked odd, as she thought of it from the marquess’s perspective. But he had been an equal partner in the duet and somehow it felt wrong to exclude him. She was annoyed with Wardour and quite unjustly. His decision was an unexceptional one. What annoyed her, she decided, was that he was so complacent about it.