Lady Barbara's Dilemma by Marjorie Farrell

alone.
    The first night she did so, Barbara turned to him, expecting him to share her amusement at his mother’s little strategy. Instead, he apologized for her.
    “I hope you don’t think Mother is trying to place you in an uncomfortable situation. I am sure she feels it is acceptable to leave us alone since we are betrothed.”
    “Indeed, I am most grateful to her for her thoughtfulness,” said Barbara, trying to tease him into a lighter mood.
    “So am I, my dear,” he replied. “I was just worried about what you might think.”
    Barbara breathed an inner sigh of relief at his words and moved closer to him on the sofa.
    “I was hoping that we might continue becoming familiar with one another’s kisses,” she said, surprised by her own boldness.
    Wardour pulled her to him and began kissing her gently. Then his hand slipped around her shoulders and hers behind his head and they pulled each other closer. It was a long, deep, satisfying kiss, and Barbara wanted it to go on forever. Wardour ended it far too soon.
    “We must watch ourselves, my dear. I am not one of those men who cannot wait for the wedding, although I must admit that I am tempted.”
    There was a longer kiss the next night. But the pattern was set. Barbara sensed passion in Wardour, but a passion always easily restrained. She supposed she should be grateful for his restraint, but she wasn’t. She wanted to feel him let go, so that she could. So far there was affection, enjoyment of each other’s company, and mutual attraction, all of the ingredients of love. But somehow the ingredients stayed separate. What was needed was the alchemy of unrestrained feeling, or so Barbara thought night after night. Rationally, she knew that all should combine after marriage, when Wardour would feel less constrained. But irrationally, she wanted to experience that final combining now, so that she would feel that love was there, not just know that the conditions were right for it.
     

Chapter 18
     
    Peter had shown a great deal of thoughtfulness in his preparations for her visit. The guest room Barbara occupied had been redecorated for her. She was introduced to their neighbors, and one day he escorted her to town so that she would become familiar with the shopkeepers who supplied the household. He also had had the old pianoforte, which had been under holland covers in the corner of the ballroom, dusted, polished, and tuned. It had been moved into the larger drawing room so that Barbara could play whenever she wished.
    She had brought no music with her and would have ignored the instrument had Lady Wardour not revealed to her the trouble her son had gone to. Barbara felt an obligation to play a little, just to show her gratitude. So for a short time during the day she would practice pieces she knew by heart, and varied their evenings together occasionally by playing for Wardour and his mother. Both nodded during the music and clapped politely, but Barbara could tell that neither was a music lover. Given that fact, she was even more touched by Peter’s thoughtfulness.
    She was correct about her fiancé. He was not a devotee of the arts, but a down-to-earth practical man who tolerated others’ interest in painting, theater, and music. He had been a bit worried when he had first met Barbara, for he had heard of her prodigious talent. He took it on faith, this talent, for even after he’d heard her play, the only judgment he felt equipped to make was that she played rather passionately and that she never misplayed a note. He was not tone-deaf, but listening to music for him was like listening to a foreign language. As his interest in Barbara grew, his only hesitation was about what it might be like married to a woman who spoke a language he could not comprehend.
    He had been relieved, therefore, to see that Barbara’s passion for music seemed to have diminished. He liked to think it was his courtship that had drawn her interest away from music and toward himself. He