Marjorie Farrel (3 page)

Had Simon not been so much like an older brother, Barbara might well have given her heart to him instead of to Dev. He was genuinely kind to all: servants, tenants, little sisters, and hero-worshiping young viscounts. Responsible and possessed of a true dignity, but not at all impressed by his own rank and fortune. In fact, she knew there had been a time when he had quite painfully questioned his wealth and position. At Oxford, both he and Robin had been influenced by radical thinkers. Indeed, it had been Simon who had first introduced her to Mary Wollstonecraft’s writing. He had eventually come to terms with his responsibilities and sincerely believed that since he had been born into a particular place, he had a duty to use the influence he possessed for those who were less fortunate.

Simon was a serious man, albeit with a good sense of humor. And good-looking. Not Byronically handsome, of course, like Dev, or blond and elegant, like Robin. He was tall, and he had outgrown the gangliness of his adolescence without losing a certain ranginess. His hair, thick and sandy, and his light sprinkling of freckles counterbalanced the imposing quality of his rather hawk-like nose and clear gray eyes. And now those eyes, which were always so direct and honest, looked out at nothing.

Barbara loved Simon as a member of her own family, and was as distraught over his injury as if it had been Robin’s. Yet there seemed to be no way to reach out and help. If he would not admit his closest friend, he would certainly not admit her, even if it were appropriate for her to visit a man’s house alone. And what was there to do or say? “I am so sorry, Simon. Come to dinner tomorrow night.” Or, “Will you be at Lady Bellingham’s? I’ll save a waltz for you.”?

Surely time will have a healing effect, she decided. Simon could not keep himself isolated indefinitely. Perhaps the thing to do was to go on waiting until he was ready to receive visitors.

Barbara left the morning room and settled in for her hour’s practice at the pianoforte. Like most young ladies, she had been given music lessons and had been expected to develop a certain proficiency at the keyboard. What was not expected was that she reveal a genuine talent. She had gone far beyond the conventional, and her parents, in recognition of her ability, had finally hired a professional teacher. For her, music was both a calming discipline and a way to express emotion. Her range was wide enough to encompass Bach and Mozart, and now she was working on some new music, by Beethoven. She was busy working on a sonata she had just purchased, and as she worked out the fingering, she lost all sense of time.

When Judith was admitted an hour later, the butler was about to settle her in the morning room and summon Lady Barbara. “Milady is practicing, you see, and she often quite forgets about the time. I will inform her of your arrival.”

Judith could hear the faint sound of the piano and impulsively reached out to stop Hotchkiss. “Let me go down. I have not heard Lady Barbara play for so long, and I would like to just listen for a while.”

Hotchkiss pointed out the door, and Judith walked softly down the hall. The slow chords got louder as she drew closer. She opened the door quietly and sank into a chair. Barbara was so engrossed in getting the first few measures right that she heard nothing.

Judith was not familiar with Beethoven’s work, and there was something about this new arrangement of sound that moved her in the same way as certain poetry or a painting by Turner. She wanted to get closer to the music, and so she walked over to stand a little behind her friend, watching Barbara’s hands work out the best placement. Barbara, sensing someone’s presence, stopped in the middle of a measure and glanced up.

“I am sorry to distract you, Barbara, but I couldn’t resist that music. Whose is it? You play it beautifully.”

“Oh, no, not yet. I am barely beginning to work out the fingering, much less the dynamics. Beethoven is much more difficult than anything I have tried before, and I am quite at sea.’’

“It was wonderful. I have not heard any of his music before. There is something about the music ... I can’t put it into words. He goes straight to the soul.”

“Oh, yes, my friend.” Barbara stood up and gave Judith a spontaneous hug. “It is so good to be with you again. You don’t know how I have missed your insight.”

“You have become an even finer musician than before. It is a shame that such a talent must be hidden, merely because you are a woman.”

“I do work hard at it, but sometimes get discouraged. This piece is particularly difficult, and Signor Cavalcanti will have expected me to have learned this movement by Friday. Remember when we dreamed of becoming great artists overnight? Well, now I know how much hard work and discipline it takes. And you are right: as a woman, this music will never be my life. But I am determined to keep it a part of my life. Come, let’s not stand here, but go into the morning room. I’ll send Hotchkiss for some tea.

“Now tell me about the last three years, Judith,” Barbara asked as they settled in. “They cannot have been easy for you.”

“My first position was difficult. I was responsible for two terribly spoiled children. That I could have survived. But when their uncle started making advances and could not be convinced that I was uninterested, I decided to find another position. I was much luckier the second time. They had five children and all were a little harum-scarum, but the Thorntons are a warm, close family, and that more than made up for the occasional toad in my bed! They made me feel like one of the family, my salary was generous, and I had one half-day a week to myself.”

“One half-day!”

“That is generous, my dear lady of leisure. And Lady Thornton was very involved with her children, so I seldom had full responsibility for them all at one time. At times I felt like a cousin who had come to help out, rather than a hired stranger. And one of my duties this past year was quite restful.”

“What was that?” queried Barbara.

“Lord Thornton’s older sister, Harriet, came to live with them. She suffers from a progressive eye disease that cannot be cured, and she is almost completely blind. I spent some of my day as her companion, walking with her and reading to her. She is a wonderful person, intelligent and independent, and much more accepting of her handicap than I could ever dream of being. We had long conversations on literature and life that reminded me of the talks we used to have.’’ Judith smiled. “All in all, I was very lucky, Barbara. And I knew that it was only for a limited time. Now, that is enough of me. Your come-out was last year, and you are still not wed? Are you considered to be on the shelf yet?” teased Judith.

“I’ll have you know that if I was not the incomparable of the Season, I was quite the thing, despite my excess inches. I received no less than three proposals! In fact, I refused an earl last year.” Barbara’s eyes sparkled mischievously.

“An earl? Why did you refuse such a good match?”

“Well, if you must know, it was Julian, Lord Denver, and since he is but twelve years old, I told him I was flattered, but thought he deserved someone a bit younger.”

“Robbing the cradle proved too unconventional even for you, eh? However did this proposal come about?”

“We both met often in the park. He and I both share a rebellious streak. He was escaping his mama, and I was riding off some steam at mine. We agreed to be friends and support each other. We have visited the zoo together, and the waterworks. I must say I have found him the most pleasant, most amusing male I’ve met in months. And he does not mind in the least my being bookish. He said, quite seriously, it might be very pleasant to have a wife with whom one could discuss politics intelligently.”

“Seriously, Barbara,” Judith said after they had finished laughing, “have you truly emerged heart-whole?”

“With regards to those proposals, oh, yes.” Barbara bent her head over the teapot. “More tea?”

“ ‘With regards to those proposals’? So there might be someone who has not proposed whom you might have accepted?”

Barbara looked up at Judith and made a comically despairing face.

“Oh, Judith, I really have not admitted it, even to myself, but I am in a bad way.”

“Who is this heartless one? Don’t tell me. He is years older and only looking for someone to run his household? No, no, he is a radical and does not even believe in the married state?”

“Oh, worse. He is everything I thought I despised. He is top of the trees, drives to an inch, spars at Jackson’s, gambles, and up until this fall flirted with the prettiest young debutantes. He is, in short, utterly charming, utterly inappropriate, and decidedly not interested in a tall, musical lady.”

“And who is this villain?”

“Robert, the Viscount Devenham.”

“Wasn’t he the young man who was always hanging about the summer I visited you?”

“Yes.’’ Barbara blushed. “We have grown up together, and that is why he never looks at me. And how I could form a tendre for someone so far from our old ideal, I’m sure I don’t know.’’

“I remember him as witty and charming. A bit mischievous, perhaps, but he spoke quite responsibly about his tenants, did he not?” Judith also remembered him as boyish and suspected that the motherly side of her friend was drawn to the viscount. There was certainly no harm in him, she thought, but not much that could ultimately hold Barbara, who was essentially a serious person.

“Yes, he does take his duties seriously when he is at home. In the city, he has thrown himself into the social whirl. He is an only child, you see, and his father would not let him apply for a commission. He wanted very much to be in the thick of things, and feels it deeply that many of his friends went to war and he could not.”

“So there is a reason for his apparent frivolousness.”

“Yes. But I suppose what still bothers me is that he is not at all that paragon of virtue that we used to imagine for ourselves. He is most certainly not stupid, but I can’t imagine having long conversations with him. How can one’s heart be so inconsistent with one’s head?”

“The eternal question, my dear.” Judith laughed. “It sounds like he cannot see you as anything but Robin’s little sister.”

“Yes. And the worst of it is that this fall he has stopped his flirting, and is hovering around the Lady Diana Grahame.”

“Who is ... ?”

“Several Seasons out, three years older than Dev, and someone with whom, I am convinced, Robin was, and perhaps still is, in love.”

“And the Lady Diana?”

“I don’t know. I thought when Robin left for the continent they had reached an understanding. But he left in such a black mood that I was afraid for him. It seemed to me as though he were ready to throw himself into the most dangerous situation. Thank God, he returned unhurt. But he and Diana do no more than exchange courtesies now. She seems quite willing to let Dev make a fool of himself over her. Oh, I know I shouldn’t say that, but she is much more sophisticated than he is, Judith. She is beautiful and glamorous, and if she has a heart to break, she keeps it well hidden.”

Barbara took a deep breath. “Well, I certainly needed to tell someone all that, didn’t I? But it is a relief. I have been feeling all kinds of a fool for months.”

“It doesn’t sound foolish to me. Devenham might not match up to our old schoolgirl fantasies, but we are both older and wiser. I doubt that either of us would be attracted to such perfection, even if it did exist. His attraction for the Lady Diana will surely pass, as these feelings of admiration for older women usually do.”

“I had hoped so, Judith, but there seems to be no sign of it. He hangs around her, always claims her for two dances as well as supper. She has not discouraged other admirers, but always demonstrates her preference for Dev. But this is too much of me! What are your plans, now that you are in London, Judith?”

“I intend to revel in my freedom, my friendship with you, and settle into a comfortable existence balancing housekeeping and painting.”

“How is your painting going?”

“It was difficult to find time for it these past three years, and so I almost feel as if I were starting all over again. But I have kept to my sketching, and now hope to work with watercolor again. I would love to attempt oils, but I am not sure but that my talent is for small things, and I intend to keep to a strict schedule. I would like to try to sell some of my work, if possible. I want to bring in a small income so that I am not completely dependent upon Stephen. He is quite likely to marry within the next few years, and I will not want to remain as the dependent sister.”

“And what about you, Judith? Do you no longer wish for a home of your own and children?”

“Yes, I do at times, Barbara. But it is unlikely to happen now. Perhaps if my father were still alive, there might have been some introduction into society. I come of a good family, but there is no money beyond my small settlement and what Stephen and I earn by ourselves. No, I have resigned myself to my fate ... and indeed, it is not such a bad fate. I will paint, and I will be a doting aunt to Stephen’s children and a doting godmother to yours, if you will let me.”

Barbara could not deny Judith’s analysis of her position. Her friend had been deprived, by her father’s death, of the possibilities of meeting any eligible man. And as a single woman in London, keeping house for her brother, she would meet none but her brother’s friends—and most of them too young.

“I am not going to allow you to hide yourself away. You are too intelligent and warm a woman to remain alone.”

“Oh, no. I can guess what you are about to say. I will not presume on our friendship, and indeed, cannot continue it, if you cannot accept the differences in the lives that we lead, Barbara.” Judith was adamant. “I have no money for the clothes that socializing would require. And truly, no desire for it. What you can do for me is to continue to be my good friend.”

“And is a good friend to see you and encourage you to sink into obscurity? Ignore the fact that you enjoy riding and the theater and dancing? You do miss riding, I am sure, Judith. Must we see each other only over tea?”

Judith’s eyes had widened at the thought of being able to ride again. “I do have an old habit. I am years out of practice, but if you could stand to be seen with me, I confess that I am sorely tempted. Oh, Lord, see how my good intentions go flying out the window when horses are mentioned. I was more upset over the loss of our horses than over any other change in our circumstances.”