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.
Chapter 20
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 sympa
thy 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.
Chapter 21
If Mr. Gower’s exile to belowstairs bothered him, you could not tell from his playing, thought Barbara later in the evening as she danced a country dance with her fiancé. All the musicians were good, but it was Gower she listened for as she danced and as she socialized with her future neighbors. His versatility again struck her: she had heard him at a country fair, been amazed at his classical skill, and now heard him adapt to gentler dance music.
As the featured guest, she was in great demand and hardly sat down all evening. Her dances with Wardour were even more welcome than during the Season. Now that they had progressed to a greater physical intimacy, the touch of his hand around her waist during a waltz was more exciting than it had been in the spring. And he was clearly pleased with the evening. All his neighbors and friends had expressed their approval of his betrothed.
And why should they not? he thought to himself. She looked beautiful in her blue silk. The shade matched her eyes and the simple gold necklace set with small sapphires made one glance up and admire her hair. They were an attractive couple, he thought, not for the first time, and he smiled down at her.
“Are you happy, Barbara?”
Barbara, who had been lost in the music and the pleasant feelings his closeness brought her, looked up in surprise.
“Of course, Peter. Do you doubt it?”
“No, not really. I think I am feeling so satisfied with myself and my future bride that I just had to talk about it!”
“I am very happy, Peter,” repeated Barbara, allowing him to pull her a little closer and ignoring the small voice inside her, which asked, “But if I am so happy, then why do I only feel that bubble of joy when I am with Alec Gower?”
* * * *
Alec was apparently bent over his bow all evening, but Barbara was never far from his sight. She is magnificent, he thought, as he watched her dance. Tall and graceful and slender, with alluring curves revealed as the silk clung to her as she danced. She reminded him of the statues of goddesses he had seen in Greece.
There would be no dancing for him tonight. This was no Midsummer Fair, with all rules suspended. The fiddler ate belowstairs and most certainly could not approach a lady for a waltz. And after tonight, who knew when he would see her again, if ever? If he won his wager, and it certainly appeared he would, he’d move to London, but their paths were not likely to cross. From what he had heard, Wardour was very much a stay-at-home. Alec felt a great sadness at the thought of never again experiencing the joy of playing with Barbara. There had been more than a perfect blending of pianoforte and violin. It had seemed like a very blending of souls. For his music came from his deepest self, and so, he thought, did hers.
* * * *
Barbara was exhausted by the end of the evening. She had had to perform, act as hostess, and maintain polite conversation with people she barely knew. As soon as her guests had gone, she said her good-nights to Wardour and his mother and sought the solitude of her bedroom. She dismissed her maid as soon as her dress was over her head and slipped into her lawn nightrail. Just as she was about to slide under the covers, however, she heard it…the sound of a violin. It could only be Gower, she thought, and curious, she slipped on a dressing gown and crept down the stairs. The ballroom was dark except for one branch of candles by the musicians’ platform. There was Gower, playing the loveliest, saddest piece Barbara had ever heard. He was playing softly, which only added to the feeling of lingering sadness.
She stood there and listened until the last note had died away. When Alec finally looked up, he saw her standing there and immediately stood up.
“Lady Barbara! Is there anything wrong? Can I help you?” he stammered.
“I heard the music and came down to listen. I thought you had already gone.”
“I had a few drams with the other musicians, lass, and decided to wait a bit till my head cleared before I walked back to the inn.”
“I thought strong liquor lifted one’s spirits. The tune you were playing was very sad.”
“Aye, I call it ‘MacLeod’s Lament.’ ”
“You wrote it? You are a composer also?”
“Almost all Scottish fiddlers can improvise and invent their own tunes, lass. Where do you think all the strathspeys and reels come from?”
“I confess I have never given it much thought, Mr. Gower. I have taken it for granted as something that is just there.”
&n
bsp; “Aye. The real composers are Mozart and Bach,” replied Alec with a tinge of bitterness. “We keep our music as separate as we do the classes, don’t we?”
“I suppose we do,” Barbara said thoughtfully. “But that was as haunting a piece as any I’ve played or heard. I am privileged to have heard you play it.”
“Thank you, my lady. And I am glad you were my audience of one.” Although you could not have heard what the music was saying and be standing there in your night-clothes so coolly, he thought. For what was I lamenting but the fact I shall never have the right to kiss you or take you in my arms. “It is late, and you will get a chill standing here,” said Alec. And if you don’t get yourself off to bed, I will not answer for myself, he wanted to add.
Barbara had completely forgotten her state of undress and nervously pulled at her dressing gown. “Oh, yes, I must. Good night, Mr. Gower.”
“Good-bye, Lady Barbara.”
Barbara turned to go, and then stopped.
“Mr. Gower.”
“Yes, Lady Barbara?”
“Will your travels take you to London?”
“Aye, as it gets colder I seek more indoor employment,” he replied with a smile.
“Well, then, if you are in London this fall, you must look up a friend of mine. He is something of a patron of the arts and may be able to help you make your way in the city. His name is Sir David Treves.”
“Why, that is kind of you, lass, to be thoughtful of me. I will look him up.”
“Well, good night again.” As she hurried back to her room, Barbara wondered just why she had given him David’s name. Was it truly an unselfish suggestion to help him get the attention his talent deserved, or did she want to make sure she had some way of hearing about him?
Chapter 22
Lady Barbara's Dilemma Page 9