Lady Barbara's Dilemma (23 page)

He was also relieved that Deborah’s father had not forced on them the traditional full year’s betrothal. He could not have waited that long, and he suspected that she was as eager as he to wed. Their embraces had become more and more passionate, and the closer they got to their wedding, the more eager David became.

He was grateful for his valet as he dressed that morning, for he found his hands were shaking in nervousness and anticipation. As his man smoothed the shoulders of his pearl-gray superfine and handed him his gloves and hat, he was almost paralyzed with fear, and it was only the memory of Deborah’s candlelit face from that first Sabbath meal that energized him, and he was suddenly out the door before his man knew it.

The wedding was small, but even so, Mitre Street had eyes at every window as the Stanley carriage and the earl’s coach pulled up. Robin lifted Diana down and was about to offer his hand to Barbara when he noticed Alec MacLeod at his side. So the wind lies that way, thought Robin, as he yielded to the other man and escorted his wife in.

Barbara, who had been adjusting her shawl, was expecting her brother, and the shock of surprise and pleasure at seeing Alec went right through her.

“May I escort you in, Lady Barbara?”

“Thank you, my lord,” Barbara had time for only a quick glance around, but her eyes grew wide at the drabness of the neighborhood.

“Have you ever been to a Jewish wedding, my lord? I am not quite sure what to expect.”

“I have not. I have heard, however, that it is a moving ceremony, followed by feasting and celebration.”

And so it was. Perhaps because it was so different from the society weddings she had attended, Barbara found herself immeasurably moved when David walked into the room accompanied by his father and Mr. Cohen. Deborah was attended by Mrs. Treves and by Sarah.

Deborah stepped under the
chuppah
, the traditional canopy, where David was waiting and after the blessings and welcome, all turned to Sarah, waiting for the ring. She held out her hand, closed so tightly in a fist that her knuckles were white, and slowly opened her fingers, revealing the gold circle.

David placed the ring on Deborah’s right hand, repeating after the rabbi: “
Haray aht m’kudeshet li b’tabba’at zu k’dat moshe v’yisrael
.” (“Be you consecrated unto me by this ring in accordance with the laws of Moses and Israel.”)

Barbara, who had smiled at the evidence of Sarah’s concentration, felt tears welling up as the rabbi concluded his benediction. She was shaken out of her reverie, however, when David’s foot smashed the glass, to remind everyone of the sorrow in life as well as the joy, and the Cohens’ friends shouted “
Mazel tov!
”

Alec had disappeared from her side at some point, and when she heard the sound of the recessional, she realized why. The tune he was playing was unfamiliar to her and had a Spanish sound to it. Somehow, she felt he was playing it just for her, that he was speaking to her through his music, calling for her to celebrate love and life. Not just this particular love of David and Deborah, but all unions. It amazed her that Alec could move her that powerfully, and she had to remind herself that she was overly sensitive to music, after all.

But what music and celebration followed! Even Diana was shaken out of her reserve and joined the dancing, holding onto the corner of Robin’s handkerchief and turning and turning with the music. Barbara danced with David and Mr. Cohen, but Alec was too busy playing to partner anyone. He played Ladino airs; he joined a neighborhood group of musicians for a few Polish tunes. And then he played a set of hornpipes and reels which had the guests improvising steps and whirling about in mock Highland flings.

It was, the exhausted Stanleys agreed, the most enjoyable wedding they had ever attended. Even Diana had to agree, as they rode slowly home, Robin sprawled out, his wife leaning against his arm, and Barbara on the seat opposite, her feet disgracefully resting on the carriage seat.

“Lord Alexander is responsible for this,” grumbled Robin. “The man is inexhaustible. It is a pity there was no one there to match him, so we could have had him dancing his feet off.”

Barbara felt herself blushing, and was grateful for the darkness of the carriage. Although he had not been near her, had never partnered her, she felt, irrationally, that she had been dancing with Alec all evening.

Alec himself was exhausted after the wedding. Even the well-worn calluses on his fingers had become sore from the constant playing. But he couldn’t have helped himself. Something in the occasion, perhaps the wonderful juxtaposition of solemnity and celebration had called out to this mercurial nature, and it was as though he was being driven to play by something deep inside him. As Deborah’s father had said in his toast, “
L’Chaim
.” Alec had wanted to continue the toast, not just to life, but to love, to the newlyweds, and to the loveliest woman in the room, the love of his life, Barbara Stanley. Since he could hardly do that, he played every song for her, letting what he felt flow through and out of him, on the music. Of course, she could not have known, he thought, laughing at his own Celtic romanticism. But he didn’t know if he had the patience to subject himself to a long wooing.

By the time he called on Barbara a few days after the wedding, however, he thought he had himself well in hand.

He was shown into the morning room, where Barbara and Diana were sipping tea.

“Come, my lord, and join us in a cup before we start our practice.”

“Have you recovered from your playing?” Diana asked.

“Almost, although I do confess that my fingertips must now have calluses on their calluses. But it was a wild and wonderful wedding.”

“Yes, I was just telling Barbara that it made me think quite differently about Jewish people. I have never known any, really, except Sir David, and him only socially. I was very impressed by the ceremony.”

“And Mr. Cohen was a wonderful dancer,” teased Barbara. “He danced with Diana three times,” she added in an aside to Alec.

“Disgraceful!”

“Actually,” admitted Diana, “it was wonderful to be able to be carefree and not worry about what is done or not done. I very much enjoyed myself and Mr. Cohen is truly a wonderful dancer. Better than Robin.”

“Diana, I am shocked!”

“Now, don’t tease, Barbara, but it is often true that one’s spouse is not always one’s favorite dance partner. Sometimes with another man, one feels an instant rapport. On the dance floor, my dear. On the dance floor only,” continued Diana repressively as Barbara started to laugh at the thought of the balding, stout Mr. Cohen and Lady Diana developing instant rapport. And yet they had, for everyone had commented upon the gracefulness of their dancing.

“We had better get busy, my lord,” Barbara said to Alec. Perhaps we will be able to play the whole sonata today.”

“Aye, that is what I had hoped.”

“Well, don’t be shy, you two,” said Diana, letting them go.

* * * *

As Alec watched Barbara walk down the hall in front of him, he could not help thinking that he and Barbara might always be each other’s best partner, on and off the dance floor. The question was, how soon might he be able to convince her of this?

Barbara felt Alec’s eyes on her and was quite unaccountably warm by the time she reached the music room. She sat down quickly at the pianoforte. Instead of handing her the music, Alec leaned over her to place it in front of her.

This time, as Alec breathed near her cheek, Barbara turned toward him. His nose brushed hers, and their lips met lightly for a few seconds before Alec started to pull away.

“Don’t stop,” whispered Barbara, without thinking.

“Dinna fash yerself, lass,” said Alec as he sat down beside her on the pianoforte bench. “I am juist getting a wee bit more comfortable.” Barbara opened her eyes and reached her hand up to touch his face.

“Oh, lassie,” said Alec, falling even deeper into his Scottish lilt, “I dinna think I can wait any longer.”

“For what?” she whispered.

“For this,” he replied, and putting his arms around her, kissed her passionately and deeply.

As she began to respond, she waited for him to draw back, the way Wardour always had. Instead, as she hungrily nibbled at his lips, he only groaned and began to tease hers open.

“You are not going to stop?” she asked wonderingly.

“Stop? Not unless you want me to.”

Instead of answering, Barbara drew his head down to hers and felt, paradoxically, that he was both satisfying every longing and, at the same time, making her want more, years more of him.

When at last they pulled away from each other, it was only to take a breath and be drawn like magnets into another embrace.

Alec pulled away first, and gave a long sigh.

Was he regretting it? thought Barbara. Did he think her shameless?

“You didn’t enjoy that, my lord?” she asked, shocking herself by her boldness.

“Oh, lass, enjoy isna the word. It is only that I had not planned to do this.”

“Well, neither had I, I assure you,” she replied tartly. “We can forget it ever happened. I am no seventeen-year-old, you know.”

“Thank God.”

“Yes, I suppose you can be thankful,” said Barbara, hurt more than she had ever dreamed possible. “You don’t have to worry that I will call ‘compromise.’ ”

“Well, if you won’t lass, then I will have to.”

Alec stood up as though he were indeed going to open the music-room door and shout the word down the corridor.

“Alec,” she said, grabbing his arm, “what had you not planned to do?”

“I had not planned to woo you like a bloody Celtic wild man, but in a dignified, slow Sassenach way. And I’ve blown it all to hell.”

“Woo me?” asked Barbara.

“Yes, now that I can honestly, as myself. I could hardly have done it as Alec Gower. Especially with you betrothed to another man.”

“I am almost twenty-seven, you know, quite on the shelf.”

“And what would I want with a seventeen-year-old, I would like to know? I want you.”

“Why?”

“All these questions, lass. Don’t you believe me?”

“Oh, yes, I do,” said Barbara softly. “But I wanted to help you to a more dignified wooing, my lord,” she added with a twinkle in her eye.

“The reasons why I want you. This could take days, you know,” said Alec.

“Then you had better get started, my lord.”

Alec opened his mouth to speak and could not. It was as though all the reasons, all the loving words, had deserted him. He sat down on the bench again, close to Barbara, and opening his music to the andante, started to play the melody with his right hand. Quite naturally, Barbara lowered her head to his shoulder and let the music tell her everything he wished to say.

“I wrote it for you, you know,” he whispered after the last note died away. “Were there reasons enough?”

“Oh, yes,” she answered. “And a musician’s wooing is more effective than a Scotsman’s or a Sassenach’s.”

It was difficult for Barbara and Alec to get through the rest of the Season, which felt as if it would never end. They were bored by their social obligations and only wanted to spend time in each other’s arms, which they did at every opportunity on the dance floor and on assorted balconies. They did not try to hide their joy, and their friends and acquaintances were delighted and eagerly awaited the wedding, which was to take place at Ashurst on Midsummer Day.

Some members of society, of course, thought it undignified for a woman of Lady Barbara Stanley’s years to be floating around like an eighteen-year-old, especially after jilting someone like Wardour for a Scotsman, no matter that he was a duke’s grandson. Barbara ignored them, and concentrated upon her own happiness.

This happiness was so great, and had come after such loneliness, that at times she could not believe in it and would worry that something dreadful would happen to prevent their marriage. She was in this state the night before the wedding, Midsummer’s Eve, and was restlessly pacing around her bedroom when her glance fell on her prayer book, which was on the night table. She opened it, and there was the sprig of myrtle from last summer.

Should she? It had, after all, accurately predicted the course of the year. She had not married Wardour. No, she was being ridiculous. The myrtle would be there in the morning and then what would she feel? Disappointed? More anxious?

All of a sudden she remembered that morning with Alec in the clearing and the newly born feeling of joy that had filled her, and all her worry fell away. This was meant from the beginning, she thought, and whether the myrtle is there or not, nothing will change that. So here’s to you, Madame Zenobia, and I will risk your charm again! And she slipped the book under her pillow.

In the morning she again became aware of the hard lump beneath her head and laughed at her late-night imaginings. She would not even open the book, for she knew what she would find. So she pulled on her dressing gown and rang for some chocolate. It was only after the maid had left that her curiosity got the better of her, and she opened the book.

The myrtle was gone. It had fallen out, she told herself. She looked under the pillow, under the sheets, under the bed. Nothing. The sprig of myrtle had disappeared as though it had been spirited away. And she most certainly was going to marry Alec MacLeod this morning and spend the rest of her life working to keep their joy in one another alive.

* * * *

It was agreed that the small parish church had never held such a radiant bride. Or such a striking bridegroom. The women of Ashurst agreed that Lady Barbara had married herself a man with a fine pair of legs, and wasn’t she a lucky one, for she would discover that night what was under a Scotsman’s kilt, and wouldn’t they make fine music together on their wedding night.

As indeed they did.

This book would have been impossible to write without Todd Endelman’s The Jews of Georgian England: 1714-1830. Any errors are mine.