Lady Barbara's Dilemma (21 page)

“Alec! What a surprise,” said David, taking in every inch of the fashionable gentleman in front of him.

“I can tell by your face it is my appearance as well as my presence that startles you, David,” replied Alec in his most cultured tones.

“You must admit that a Weston coat is a bit different from your plaid, Alec. That is a Weston, if I am not mistaken?”

“I have something to confess to you, David.”

“Well, let’s not make it public. Come back to my office. I have some sherry there and we can celebrate your reappearance.”

Once they were seated and drinking, David looked at Alec and asked in semiserious tones whether he had seduced an heiress or had had a particularly good winter busking. “Or did you rob the mail coach? Come, come, it is time to confess.”

“Och, it is worse than that, Davie,” said Alec, rolling his r’s. “I am afraid I hae deceived ye.”

“Aha, you are the son of a Scottish baron and couldn’t reveal yourself for some mad reason,” said David with a laugh.

“Close, Davie, close. But it is worse than that. I am the grandson of a duke and the second son of a marquess. My name is not Alec Gower. I am Lord Alexander MacLeod, at your service,” answered his friend with a mock bow.

“You’re bamming me!”

“I am not.”

“Then why, by all that’s holy, were you traipsing around as an itinerant musician?”

“Because that is what I was last year. You see, my grandfather cannot endure the idea of a MacLeod making a career of music. I had a wager with him: if I could make my way for a year just with my fiddle and without making use of the family name, then he would release my inheritance and allow me to choose musical composition over legal depositions,” Alec explained with a flourish of his hand.

“And you won.”

“I won. Thanks, in part, to you, my friend. I hope I can count you as a friend?” asked Alec. “Here I have been calling you Davie…”

“I liked you from the start, Alec. But are you sure you wish to count me amongst your friends?”

“Why ever not? Oh, the Jewish question.” Alec dismissed that with another wave of his hand. “Och, Davie, we maun hold togither against the Sassenach.”

“What of your grandfather?”

“A Scotsman too, though he would like to forget it and act like one of them.”

“A common story.”

“Aye, We both know how to balance two identities, don’t we?”

“Where are you staying?” David asked.

“Now, that is why I came to see you. I am putting up at Fenton’s, but am looking for rooms. I thought you might know of a place appropriate for a musician.”

“As a matter of fact, I know just the place. You can have my rooms. I am moving out in a fortnight.”

“Not out of London, I hope?”

“No, I am getting married,” David announced, his face flushed with both pride and embarrassment.

“To that splendid redhead who was with you at the Stanleys’?”

“Yes, to Miss Deborah Cohen. We have purchased a house.”

“I wish you very happy, Davie,” Alec said, lifting his glass. “How
is
Lady Barbara by the way?”

He tried to sound matter-of-fact, and seemed to have succeeded, for David answered as though it were just normal curiosity that prompted the question.

“She spent the winter in Sussex, of course, Wardour was quite the gentleman about the whole thing, so that most of the gossip had died down before the holidays. I expect she will be in town within the week. She is, of course, invited to the wedding.” David opened his mouth as though he were going to continue and then closed it again.

“You were about to say something?”

“Well, the thought had occurred to me…umm… I was just going to wonder aloud about Barbara’s reaction to your real identity. I was also thinking that the two of you would make a natural couple. Forgive me, but my approaching nuptials have turned me into a matchmaker.”

“I am sure the lady has many admirers.”

“Oh, yes, but Wardour was the only one she had ever encouraged.”

“Do you think she is still wearing the willow?”

David looked thoughtful. “I might be wildly off the mark, but when I conveyed my sympathy to Barbara in the fall, she seemed to be suffering more from a general disappointment than a particular heartache. She told me that they had mutually agreed that they would not suit.”

“I am relieved to hear that, for I fully intend to woo her this spring.”

“So I am not being foolishly romantic,” David said with a wide smile.

“Och, Davie, we may both be foolish. Who knows how the lady will react to me? For all I know, she has forgotten Alec Gower and I will have to start all over again.”

Madame Judith’s prediction might have gotten Barbara through the winter at Ashurst, but the approach of the Season brought her back to the hard facts of her spinsterhood. She would be returning for her seventh Season and, she was determined, her last. After this Spring, she would retire gracefully, start wearing a cap, and resign herself to her fate. The only reason she had even agreed to accompany Robin and Diana to London was for appearances’ sake. If she stayed at Ashurst, the gossips would be sure to notice and comment again on her broken engagement. She would have to hide her boredom and loneliness under a carefree facade to earn the retirement from society that she desired. She could only hope that Wardour had decided to stay at Arundel this spring. She did not think she had the courage to face him again and pretend to be good friends.

It was a surprise, therefore, to hear almost immediately after they arrived in London that not only was Wardour in Kent, but newly married to the youngest daughter of his neighbor, the Viscount Fulcomb. Barbara remembered her as a very pretty girl who had shyly complimented Barbara on her music. “But she is barely eighteen,” she protested, when Robin gently broke the news.

“Are you terribly upset?” he asked.

“If you mean, do I have any regrets, Robin, no, not at all. But I must confess to more than a little wounded vanity. After all, his new wife is almost a decade younger than I! I feel like Methuselah. I am relieved, however, to hear that he recovered so quickly,” continued Barbara tartly. “And I suspect his new bride will be much more suitable and pliant than I. I wish him happy, I truly do.”

“And I wish you the same happiness, Barbara. Perhaps this Season…”

“Judith has great hopes for this spring,” Barbara replied with patently false gaiety. “Perhaps she is right and I’ll see some old acquaintance with new eyes. Stranger things have happened.”

* * * *

But old acquaintances looked the same, thought Barbara a few days into the Season, as she surveyed the crush at the Rosses’ ball. Her dance card was almost full, but as she read it over she realized that she had danced with these same men year after year. She knew whose feet would tread on her slippers, whose hand would squeeze her waist during the waltz, and who would compliment her, yet again, on the way her gown matched her eyes. Thank God David was down for a waltz, she thought.

When, a few minutes later, she heard David announced, along with Lord Alexander MacLeod, she looked around eagerly for his tall, dark-haired figure. When she saw him, she smiled naturally for the first time that night and began to make her way through the crowd. As she got closer, however, her smile disappeared, for standing with his back toward her was a tall, auburn-haired stranger, who reminded her so strongly of Alec Gower that her knees felt weak. Oh, why did someone with the same color hair, the same broad shoulders, have to be here tonight? She thought she had cured herself of her foolishness, but apparently not, if merely the sight of dark-red hair undid her. Had David not seen her and smiled at her, she would have broken and run.

She focused on David, refusing to glance to her right. She had to turn at last, as David introduced her to Lord Alexander MacLeod, and found herself looking into the bright blue eyes of Alec Gower. What had David called him? She offered her hand and opened her mouth, but was struck dumb by the surprise, and stood there gaping like a fish.

“I was as surprised as you are,” David said, coming to her rescue. “Alec told me his story, however, which explains his disguise.”

“Indeed?” said Barbara, finally finding her voice.

“I told David about a certain wager,” started Alec.

“Wager? Was your deception the result of some drunken night out, then?” asked Barbara in her chilliest tones. “How interesting and how commonplace,” she added dismissively. “Excuse me, gentlemen, but I see Lady Vane over there and wish to coax her into talking about her new grandchild.” Barbara was gone before Alec or David could say a word.

“Well, hardly what I’d call an auspicious beginning to my wooing, Davie,” said Alec.

“I think I would have to agree with you,” said David, smiling despite himself. “But it was a shock to be introduced to you like that, with no warning.”

“Aye, but there was no better way to do it. It is done now, for better or worse. For worse, it would seem,” admitted Alec with a wry grin.

“Now, don’t give up hope. I will make sure you have some time with her tonight.”

* * * *

Talking to Nora about her new granddaughter was not difficult, for she was ecstatic about little Margaret Lavinia. By the time her husband, accompanied by David, joined them, Barbara had recovered from her shock and let David confirm his two dances before she was swept off by her next partner.

When the time came for David to claim his waltz, he was nowhere to be seen, and Barbara was about to sit down when Alec Gower—no, Lord Alexander—appeared before her.

“Sir David is unavoidably detained, and begged me to take his place,” Alec announced.

“David, I suspect, has hidden in some corner and sent you over instead, Mr. Gower. I mean Lord Alexander.”

Alec’s eyes twinkled down at her. “You’re a canny lassie, but will ye no dance wi’ me all the same? Unless you are too tired,” he added, in his best English. “In that case, perhaps we could find a private corner for conversation.”

“No, I am not quite at my last prayers, my lord,” replied Barbara. Surely dancing would be easier than a private chat, but she shivered uncontrollably when Alec put his arm around her.

“You are cold, Lady Barbara?” he asked, with such a concern in his voice that she almost lost her composure.

“Just a goose walking over my grave,” she said lightly, trying to ignore the warmth of his arm around her waist and the feeling of her hand in his.

Alec had no desire to ruin the dance with explanations, so he kept silent. Barbara would have expected their silence to be strained and uncomfortable, but the longer they danced, the more relaxed she felt. They danced as they had played, effortlessly, and by the time the music stopped, she was only sorry that their closeness must end.

“I would like to talk to you, Lady Barbara,” said Alec seriously. “I believe I owe you an explanation. May we go out on the balcony for some privacy?”

Barbara was too bewitched to refuse, and they slipped out through the French doors and faced one another, breathless from their waltz and the realization that the next few minutes could determine the course of their acquaintance.

“I am not given to drunken wagers, Lady Barbara, and I want you to know that,” Alec began. “There were unique circumstances, as I think you will agree.” And he explained the whole. “So you see, it was absolutely necessary that I not reveal myself to anyone, even when I wished to.”

“And you assure me that ‘Alec Gower’ was the disguise, and not ‘Lord Alexander,’ ” she said, only half teasing.

“Oh, aye. My parents and my grandfather are just arrived and I know that you will be meeting them at some party or other. Will that convince you?”

“Oh, I am convinced, my lord. In fact, I always wondered about Mr. Gower and how he could play Mozart as well as he could a reel. I suspected you were from some good family, although not of the nobility, I admit. And so you will be able to make your dream come true,” she added wistfully. “It is easier for a man, even if he is the grandson of an earl.”

“Up to a point. I will be free to study and compose. Perhaps get away with a public performance occasionally. But most of my playing will be for friends and family, as yours is. My father and grandfather are in good health and have long lives ahead of them, as does my brother, I hope. But one never knows, which is why I was so determined to have this time now.”

“I wish you well, my lord,” said Barbara.

“I was hoping…that is…would it be possible for us to play together again? If you have forgiven me for my deception.”

“There is little to forgive, my lord. After all, your masquerade harmed no one. Perhaps we could look forward to a duet again.”

“I have a sonata of my own composition, for pianoforte and violin. I would love to practice it with you.” Alec did not add that he had spent the winter working on this piece with Barbara in mind.

“I would be free on Thursday,” Barbara replied, shocking herself by her own boldness, but not wanting to let him go before they had set a date.

“Thursday it will be, then,” agreed Alec.

The next few days went by very slowly, and Barbara found herself unable to concentrate on anything for longer than ten minutes. She would sit down to her music, begin her warm-up scales, play the first three measures, and then have to get up and move. Only a visit from David and Deborah to discuss their wedding plans was able to keep her attention focused for any length of time.

Deborah had insisted on being married from her home, a decision that had displeased the Treves family, which had wanted to make the wedding more of a social occasion than a religious ceremony.

“Deborah has been quite stubborn about this,” said David.

“It is not stubbornness, David,” Deborah started to protest.

“You can see that my fiancée’s temper is as fiery as her hair,” announced David in a loud aside to Barbara.

“It is quite untrue,” protested Deborah, immediately incensed, “that redheaded people have a quicker temper than others.”

“Yes, David,” added Barbara, with a twinkle in her eye, “I am surprised at you for repeating that old saw when Miss Cohen is clearly the meekest of women.”