David had invited Deborah and Sarah out for several drives during the summer. They revisited Richmond for another picnic and, at Sarah’s request, rode one afternoon in Hyde Park. She had been eager to see where the quality went. David warned her that the park would be fairly empty during the summer, but as long as she saw a few lords and ladies, Sarah said she would be perfectly happy. Luckily for her, there were a few people out and David took great pleasure in pointing out a viscount and a duchess, and watching her eyes open wide.
“Now, Sarah,” he teased, “surely you have lifted a handkerchief from an earl’s pocket or cut the reticule from a lady’s arm in the past?”
“I may ‘ave, Sir David,” she replied seriously, “but I never knew it were an earl or a duchess.”
David couldn’t help laughing, and when Sarah looked hurt, he assured her he wasn’t laughing at her.
“You are quite at home here, Sir David,” commented Deborah, having watched him lift his hand to acknowledge several greetings.
“You are surprised, Miss Cohen?”
“It is hard for me to comprehend such acceptance.”
“One is not accepted everywhere. But yes, it is possible for a Jew to live the life of a gentleman.”
“Does it not feel strange at times? Or rather, don’t you feel like the stranger, Sir David?” Deborah’s voice had lost its edge, and David could hear both curiosity and concern in it.
“There are certain places where I feel I am only tolerated because of my wealth, but I am certain by the time my children are grown, they will move freely in English society.”
“And leave Judaism behind?”
“There are many Sephardim who are religious, Miss Cohen. I am not one of them, so I will have little to leave behind. And you and your father?”
“We do not attend temple regularly, nor keep to all dietary regulations,” Deborah admitted. “But we observe the high holy days and the Sabbath. And I will always consider myself first a Jewish woman, then an Englishwoman. And although there are many intermarriages in the East End, I would never marry a Christian.”
“Have you ever met a Christian, Miss Cohen?” David asked half humorously, half seriously.
“Of course, Sir David,” Deborah replied tartly. “We do business with many of them.”
“I meant socially.”
“No, and I have never had the desire to.”
“Hmmm. Well, perhaps I will have to remedy that,” said David thoughtfully.
And so their next outing was to a small cottage on the edge of Hampstead. When Lord and Lady Vane had to be in town during the summer, they stayed on the Heath rather than in their townhouse, so they could pretend they hadn’t left the country.
“Sarah,” David announced as they drove through the village, “we will be meeting a viscountess.”
Sarah’s sat absolutely still. “You are not funning me, Sir David?”
“Certainly not.” replied David, his eyes twinkling. But when they reached the cottage and were greeted by a small auburn-haired woman in an old muslin gown, Sarah pulled David aside as Nora introduced herself to Deborah.
“You lied to me,” she said angrily.
“Of course I didn’t.”
“She can’t be a viscountess. Look at ‘er clothes,” said Sarah disgustedly.
“David, introduce me to your other friend,” said Nora, approaching them.
“This is Sarah, Miss Cohen’s ‘abigail’ for the day, Lady Vane.”
“I am pleased to meet you, Sarah.”
“Now you got ‘er in on it,” muttered Sarah.
“In on what, David?” asked Nora.
“Sarah cannot believe you are a viscountess, Lady Vane.”
Nora laughed and looked down at her dress. “I know I don’t look much like one, Sarah, but I assure you David is telling the truth. My husband and I much prefer to be informal, which is why we enjoy our cottage retreat.”
“Now, Sarah, curtsy to Lady Vane,” said Deborah sternly.
“No, no,” Nora protested as Sarah sank down to her knees.
“Don’t worry, Lady Vane,” said Deborah as Nora led them to a small table and chairs placed under the old apple tree, “Sarah has always dreamed of meeting quality. She will get great attention from the story of her curtsy on Mitre Street.”
“Ah, yes, David told me you lived in the East End.”
“My father is a wholesaler of fruit,” announced Deborah with a glint in her eye.
“And David says you are his valued assistant and keep the books.”
“I have always had a good head for figures, Lady Vane.”
“I admire you, then, Deborah. My least favorite task before I was married was dealing with my publisher on financial matters. Now, come sit down, and help yourself to biscuits and lemonade. Sarah, there is an old swing over there that you might enjoy. It was my daughter’s.”
Sarah grabbed a few biscuits and sat herself down on the swing. She let it move on its own, back and forth, back and forth, before she experimented with pushing off with her feet.
“That’s right, Sarah,” encouraged Deborah, “push and then lift your feet up.”
Sarah slowly got the rhythm and Deborah turned to Nora and said, “I am afraid we’ll never get her to leave. She has never been on a swing before.”
“How sad,” Nora commented.
“She never did have much chance to be a child, Lady Vane. She was out on the streets by the time she was seven.”
“Yes, I forget how hard it is to be poor in the city. I am glad Miranda and I stayed in Hampstead when we first came south. At least there was fresh air and little crime. But let us forget depressing topics for a few moments, and enjoy the afternoon.”
Nora skillfully got Deborah to reveal more of herself in a half hour than David had done in all their afternoons put together. He heard how her grandfather had come from Poland and in only a few years had moved from being a hawker to owning an outdoor stall. Deborah’s father had been the one to expand the business to its present size.
“And what will happen when your father dies?” inquired Nora.
“I suppose that my husband-to-be will take it over.”
“You are betrothed, then, Miss Cohen?” asked Nora.
David found himself holding his breath as he awaited her answer.
“Oh, no,” said Deborah, blushing. “I just meant that one day I will no doubt marry someone who wishes to continue in the business.”
Nora chatted on with Deborah for a few minutes and then turned to David.
“Excuse me, Miss Cohen, but I wished to share some news of a mutual friend with David,” she said apologetically. “I received a letter from Lady Barbara yesterday, David.”
David’s face lit up and Deborah felt as though she were on the swing with Sarah and had pumped herself almost over the top before plunging back down to the ground. Of course Sir David had lady friends. Or, more to the point, friends who were ladies. She hadn’t thought she believed his interest in her was more than curiosity at best or an attempt at eventual seduction at worst, but apparently she was as foolish as the next woman, for why else would she feel so awful at the thought of him with an English gentlewoman?
“She wrote from Arundel,” Nora continued, “where she has met her prospective mama-in-law, and appears to be quite happily getting to know Wardour’s home.”
Deborah’s heart lifted as the full meaning of Nora’s words sank in. Lady Barbara was only a friend. Of course, that still does not mean his interest in me is anything serious, she cautioned herself, but for the moment she was too relieved to heed her own warnings.
* * * *
“How did you enjoy your visit, Miss Cohen?” David asked as they drove back to the city.
“Very much, thank you. Lady Vane is a lovely woman.”
“I thought you would like her. She supported herself for years by her writing.”
“So I gathered.”
“That’s why I thought you might be sympathetic to on
e another. You are both very much self-sufficient women.”
“Do you see that as an admirable quality, Sir David?”
“Oh, yes.”
“Then you are quite unusual, I think.”
“Of course, independence need not preclude a close relationship with someone of the opposite sex.”
“I do not see why it should,” conceded Deborah.
“I am glad to hear that, Miss Cohen,” David replied. Deborah wondered if there was a deeper meaning to this exchange and spent the next few days after their outing alternating between hope, despair, and ironic self-castigation for her own foolishness.
Chapter 23
David’s calls to the East End had not gone unnoticed, and one day, over afternoon sherry, his father remarked upon his now regular absences.
“I assume it is a woman, David?”
“Why, yes, Father,” replied his son coolly.
“It cannot be anyone your mother and I know, or surely you would have mentioned her name.”
“No, you are right, it is no one you know.”
“It is, of course, quite natural to have a mistress. But we were hoping, your mother and I, that you would soon be thinking of settling down and raising a family.”
“Miss Cohen is not my mistress, Father.” Yet, he added to himself. He certainly could not deny that he wanted her more each time he saw her. But she was a respectable woman, was Deborah Cohen, and he did not know if he had any chance of persuading her to a kiss, much less a liaison.
“Miss Cohen?” said his father.
“Miss Deborah Cohen. She is the daughter of a wholesaler in the East End.”
“You are surely not considering anything serious with her, are you, David? We have not worked all these years to achieve a place in society only to have it thrown away. I was hoping, in fact, that you found Lord Sedgewick’s daughter attractive.”
“Yes, I know,” David replied through gritted teeth.
“Marriage to a Christian woman would guarantee your children’s future, David.”
“It is not so much Lady Emily I find unattractive as her family. Her father is both a drinker and a gambler, and her mother is well-known for her indiscriminate choice of lovers.”
“Ah, but the title is an old one. Our money for their title—a common enough bargain and you know it. But the Duke of Andlem has also made overtures to me, so it need not be Lady Emily if you don’t like her. She is a bit young and spotty, I admit.”
David had long been aware of his father’s plans for him and had never questioned them. After all, the more secure a position in society he achieved, the better he would be able to effect political reform. But for some reason, today the thought of marrying some destitute nobleman’s daughter galled him.
“I assure you, Father, I have not forgotten my obligations. Miss Cohen is someone I met by chance. I enjoy her company, and I like being able to do her the favor of getting her out of Mitre Street occasionally.”
“No need to become agitated, my boy. I am sure you know what you are doing.”
* * * *
Actually, David was not at all sure he knew what he was doing. He had told part of the truth: he did enjoy Deborah’s company and he did like to think he was making her life a little more enjoyable. But the more he saw her, the more he wanted to touch her, and the more frustrated he was with Sarah’s presence. He didn’t think he had a snowball’s chance in hell of making her his mistress, but surely a kiss or two should not be impossible to bring about.
Accordingly, on his next visit he brought his niece’s governess with him.
“This is Miss Crewe, Sarah. We are going to Kew Gardens today, and she has brought all kinds of sketching materials and will give you a lesson in botanical drawing.” David tried to be matter-of-fact with his announcement, but the sharp look Deborah gave him made him feel obvious. Sarah, however, was delighted. She had never had paper or paint available to her, and so she skipped happily along, looking for some “botanicals” to draw.
David let them get far ahead and guided Deborah to a bench in a secluded corner of the herb garden. It was a warm and sunny afternoon and the steady hum of bees and the faint scent of mint combined to relax Deborah’s guard.
David looked down at her ink-stained hands, which rested quietly in her lap. He lifted one gently and brought it up for closer inspection.
“You have clerk’s hands, Miss Cohen,” he teased.
“As well I should, Sir David, keeping the ledgers as I do.”
David bent down and kissed her fingers. Deborah started to pull away and protest, but David leaned down before she could utter a word and covered her lips with his.
To her shame, her protest died in her throat. The warmth of the sun, the bees, the spicy smell of the garden, had all combined to relax her, and the kiss undid her resolve. She had been wanting him to touch her for weeks. Not that she wanted to want him. But she did, beyond all reason.
David pulled back and smiled at the sight of her, eyes closed, face upturned.
“Do you always enjoy kissing that much, Miss Cohen?”
Deborah’s eyes opened and she blushed a deep red. “No…I haven’t done much kissing,” she whispered. “But yes. I seem to enjoy it.”
“We will have to remedy your lack of experience, then,” said David, and pulled her closer.
Deborah wanted the next kiss to last forever, but David pulled away again.
“Don’t,” she whispered.
“Don’t what?”
“Don’t…stop.”
David smiled down at her red head bent down in embarrassment at her own desire, and gently stroked the nape of her neck. Deborah felt small shivers go through her whole body.
“I have been wanting to kiss you for a long time. Miss Cohen. And now that I have, I want to go on kissing you. But I don’t think I should.”
“I know.”
“What do you know?”
“I know what you want.”
“I don’t know how you could, when I don’t. One thing I do know: I cannot take advantage of you,” he said with a groan.
“I wish you could,” replied Deborah, lifting her head.
“Do you?”
“No, not really,” she said, some of her old spirit in her voice. “A part of me would like to be your mistress, Sir David, but I am too much the good accounting clerk to allow myself. I can see the debits and credits, and believe me, it would be me who ended up bankrupt,” she added bitterly.
“You are correct. A respectable woman like yourself needs a husband, not a protector, however loving.”
“I don’t need your protection, thank you,” said Deborah, moving away from him so she would not be tempted to give in and pull him down into another kiss.
“What shall we do, then, Miss Cohen? I very much enjoy your company. I have felt we could be friends, if nothing else.”
“I have enjoyed these afternoons too, Sir David. But everything has changed, and I don’t know if I should continue to see you.”
“Well, I most certainly can’t bring Miss Crewe again. Sarah can go back to being your chaperon, should you come out with me again. I promise we will not be too private.”
“Let me think about it, please.”
“All right, Miss Cohen. I do care about you, you know.” But not in the way I am beginning to care about you, she thought as they rose to meet Sarah, who was running across the grass with her drawings in her hand.
Chapter 24
Barbara spent a few more days at Arundel before returning to Ashurst for what was left of the summer. They were quiet days, spent with Wardour and his mother, with a short visit to the vicar breaking the pleasant monotony. She found it hard to leave, for she had begun to feel at home and wished she were safely married already. Why it felt unsafe to be unmarried wasn’t a matter she wished to explore at any length.
The morning she left, she and Lady Wardour had tears in their eyes, and when Peter bade her good-bye, she clung to him in a manner most unlike h
er.
“What is it, my dear?” he asked.
“I just wish you could come with me and we would just continue on to Gretna,” she answered.
Wardour smiled. “There is nothing I would like better, Barbara, but you know it is impossible. Come, cheer up! We will be wed in less than three months.”
“I know I am being foolish. But it has been such a lovely visit and I am finding it hard to leave, now that I have come to know my new home.”
“I am sorry that leaving makes you sad, but it is just what I hoped would happen if you visited, that you would come to feel Arundel was home. Now, in you go.”
Barbara leaned out the window and waved until they were out of sight. She was very eager to be settled, to be mistress of Arundel and to be Wardour’s wife and experience more than his kisses.
She didn’t want to be returning to Ashurst, much as she loved it. She didn’t want to be traveling north, for traveling in that direction reminded her of Mr. Gower, whom she needed to forget.
When she arrived home, she noticed that all the servants seemed subdued. It wasn’t that they weren’t happy to see her, but kept looking to the right and left of her, as though avoiding her face. She washed and changed quickly and went downstairs to look for her brother.
Barbara found both Robin and Diana sitting quietly next to one another on the sofa in the library. Robin was absentmindedly stroking Diana’s hair, and both looked more serious than Barbara had ever seen them.
“Is there something wrong, Robin? Not…not one of the children?”
“No, the twins are fine, Barbara,” her brother assured her. “Come sit down.”
“Then what is it? Something is very wrong, I can feel it.”
“We just received word yesterday from Sutton…”
“Judith? The baby?”
“According to the letter, the baby came early…it was a difficult delivery…and…”
“And Simon is in danger of losing both of them.” Diana finished what Robin couldn’t.
“Why, she was not due for another month,” protested Barbara, as though there were someone somewhere she could complain to rationally. She got up immediately. “I must go to her.”
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