Lady Barbara's Dilemma Read Free

a love match.
    At the thought of Simon and Judith, her fingers became still. The fact that her closest friend was so happy should make her happy. And it had, for a year or two. She had felt a part of the magic, and when Sophy was born, become her beloved godmother. But Judith’s interests were different now, centered around her family and her new pregnancy. It was not that the Suttons were not inclusive: they had always made Barbara feel like a member of the family. But Judith was less interested in discussions about art and literature and more in conversations about when a child should begin to learn her letters and how one felt in the early months of pregnancy. In fact, she had become quite friendly with the new Countess of Alverstoke, who was expecting her first child the month after Judith her second.
    Barbara liked Miranda; who could not? But she was young, completely wrapped up in her husband and expected child, and found Judith to be a great support, just as she had been in the weeks before Miranda’s marriage. Whenever Barbara called on Judith these days, it seemed that the countess was there before her, playing with Sophy or engaging in conversations with Judith about the details of labor and delivery. Or talking about the paradoxical reactions of doting husbands when faced with the reality of a first child.
    Barbara would drink her tea and eat her cake during these conversations and feel like a spinster of advanced age. It was not that Judith was willfully ignoring her. It was just that her family concerns were so absorbing. As well they should be, thought Barbara. I have no right to feel resentful.
    But she couldn’t help it. She did feel both resentful and jealous…and even angry. In fact, sometimes when she walked into the house on Brook Street, she almost hated Judith and Simon for their happiness, and it was all she could do to utter polite comments and keep a spiteful tone out of her voice.
    Where once she had shared all her deepest feelings with Judith, now she was afraid to talk to her at all for fear she would reveal her ugly anger and jealousy. How could one say to one’s best friend: “I resent your happiness,” when that friend was always trying to share her happiness? How could one say: “I feel excluded,” when Simon and Judith were always encouraging her to join them? Above all, how could one say, like a small child: “I thought I was your best friend, but now you spend your time with Lady Alverstoke”? And so Barbara said less and less and was careful to visit when there was likely to be company so the gradual loss of their intimate talks was less noticeable.
    For a while, before her emotions had reached their present state, her music had been her refuge. The past four years she had concentrated on her studies with Signor Cavalcanti and made remarkable progress. Barbara knew she was now the equal of any professional performer. But what was the point of knowing one was good enough for the concert stage when one could never walk onto one? And so, for the past few months, practice felt meaningless, until she finally decided to give it up. “Oh, only for a few months,” she had assured her teacher and her brother and her friends. “I need a short rest, after all these years.”
    She had thought she would miss it, but she didn’t. She had wandered into the music room this morning to see if she could rekindle her interest, but here she was, as blue-deviled as ever, and music was not going to lift her mood.
    The only times her mood lightened at all these days was when she thought about the coming Season. She had noticed Peter Rushcliffe’s growing interest in her this past autumn, and of all the men who had come her way over the years, he interested her the most. When they waltzed, she had felt pleasure in their closeness, and enjoyed their conversations. She was determined to look upon this Season as a decisive one. If she was very lucky, she would find a potential for passion with the