“We were only waiting for you to arrive, my dear,” said Robin. “The carriage is ready.”
All Barbara could think about as they drove to Sutton was her first days at school. She had been tall and gangly and shy. It had seemed that all the girls stared and giggled and whispered except for one small freckle-faced young woman who approached her and helped her find her room, and her place at table, and who cheered her up by saying, “Don’t mind them. They’ll stop staring by the end of the week and become friends. They’re like this every time someone new arrives.”
But Barbara already knew that she didn’t want one of those vapid daughters of the ton for a friend. She had found her friend in Judith Ware. And had kept her over the years, despite distance and difference in rank. She felt ashamed of her recent anger at Judith, and her jealousy, and had the irrational sense that it was her resentment that had somehow caused this tragedy.
What would life be like without Judith to confide in? She hadn’t confided much of her recent feelings, it was true, but she had been looking forward to a comfortable visit after the baby was born, when she could share both her happiness with Peter and her confused feelings about Alec Gower. To whom else could she ever admit her attraction to a wandering musician?
By the time they reached Sutton it was late afternoon. Barbara was terrified. What if the door opened and the butler was wearing a black armband? Please, God, please, spare my dear friend, she said over and over to herself as they walked up the front steps.
But the butler was not wearing black, and his face was creased in a smile that went from ear to ear. He ushered them into the drawing room, where Francis, the duke’s secretary, was waiting.
“Cranston was smiling. He is either gone mad with grief—or is there good news?” asked Robin.
“Good news,” said Francis quietly. “But it has been thirty-six hours of hell here, I assure you.”
“What went wrong, Francis?” inquired Diana.
“Judith slipped going down the stairs out to the garden and her fall evidently brought on a premature labor. The baby was born five hours later. He was very tiny and weak, and she was hemorrhaging terribly. The doctor thought we might lose both of them.”
“He, Francis? Then it was a boy. Judith was so sure. How is she dealing with the loss?” asked Barbara.
Francis rubbed his hand over his eyes and looked at her, puzzled. “Loss?”
“You said the baby was very tiny…”
“Oh, yes, and he still is small and weak, Lady Barbara, but the doctor managed to save both of them.”
“Oh, thank God,” said Barbara, tears of joy and relief streaming down her face. “Where is Simon? Can I see Judith?”
“The duke is in the nursery with Lady Sophy. You may go up, if you wish. Her grace is sleeping right now, but perhaps this evening…”
Barbara took the stairs two at a time, feeling as if she could fly. The door to the nursery was open halfway and she could hear Sophy humming quietly to herself. As she slipped in, Sophy looked up and raised her finger to her lips.
“My papa is very tired, Auntie Barbara. We mustn’t wake him.”
Simon was stretched out on the window seat, sound asleep. His clothes looked as if they hadn’t been changed in a week, and his face was rough with stubble. It was only then, as she looked at him, that Barbara was able to imagine what the loss of Judith would have meant to him.
“My mama is sleeping too, and my new baby brother.” Sophy’s lower lip trembled.
Barbara opened her arms. “And here you are all alone, entertaining yourself, you brave girl. Come, sit on my lap and give me a hug.”
Sophy crept onto Barbara’s lap and clung to her. Barbara kissed the top of her head and felt the little girl’s shoulders begin to shake.
“There, there, everything is all right now.”
“But it wasn’t for a long and scary time, Aunt Barb. And I’m afraid my mama has gone away after all.”
“No, no, she really is just sleeping. Haven’t you seen her?”
“No one would let me, Aunt Barb.”
“No, I suppose not. I’ll tell you what. Let us go down to the kitchen and get cook to make us some chocolate. Then, when you feel better, we’ll tiptoe up to your mama’s room and you can give her a kiss.”
“Oh, thank you, Aunt Barb.” Sophy gave her a hug. “Should we leave Papa here alone?”
“I think he needs the rest, Sophy. And he can find his way down when he wakes up.”
“Yes, and it won’t matter to Papa if he wakes up in the middle of the night,” Sophy said proudly. “He can make his way in the dark better than anybody.”
Barbara smiled down at the curly red head. How easily his daughter had accepted Simon’s blindness as just another thing to know about him.
“Come, let’s go before we wake him up.”
* * * *
The cook fixed them some cocoa and triangles of bread and butter. Sophy informed Barbara that when she ate in the nursery or the kitchen she was allowed to dip her bread into her chocolate. “It tastes better that way, Aunt Barb.”
Barbara joined her in dipping and watched bread crumbs and butter swirl in her chocolate. The little circle of grease reminded her of her own childhood, when she and Robin had surreptitiously dipped their bread or toast into their cups.
Sophy started rubbing her hand over her eyes, and Barbara realized that the little girl was likely as exhausted as her father.
“Come, let us tiptoe up to Mama’s room and blow her a kiss good-night.”
There were candles still lit in Judith’s room, and the housekeeper sat next to her bed. She looked up as they approached and motioned them in.
“You may come in, Lady Sophy, if you are as quiet as a little mouse,” she said. Sophy tiptoed up to the bed, and Barbara could feel her hand trembling with the effort to hold herself back. She was sure the little girl wanted nothing more than to crawl into her mother’s arms, and she was proud of her goddaughter’s heroic efforts to behave like a grown-up.
Judith lay there, her cinnamon hair spread across the pillows, and her chest barely moving. Barbara looked in alarm at the housekeeper.
“Yes, she is exhausted, poor woman. But sleep is what she needs.”
“I will lift you up, Sophy,” whispered Barbara, “and you can kiss her good night.”
Sophy gave Judith a kiss on the forehead and then turned and buried her face in Barbara’s shoulder and started to sob. “I want my mama, I want my mama.”
Barbara carried her out to the doorway.
“Now, now, Sophy, let me bring you up to bed and I will stay until you fall asleep. Then I will go down and sit by your mama, so the first thing she hears about when she wakes will be what a brave girl you are.”
“She is going to wake up, isn’t she?” asked Sophy, after Barbara had tucked her into bed.
“Oh, yes, darling.” Barbara rhythmically rubbed her hand in a circle on Sophy’s back until the little girl’s breathing had become the even, steady breathing of sleep. Then she returned to Judith’s room and whispered to the housekeeper that she would sit up for the rest of the night. “You must be as exhausted as everyone.”
“That I am. It has been a hard time here. Everyone loves the duke and duchess, and the thought of losing her and what that would do to him… Well, thank the good Lord she is all right.”
Barbara sat down and looked at her old friend. Even by candlelight she could see how pale Judith was. Every freckle stood out and there were deep blue shadows under her eyes. At one point, just before dawn, her fingers moved on the covers, as though searching for something. Barbara slipped her hand over them and Judith’s became still, as though she had found the comfort she sought.
As the sun rose and the room became lighter, Barbara, who had dozed off, felt a faint pressure on her hand. She opened her eyes and saw that Judith was awake and smiling at her.
“Barbara,” she whispered. “I thought you were at Arundel.”
“Hush, don�
��t talk, Judith. I came home yesterday and we set out immediately.”
Judith ran her tongue over her cracked lips, and before she could mouth the word, Barbara had lifted her up, and taking the glass of water from the nightstand, poured it gently into her mouth.
“I am so thirsty.”
“I can imagine.”
“And so weak,” protested Judith. “I can’t even lift my hand to help you.”
“Evidently you lost a lot of blood, Judith. I think we are very lucky to have you still with us,” said Barbara with tears in her eyes.
“The baby is still all right, isn’t he? The doctor told me he thought he would survive, but I haven’t seen him,” fretted Judith.
“As far as I know you are both out of danger, dearest. Now why don’t you close your eyes…”
“And Simon. Where is Simon? Oh, God, he must be exhausted too. He was with me the whole time, Barbara.”
Barbara was starting to explain that he was sound asleep when she heard a sound at the door. Simon was standing there, looking more like a released criminal than the Duke of Sutton.
“Is that you, Barbara? Is she awake?”
“Yes, Simon, awake and asking for you.” Barbara got up and stepped away from the bed as Simon moved toward it like a sleepwalker. He was so tired that his usual skill at getting around had deserted him, and he bumped into the foot of the bed. Barbara saw Judith wince as the bed shook, but her friend bit back a groan and reached out her arms toward her husband.
Simon sat down on the edge of the bed and found his wife’s face. “Oh, God, Judith, had I lost you…” His voice cracked and he buried his face in his wife’s shoulder and sobbed. Judith slowly and gently stroked his head, her face flushed with color, as love lent her a moment of strength.
Barbara’s eyes filled with tears and she was about to excuse herself when she realized that neither would have heard her anyway. Simon and Judith’s emotion was so naked and so intimate that Barbara left quickly, moved to her core by the strength of their feelings. As she walked down the hall, she felt a mixture of sadness and relief. Relief that Simon and Judith had not lost each other and sadness because she wondered if the feelings of affection and attraction she had for Wardour would ever grow into the love that existed between her friends.
Chapter 25
“Where is the baby, Mrs. Dunsmore?” Barbara asked the housekeeper when she had found her.
“He is with a wet nurse in the green bedroom, Lady Barbara.”
“May I see him? And perhaps bring him in to his mother in a little while? I think she will rest easier if she sees for herself that he is all right.”
“Of course, Lady Barbara.”
Barbara let herself quietly into the bedroom. The wet nurse had just finished feeding the baby and had put him down to sleep. Barbara leaned over his cradle and marveled that a human being could be so tiny.
“He is a fighter, my lady, even though he is so small. His sucking gets stronger at every feeding.”
“May I bring him up to his mother?”
“Of course.”
Barbara lifted the little flannel-clad bundle and had a fleeting image of herself lifting her own child someday. She stroked the teeny head. “Another redhead, like his sister.” Her fantasy child had red hair too, she realized, as she carried the baby down the hall.
Judith was slightly propped up on her pillows and Simon was sitting next to her, his hand in hers. When Barbara entered with the baby in her arms, Judith pulled herself up and Simon immediately protested. “You must not exert yourself, Judith.”
“It is the baby, Simon. Barbara is bringing the baby.”
“Are you sure you are strong enough?”
“Oh, yes. Just let me hold him for a few minutes, please.”
Barbara placed the “heir apparent” in her friend’s arms.
“He is so small!” exclaimed Judith. “Has he nursed?”
“He had just finished when I went up,” Barbara replied.
“I won’t have any milk for a few days.” Judith sighed. “The doctor warned me, but I want to feed him myself.”
“Don’t fret, Judith,” said Simon. Judith pulled the blanket down from the baby’s head and Simon traced his son’s crumpled features with one finger.
“He is a tiny scrap, isn’t he? He has some hair, I see. What color is it?”
“Red.”
Simon laughed.
“Do you have a name for him yet?” Barbara asked.
“We had decided to name him after two fine men of our acquaintance,” Simon told her. “Robert Francis Ballance.”
“Robin and Francis will both be honored.”
“It is hard to imagine that this is the future Duke of Sutton,” whispered Judith.
“We all come into the world the same, don’t we,” mused Simon. “Although not all so hazardously.”
“May I bring Sophy in for just a few minutes?”
Judith’s face lit up. “Oh, would you, Barbara? How is she?”
“She has been a very brave little girl. You have a lot to be proud of.”
“And thankful for,” said Judith.
* * * *
As soon as it was apparent, after a few days, that Judith and the baby were doing well, Robin and Diana said their good-byes and returned to Ashurst. Barbara stayed, partly to help out with Sophy, but more to renew her relationship with her old friend. She and Judith spent hours sitting quietly in the garden while the baby nursed and slept and Judith regained her strength. At first they said little, for both were just content to be in one another’s company.
“Everything looks new to me, Barbara,” said Judith one day. “I am so happy we are both alive, little Robin and I, that I just want to sit for hours, drinking it all in.”
Later in her visit, however, Judith asked about Barbara’s time at Arundel. “Did you feel at home there, Barbara? And what is his mother like?”
“I felt quite at home after only a few days. It is a beautiful house and close to the sea, which means there are lovely breezes even on the hottest of days. And Lady Wardour couldn’t have been kinder. She spent a lot of time teaching me about the house and is already planning her move to the dower house. Although she is so easy to get along with, I will be pleased to be on my own.”
“She sounds an exemplary mother-in-law!” said Judith.
“Yes, and Wardour is an exemplary son and landlord, which I had already guessed.”
“So you are quite happy with your choice, then, Barbara?”
“Yes, yes, I think I am,” Barbara answered slowly.
“You sound as though you have a reservation or two.”
“Oh, Judith, I sometimes am not sure I know what love is or is supposed to be.”
“I don’t know that anyone does,” said Judith with a smile.
“Oh, you and Simon certainly do,” replied Barbara, with a trace of the old resentment in her voice.
“Of course we love one another, but it is not all sweetness and light as it appears on the outside, Barbara. Simon has times when he is as distant as in the old days. And times of anger too. Sometimes I feel resentful that we will never be able to ride or dance or walk together in a normal, carefree manner. And one of the most difficult parts of this marriage,” continued Judith with a shaky laugh, “is probably the most trivial. I am not, you may recall, the most tidy of individuals.”
Barbara smiled, remembering how Judith could sit and read or draw, oblivious to any disarray around her.
“Well, everything must be in its place for Simon to be independent. I can never just relax. I must always be worrying about chairs being in place and brushes set out exactly so on the dressing table. And I feel so terribly selfish at times when I just want to sit quietly in front of the fire, reading to myself while my husband does likewise. If I am reading, I feel as though I’m shutting Simon out. And yet there are times when I want to. Shut him out, that is, and not always be thinking about him. Oh, dear, I don’t know what started me off,” confesse
d Judith. “I am sorry to burden you.”
“Don’t apologize, Judith. I am happy you told me. I am not happy there are those tensions, of course, but I have a confession to make too. I have been quite jealous at times, because you seemed so perfectly happy. You chatter on to Miranda as though it were all sweetness and light. I’ve been resentful because the two of you have a life I couldn’t share. And you seemed to have a new friend who took the place of an old one,” Barbara admitted in a low voice.
“Oh, Barbara, did you feel shut out? I am so sorry. Miranda could never replace you. You should know that. But indeed, how could you?” continued Judith thoughtfully. “You are right. It is very easy for married women to become caught up in conversation about teething and first words…”
“The length of a first labor…”
“You have felt neglected. Oh, my dearest friend, I should have known.”
“No, Judith, I should have said something a long time ago.”
“Nonsense. We must have another promise of undying friendship as we did at Mrs. Hastings’ Academy.”
Barbara laughed. “We were an idealistic duo, weren’t we, in those days? Plans to pursue our art together. Marriage only if we could find someone who respected our minds. But yes, let us promise not to let the concerns of grown-up life distance us too much.”
“And keep us from intimate talks. For no matter how much I love Simon and no matter how easily he and I can open our minds to one another, there is nothing like a talk with a good friend. I have missed you, Barbara, and I am ashamed to admit that I didn’t know how much until now.” Judith reached over and took Barbara’s hand. The two women sat there quietly, enjoying a closeness that needed no words.
Chapter 26
Barbara broke the silence after a few minutes. She had been looking at the sundial without really seeing it, when her gaze was caught by the dark green plants around its base. They were myrtle plants.
“You know, Judith, according to one Madame Zenobia, I will not marry Wardour after all.”
“Madame Zenobia?”
“A gypsy woman who was at our Midsummer Fair. There is an old custom, you see. You place a piece of myrtle in the pages of your prayer book and sleep with it under your pillow. If the myrtle is still there in the morning, the marriage will never take place.”
Lady Barbara's Dilemma Page 11
