“It is either that or the harp for a gentlewoman, isn’t it? The pianoforte. But I have given up playing for the last few months. It seems pointless.”
“Doing something you love is never pointless, my lady.”
“That is an admirable philosophy, Mr. Gower, but hard to live up to. And anyway, after I am married, I will be too busy.” Barbara wasn’t sure why she had revealed so much of herself, but in addition to his easy charm, Gower had an air of sympathy about him.
“And are you to be married soon, Lady Barbara?”
“In the fall I will wed Peter Rushcliffe, Marquess of Wardour.” Giving his full title seemed to emphasize the social distance between them, something Barbara needed to do. She was feeling too comfortable with Gower.
“And does the marquess not appreciate your talent?” he asked quietly.
“Actually, although he was always quite complimentary whenever I played for him last year, I do not think he has a great feeling for music himself,” confessed Barbara.
Alec silently wished her well. He knew how lonely it was to have no one in your immediate family understand your greatest love. He had no idea what Wardour was like, but doubted that any gentleman would want his wife to have a consuming interest in anything but running his household and raising his children.
The sun was burning off the mist and a shaft of light shone down through the trees, so that all was green and sparkling. For a moment the copse was an enchanted place, quite set apart from everyday life and its rigid conventions. Alec murmured something that sounded like “And all comes down to a green thought in a green shade,” and Barbara’s eyes opened in surprise to hear a traveling fiddler quote Marvell. But the outside world seemed so distant that she didn’t want to break the spell to satisfy her curiosity.
The sound of her horse’s soft whickering brought her back to herself.
“I must go, Mr. Gower, before my horse takes off by himself and before the family begins to worry about me. Thank you for the breakfast, and good luck on your travels.”
Once again Alec regretted his wager. Not that revealing himself would have achieved anything, he thought, as he watched Barbara bring her horse over to the log to mount. She was already betrothed, and sounded very content with her marquess.
* * * *
Barbara mounted quickly so that the Scotsman would have no chance to offer any help. Just the gentle brushing of egg from her lips had affected her more than Wardour’s most passionate kiss, and she didn’t want to be making any more comparisons.
She arrived home as Robin and Diana were coming down to breakfast, and excused herself to change from her riding habit. When she came down to the table, Robin was curious that her ride had not seemed to stimulate her appetite, but Barbara excused the solitary muffin on her plate by saying that she had eaten far too much at the fair and would probably have no appetite for days.
* * * *
The next morning she rose early and rode again, telling herself it had been such a lovely ride the day before and that she merely wanted the exercise. She rode the same way, but this time, when she approached the copse, there was no smell of bacon, and when she got to the small clearing, no fire and no Gower. She breathed a sigh of relief and disappointment. She had enjoyed her conversation with the fiddler, but she was an engaged woman, and surely should not be drawn to another man, particularly one not of her class. She was unlikely ever to see him again, she thought, and turned her horse toward Ashurst and away from the distracting memories of those bright blue eyes and contagious good humor. In a few days’ time she would be getting ready for her visit to Arundel and her first introduction to what would be her new life.
Chapter 15
While his friends and acquaintances in society retired to their estates in the country, David Treves remained in London. Business did not come to a halt with the end of a Season, and so the Treves townhouse remained open all year. On the most stifling days, David and his father were able to refresh themselves, however, with an overnight visit to the family home in Surrey.
Until he had escorted old Malachi home, David had not given much thought to the condition of the poor, Jewish or otherwise. Although he shared a general interest in reform with men like Viscount Vane and the Duke of Sutton, he had not been as concerned with the lot of the common people as he was with beginning to stimulate interest in political emancipation for the Jews. He wanted to win for other young men the possibilities that had not been open for him: entry into university, Parliament, or the Inns of Court. He was in the minority, both in society and at home, however, for many Jews were silent and apathetic, having no desire to take part in politics. Life in England was easier than on the Continent, where all Jews had to struggle for survival, and most of David’s well-to-do friends were content with things the way they were. His closest allies, in fact, were Catholics, who suffered under the same constraints.
But as he walked through the city streets on some of the hottest days of summer, he wondered what Mitre Street would be like. And as he rode to Surrey and felt the country breeze blow away the dust and smells of London, he couldn’t help but wonder if Miss Deborah Cohen ever had a day’s relief from summer in the East End.
And so, a week or two into July, he found himself again in front of the Cohens. This time it was during business hours, and he introduced himself to the clerk and asked if Miss Cohen was available. The man scurried off to the rear, and in a few moments David was face-to-face not with Miss Cohen, but with an imposing, heavyset gentleman who identified himself as Jacob Cohen.
“And just who might you be, asking after my daughter?”
“I am Sir David Treves, Mr. Cohen. I met your daughter a few weeks ago when I escorted Mr. Goldsmid home.”
“Oh, you’re the fine gentleman Deborah told me about,” replied Cohen, his face softening a little. “We were both grateful to you for your good deed. But I did not realize that you were an acquaintance of Deborah’s.”
“I cannot really claim acquaintance, Mr. Cohen,” David said. It was a new experience for him to be evaluated by a protective father. “But I would like to get to know your daughter better. In fact, I was wondering if I might convince you to lend her to me for an afternoon’s drive to Richmond.”
“I may only be a small tradesman, Sir David, but I know what is due my daughter.”
“Of course, she would bring her abigail.”
“Of course, I have no abigail.” The clerk, having done his duty to his master, had then informed the mistress of the home that she had a caller, and Deborah had just appeared behind her father.
“I am happy to see you again, Miss Cohen,” said David, with a bow. “I was just asking your father’s permission to take you out of the heat and dust of the city.”
“Mr. Tre-ves is the gentleman I told you about, Father.”
“Sir David, Deborah.”
“A baronet?” she inquired coolly.
“Yes, the title went to me, although both Father and Grandfather deserve it far more for their long service to their country.”
“You have been working very hard, my dear,” said Mr. Cohen. “I could spare you for one afternoon. But you would need a companion, nevertheless.”
“I will ask Sarah to accompany me, Father.”
Mr. Cohen’s face brightened. “That would be splendid. And a rare treat for her as well as you.”
“The day after tomorrow, then, Miss Cohen?”
“All right, Sir David.” Her acceptance of his invitation was given in as indifferent a tone as a refusal might have been, and David wondered, as he made his way through the filthy streets, just why he had invited the little redheaded witch.
* * * *
Two days later, as he lifted her up into his curricle, he wondered again. There was no sign of enthusiasm or welcome on her face, although this lack was more than made up for by her little companion. Treves had expected some older neighbor. Sarah turned out to be a scrawny, dark-haired little thing who looked to be about eight or nin
e. She chattered nonstop as they made their way slowly through the streets, but fell silent when they reached the highway.
“Are you all right, Sarah?” inquired David.
Sarah flushed. “I just never seen so much green before, sir.”
“Sarah has never been out of the East End, Sir David.”
“And you, Miss Cohen?”
“Not often. When my mother was alive, we would occasionally take a picnic to Hampstead Heath. But usually we were too busy to go anywhere.”
When they reached Richmond, David helped both Deborah and Sarah down, while his groom spread rugs on the grass and opened the picnic baskets. As Sarah watched the china plates and linen napkins being set out, her eyes got wide. And when the silver was unwrapped, she gave a little jump and a squeal of delight. “She has never seen silver before?” asked David, after they began to eat.
Deborah seemed to be choking on a bread crumb and took a great swallow of lemonade. “Why, no, I am sure she has seen it, just not so much of it, perhaps.”
“Does she work for you and your father, Miss Cohen?” asked David, after Sarah had finished eating and run off to play under Tompkins’s watchful eye.
“Yes, we have started training her as a kitchen maid. She is our tenth,” Deborah announced proudly.
“Your tenth maid? Surely you are not that difficult to work for,” David teased.
“I can be very difficult, Sir David,” replied Deborah, with a gleam in her eye.
“Of that I have no doubt, Miss Cohen. But not, I imagine, with eight-year-old kitchen maids.”
“Sarah is almost twelve, Sir David.”
“But she is so small.”
“Not enough food and light does tend to stunt a child’s growth, sir. What we have done over the past few years is try to give a few girls an alternative to the streets. I have managed to place all my maids in good houses.”
“Was Sarah on the streets?”
“Not in the sense you mean, Sir David.”
“She would have been a peddler of some sort, then?” he asked, relieved that such a young girl had escaped prostitution.
“You could say she was in trade,” replied Deborah, with a smile that she quickly hid with her napkin.
“What you are doing is quite admirable, Miss Cohen.”
“What I am doing is but a drop in the bucket,” she replied with some bitterness. “But I try not to think of all the other girls out there and concentrate on the one I can help.”
“Well, I didn’t bring you out here to talk of the horrors of the East End. Come,” said David, extending his hand, “let us take a stroll. Sarah will be quite safe with Tompkins.”
“But will I be safe with you?”
“I assure you, I am not the sort to ravish respectable young women.”
“Hmmm. Does that mean that you are the sort to ravish young women who are not respectable?”
David looked down at Deborah. She was trying to keep her face straight, but burst out laughing when he started to sputter a protest.
“That is the first smile you have given me, Miss Cohen. Although your humor is at my expense, I take it as a good sign.”
“A good sign of what, Sir David?”
“Our future acquaintance.”
“You intend to know me better?”
“I most certainly hope so, Miss Cohen.”
“Why, Sir David? I most certainly would not fit in with any of your friends.”
“Why not? First, don’t be so sure that my friends wouldn’t appreciate you.”
“Second?”
“It is your red hair and matching temper that draws me, I must confess. I have never seen such hair,” said David with exaggerated awe. “My family is all dark, like me.”
Deborah blushed and walked faster so that she drew ahead of him on the path. Her hair, which was only loosely bound in back, was glorious in the sun, and her trim figure more than compensated for the plainness of her gown.
David caught up with her at the small duck pond where the path ended.
“Look at the cygnets,” she whispered, pointing out an elegant swan and her two offspring. “We should have brought Sarah with us.”
David had to stand very close to her to remain on the path, and he felt Deborah shiver.
“You are chilly, Miss Cohen?”
“No, no, not at all, Sir David.”
“Do you suppose we could be more than acquaintances, Miss Cohen?”
“Do you mean friends?” asked Deborah softly, her eyes still on the swans.
“I most certainly hope so,” David replied, turning her chin toward him with the tip of his finger.
Deborah blushed and chattered on about how they must get back to Sarah, who would be worried by now. She started out, and David made sure he was next to her as they walked, letting his hand brush hers, and supporting her under her arm when they came to barely perceptible puddles.
When they got back, Sarah and Tompkins had their heads bent over a pair of dice. Her lap was full of the silver, while he had only one spoon left.
“The little wench is a marvel, Sir David.” Tompkins grinned. “You’d ‘ave no silver left if you’d come along any later.”
“Give the silver back, Sarah,” said Deborah sternly.
“ ‘Twas only a game, my dear,” said David.
“All of it, Sarah.”
Sarah grimaced and pulled a small salt cellar out of her pocket.
“And anything else.”
David was about to protest, but when he saw his watch dangling from Sarah’s small hands and his silk pocket handkerchief, he closed his mouth with an almost audible snap.
“Tell Sir David what you did on the streets, Sarah,” Deborah said.
“I lifted things.”
“Lifted things?”
“Yes, ‘andkerchiefs, purses, and the loike. I were wery good at it, too. Still am, ain’t I, sir?” she added with a mischievous smile. “I were going to give it all back, Miss Deborah, honest I was. I just wanted to see if I ‘ad lost my touch.”
Tompkins, who had been standing there, his eyes open in astonishment, threw his head back and laughed. “Now don’t that beat all, Sir David!”
“Yes, Tompkins, it does,” David replied slowly and sternly. “You were supposed to be watching her, and not teaching an innocent child games of chance.”
“Me teach ‘er! It were ‘er dice, sir,” protested Tompkins as he picked up the rugs and picnic basket and dumped them unceremoniously into the carriage to protest the unfairness of it all. “Hinnocent indeed!”
David reconsidered. “I apologize, Tompkins. Hardly innocent, you are right. Into the carriage, ladies. And Sarah, your hands clasped in your lap all the way home, my girl.”
“Yes, sir. Sorry sir.”
“I am sure she meant to give them back, Sir David,” murmured Deborah.
“That may be so, but I’ll not take any chances.”
Sarah, who had been studiously watching her fingers lace and unlace in her lap, peeked up at David’s face and, satisfied there was more amusement than outrage there, relaxed. She would have hated to be responsible for scaring the ‘ansome gentleman away from Miss Deborah.
Chapter 16
The ride back was quiet, Sarah having dozed off after the first mile.
“Tired out from her criminal activities, no doubt,” whispered David with a smile.
“It isn’t funny, you know.”
“I know. It is appalling to think of any child that proficient. I knew petty thievery is common, of course, but this is the first time I’ve seen a child who did it. Sarah is very lucky to be with you, Deborah. I admire you for your charity.”
“And is this picnic one of your charitable deeds, Sir David?” Deborah hated being praised for something she did because it seemed the only thing to do, and so she was all prickles again. And she did not want to think that Sir David’s interest might only be charitable.
“If by a charitable deed you mean one where one puts up with
unpleasantness for the sake of congratulating oneself for the sacrifice, then perhaps it is, Miss Cohen. For you most certainly show a genius for unpleasantness,” replied David, stung to anger. He had never met such a hedgehog of a woman, prickling up at the least kindness or easy compliment.
“I am sorry, Sir David. That was unfair of me,” said Deborah with genuine feeling. “It has been a great treat to get out into the country. You have been every bit a gentleman, and I am acting most ungrateful.”
“I don’t want your gratitude, young woman,” growled David.
“What do you want, then?”
“Your friendship.”
“Why? I am sure you have a great many good friends, all of whom move in the first circles of society.”
“I don’t know,” replied David honestly. “I do have good friends. In fact, there is one in particular whom I would love to introduce you to. I think you would like Lady Barbara. But none of my friends has such…”
“Red hair and the temperament that goes with it?”
“Not to mention freckles, Miss Cohen.”
“Of course. My freckles. I should have known they were the attraction all along.” Deborah sighed in mock despair.
“It is your mercurial nature, I think—your ability to blow hot and cold in almost the same instant—that keeps me interested. And seriously, Miss Cohen, I would like to take you out for another drive, if I may.”
Deborah was silent for a few minutes. There was every reason to say no. Treves was way beyond her and only intrigued, no doubt, by that distance between them. And when that fascination wore off, what would be left? Yet she wanted to know him better and, she had to admit to herself, she wanted more brushing of arms and fingers on chins, and even lips on lips.
“Yes, yes, you may call again, Sir David.”
* * * *
When they reached Mitre Street, David dropped Deborah and Sarah off and made them promise to accompany him the next week. Just as his carriage was starting off, he heard someone call from behind him. It was Malachi, his basket full of oranges. David signaled the groom to stop, and the old man caught up to them.
Lady Barbara's Dilemma Page 7