Stella Rosa's Story – Section III
by Sabine

Last update June 5, 2002

The Beginning
Previous Section
Next Section

Stella Rosa

My first days at Bloomfield were exceedingly strange. They combined the rapture of being, almost constantly, in the delightful company of the one I loved, the bitterness of having grieved my family, and the fear of separation from Sir William. The latter, however, was alleviated after about a week passed and no-one came for me. My family surely knew where I was, and yet, they made absolutely no attempt to retrieve me.

Sir William was sensible of my feeling of guilt before my loved ones; he said often that if it is ever up to him, the rapport with my family should be restored. I was grateful that he held no prideful grudge against them for my father's rejection--yet, deep inside, it grieved me to know that no such familial relationship is ever possible.

In the first days of May, Lady Henrietta Hester arrived from London with her daughters. I was properly mortified at having caused her such inconvenience, and determined to establish a most friendly relationship with her and my two future sisters.

The latter proved easier than the former, as the both girls, Vanessa and Alexandra, were genuinely excited about my arrival and ready to acknowledge me as their sister. Their mother, on the other hand, behaved towards me with cold civility. The only times she made an attempt at conversation was when Sir William was around; as soon as he quitted the room, she fell silent and dedicated all of her attention to her reading or embroidery.

Though disappointed, I resolved to dedicate myself to at least becoming friends with her daughters. And the first step towards that was, I felt, an apology long overdue. So one morning, after breakfast, I asked Vanessa to take a turn with me in the garden, to which she readily agree.

We walked out. Alexandra, the younger sister, dashed to and fro, trying to catch one of the first May butterflies. I cared not whether she heard what I had to say, for I did it with a light heart.

"Vanessa," I said, "I wanted to thank you for your kindness in accepting me here."
"How could I not?" she said earnestly. "I am overjoyed at my brother's happiness--and I like you prodigiously."
"As to that," I said, looking her straight in the eye, "that is not entirely deserved."
"I know not what you mean!" Vanessa exclaimed, perhaps with less than perfect sincerety.
"I think I behaved most uncivilly to you when you came to inquire after me in March."
She raised her eyebrows, pretending to be surprised. "I have forgotten that," she said. "But you were right to scorn me then. I was messing in something, which I really had no business messing."
"You were concerned about your brother's welfare--it is a natural sentiment for a sister."
"True," she agreed. "But as I could offer you no assurances of his affection, your reaction to my interference was perfectly natural. But now it is all to be forgot, Stella."
So we agreed on that and shook our hands warmly. I really did like Vanessa a great deal; while the young Alexandra was joyful and a pleasure to look at, she was still very much a child, and could not provide me with companionship. Vanessa took, though imperfectly, the place of my beloved Elena, whom I missed dreadfully, every second of the day.

Sir William tarried in Bloomfield for a whole week after his mother's arrival. He had had the banns published in two parishes, at Bloomfield and in Whitechapel--which was more of a symbolism, as my name did not even appear in that church's register. We were nervously awaiting my parents' interference with our plans, but days passed and nothing happened. Just in case, Sir William also applied to the Archbishop of Canterbury for a special license, hoping against hope to expedite our wedding.

Finally, when it became clear that his presence at Bloomfield was no longer proper, he told me that he was to go to London. It made me sad; I cared little for what the neighbors would say, for I did not even know them, but without him, I felt extremely alone. He promised me that he were to return a couple times in the next two weeks, and asked me what gifts I wanted from London. I laughed and begged him to come back sooner.

It was on the eve of his leaving, as we walked together through the park, that Sir William kissed me for the very first time. While at Brighton, he sometimes dared to touch his lips to mine, and though I found it exceedingly pleasant, we never ventured past that timid caress.

That warm, fragrant evening, as we walked together through the park, Sir William and I chanced upon a delightful clearing, where the grass was lush, surrounded by regal pine-trees. There, I sat down on a large stone, and Sir William stood near, leaning against a pine-tree, looking at me with earnest regard.

"Oh Stella fair," he mused, not taking his eyes off my face. "I rarely see you alone anymore."
"But did you not wish for the presense of your sisters and Lady Hester?"
"I love my mother and sisters dearly," he said. "But these days, I want nothing but to be all alone with you."
"And yet you are to go!"
"I have business in London. And the neighbors are already talking. I have stayed too long as it is, Stella."
"S-- William, why do you care what the neighbors are saying?"
"Stella, we are to live among them. Our children will grow up here at Bloomfield. Must it be said that you and I lived together before marriage?"
"No, that would be quite scandalous," I had to agree. "After all," I added, trying to be sensible. "It is only two weeks until we are married."

His regard gave me an intimation that this period seemed to him an eternity; suddenly, there was something in his eyes, which stirred my blood and made my face rather hot.

Sir William stepped away from the tree and knelt in front of me on the grass. I pretended to busy myself with the removal of tiny pieces of bark had attached themselves to the coat on his back. "You shall need to have this cleaned--" I muttered, as I looked over his shoulder and picked the nearly invisible particles off the material.

"Stella," he said, and suddenly, his strong hands were on my face, cradling it, his handsome visage was closer, and it was difficult to breathe.
"I have so wanted to do this," he whispered as his fingers traced my features. Leaning low, he touched his lips to mine. He had done this before, but this time, he did not stop or pull away, but kept pressing, probing, gently but forcefully. His arms were now wound around my waist, pulling me close and cradling me against him. In some kind of abandon, I slipped my arms around his neck, and responded, the best I could, to his kiss.

This drove him wild; he emitted an untillegible groan and I immediately felt a shiver go through him. His arms tightened around my waist and, to my greatest agitation, I felt his tongue probe gently and tentatively around my teeth and lips. His hand was now caressing, with complete abandon, the back of my neck and playing with my hair.

I had never been kissed like that before. Once the embarrassment went away, the feeling of his mouth on mine was most delightful. It made my head spin and my heart throb most cruelly; that we were doing anything wrong, I could not surmise.

I was therefore heartily surprised, when all of a sudden, he forcefully disingeged himself from my embrace and for a moment, turned his face away from me.

"Forgive me, forgive me," he muttered. "I should not-- I have forgotten myself."
"William," I looked into his face, and noticed that he was in a state of great agitation, "Have we done anything wrong?"
With a slight moan, he toppled on the grass, closing his eyes.
"The truth is," he said, "that perhaps, I am better off leaving than staying. This way I know that my heart won't burst and I shan't die of a heart attack. No," he said, "now that I know how sweet your kiss is, I really need to go, before I do something prodigiously stupid."

He helped me up from the grass, and together, we walked back to the house, silent. I was frightened and delighted at the same time; he was always a perfect gentleman around me and tonight, I had seen his passionate, nearly animal, side. I was, nay, I meant to be frightened; but something inside of me rejoiced at his passion for me, and it was most confounding--for I had previously thought all callings of the flesh somewhat base.

William left the next morning. I came out to say good-bye to him, and as I reached up for his kiss, he prudently gave me a most tame one, most likely remembering how undone he was last night. He then mounted his horse and was gone, having promised to be back in the end of the week. After the sound of Zanzibar's hooves became lost in the morning myst, I turned and went back to the house, which felt, without him, much too large and far too grave.

William

When in London, William called on Henry de Lara. He was not at all sure why he did that: perhaps his natural decency commanded him to beg forgiveness of Stella Rosa's brother for taking his sister away; perhaps, he hoped to give Mr. de Lara information as to Stella Rosa's well-being.

William anticipated a most unwelcoming reception. He tried to imagine what he would say--or do--to a man who had carried off one of his sisters. Although in his mind, he found a million excuses for himself and Stella, he understood that nobody in her family could have any affinity for him after what he had done. He was, therefore, fully prepared to thrown out of Henry de Lara's house, and was pleasantly surprised that the young man was civil, if cold, to him.

"Have you come to give me news of my sister?" De Lara inquired as he showed William to his study.
"You have no doubts, de Lara, that Miss Stella is with me?"
"None whatsoever," the young man said, coldly. "To tell you the truth, nobody in my family has the slightest doubt in that respect. So," he asked, pointing at a chair. "How is she?"
"She is well," William replied, sitting down, while his host remained standing. "But she misses her family greatly, and it breaks her heart to know that she was forced to do what she did."
Henry de Lara chuckled. "Sir, William, may I offer you anything? Scotch, perhaps?"

William refused, with thanks, and De Lara went on. "My sister was not forced to do anything. She was to be betrothed to a man of a good family, who would probably make her an excellent husband. Her marriage was to add to the fortunes and connections of our family. As it stands right now, we are shamed. Stella Rosa has made a veritable laughingstock of our family, Sir William."

William was silent; he had nothing to say to that. He could not imagine the society disapprobation if one of his sisters was to elope with a most inelligible man; he could not imagine his own shame and consternation.

"Does it not matter that that marriage was abhorrent to her heart?"
"No," De Lara distractedly fingered his beard, which made him look a good half-dozen years older than his age. "The only thing I had ever seen of Viola before we were betrothed to each other was a portrait. Stella was at an advantage--she knew her fiance, had known him for years. It should have been her misfortune that she got into her head that she could not like him. Most people, with time, learn to like and respect, if not love, their mates, Sir William."

He sighed and took a turn around the room, pacing back and forth.
"But now, now, it is all ruined for us. Sir William, it will take my family years to wash off the shame that Stella has brought on us. I think she should know that. I do not think that my sister should live in comfortable ignorance of the evil that her behavior has done."

William lowered his head stubbornly. "I should be the judge of that," he said.

De Lara perched awkwardly on the corner of the monumental desk.

"Do you intend to marry her?"
"What kind of profligate scoundrel do you take me for, de Lara?" William asked. "I am a man of honor. I should never have approached your sister, had I not been in love with her and ready to marry her immediately."
"When will the blessed even take place?" De Lara asked with scathing sarcasm.
"I have published the banns the next day after Miss de Lara came to be with me," William said. "The answer to your question is--in a fortnight."
"My congratulations to you, then! My sister is to be married in a church, then?"
William acquiesced; upon which de Lara laughed and shook his head.
"I think you should tell her, Sir William, that the brunt of her father's anger fell on those who were kindest to her--her mother and Elena. I am a grown man, with a home of my own, and was able to get away, but my younger sister, I am afraid, had no escape from his just wrath."
"Miss Elena had no involvement in this," William said, gravely. "Indeed, our elopement was of a most unplanned nature."

The last order of business remained; what, William only just realized, he had really come to ask for.

"De Lara," he said, a little too harshly. "I would like to assure you--and perhaps, the rest of your family, if that should give them any comfort--that Miss de Lara will always be provided for. I am rich, de Lara, and she should never want for anything. If that helps your family accept this, tell them, too, that I love her more than my own life. But do not, by any means, attempt to separate us, for I shall not give her up."

Henry de Lara said, thoughtfully. "I think I speak for my family when I say that Stella is safe with you. I do not imagine my father ever wanting to see her again, and especially, trying to return her--she is now an obligation, a burden, and a cause of misery for all of us, for certainly no respectable Jew would ever marry her now. My mother misses her, of course, but I doubt my father could be prevailed on to even allow her to come to the house. In fact," he added softly, "I can even say this: for all intents and purposes, my family views my sister as dead."

William quitted Henry de Lara's house soon afterwards with an unpleasant aftertaste. To be sure, de Lara was more than obliging, considering the situation, but William remained uneasy. He wondered if that was because he felt scorned--that because marriage to him was such a fundamental evil that it effectively removed Stella Rosa from the circle of her family. But these thoughts were wrong, unpleasant, and made him miserable; to cheer himself up, he decided to go and buy her a present.

Stella Rosa

My days were longer without Sir William, and thus allowed more opportunity for reflection. It was most unwelcome, because it immediately lead me to feel guilty and ashamed for what I have done to my family. I knew only too well the unforgiving juderia; I knew that my family was to be a subject of tacit ridicule, as they could not control their daughter. What my father must have said to Elena I shuddered to think of.

Because loneliness lead to sadness, I often thought out the company of Vanessa and Alexandra. The latter was still a child--a delightful one at that. I found that Sir William's estimation of her, overheard by me when we first met, did not do her justice. Alexandra was a sweet girl, with a kind heart, always ready to commiserate with those less fortunate. Lady Hetty frowned upon her habit of bringing home lost, wounded, and otherwise miserable animals; Vanessa related to me that once, when their fathe was already very ill, Alexandra brought home a stray dog, which foamed at the mouth and had its tail tucked in--it was obviously very much mad. "It was a miracle it did not bite her or any of us," the older sister said. Alexandra was gentle and fair, with large blue eyes, having taken after her mother.

Vanessa was five years Alexandra's senior, two years out, and very different from her. Very tall--almost as tall as Sir William himself--with dark hair and eyes, she was slower and more thoughtful that her younger, explosive sister. Very intelligent, she made an excellent conversation partner and alleviated somewhat my longing for Elena.

In Sir William's absense, I often took promenades with his sisters. Both girls were much enamored of riding, but I had never been on a horse, and for my sake, they walked as well. The sisters served as my guides to Bloomfield Park, where they had grown up, and which they adored. Though they now mostly lived in London with their mother, they had never ceased to think of the delightful Bloomfield as their home.

It was also during that time that I met Sir William's younger brother, Samuel. It was so:

I woke up to a horse neighing outside of my window. My first thought was, of course, that Sir William had come from town, but when I rushed to the window, I only saw, in the morning mist, a servant take away a rather large horse, which I knew not to be Zanzibar. It did not stop me from thinking that he was come, so I dressed feverishly and rushed downstairs.

Flying down the stairs, I practically flew into a tall young man with tousled dark hair, who winced and stepped aside. Vanessa, who stood next to him, huddled in a shawl, smiled and presented me as

"Miss Stella Rosa de Lara, soon to be our sister. Stella this is my brother Samuel, only just come from Cambridge."

Deeply embarrassed at my entrance, I curtsied and muttered greetings. The young man, pleasant enough, bowed and kissed my hand.

"But I rode for hours, and I am starved!" he effused. He lookd nothing like Sir William, and to my eyes, presented a curious cross between his two sisters: tall and dark like Vanessa, he had Alexandra's pallor and large blue eyes. He looked to be about my age, and, as it turned out, has only just matriculated from Cambridge.

"Mother is still asleep," Vanessa said, as the three of us sneaked into the kitchen. There, Mrs. Livesay was already taking out large loaves of bread out of the oven. "She had expected you by teatime only!"
"I was able to leave with an earlier post," he replied and was immediately all smiles as he spied Mrs. Livesay.
"Livesay, old girl!" he cried, as the housekeeper turned around and curtsied to him.
"Mr. Samuel," she said, smiling, a look of gladness on her face. "Congratulations on finishing your studies, sir."

Yet he immediately forgot of her and indeed, of anything else, as he spied a fresh loaf of bread and proceeded to pinch it most cruelly.

"Samuel!" his sister chastised him. "Do sit down and eat something proper! I am sure Mrs. Livesay does not enjoy you mutilating her loaves like so!"

"But I am hungry," he protested, plomping on a chair in the corner. "You see, Miss de Lara, when we were children we spent entirely too much time in Livesay's kitchen!"

"Yes, it is a big surprise you've all turned out so gaunt," the woman quipped at him with surprising freshness.

As he ate, Samuel Hester studied my face closely. "So," he said, "you are the woman who has up and captured my brother's unyieling heart."

"Unyielding?" I repeated.

"Until he met you, I had been wondering if anything was wrong with him--he paid no attention whatsoever to the fairer sex."

"Samuel!" Vanessa threw her brother a stern look.

"You know I am right. Women have always gathered 'round him like flies--and he could have married a thousand times already. But when I received his letter a month ago, I knew--I simply knew, that it had to be something extraordinary! And I daresay, you are a beauty, sister!"

"Will has more cares that you or I do, Samuel," Vanessa said, crossly. "Since father fell ill for the first time, he has all but replaced him--as a father and as a master!"

"Ah, you are always on his side, Ness."
"My name is Vanessa, Samuel, I would appreciate if you used it properly."
"Right, surely, madam," he bowed to her in mockery. "And how shall I address you, my fair sister?" he turned to me.
"You can just call me Stella," I said, beginning to become uncomfortable with his overly familiar behavior.
"Stella, what a beautiful name!" he effused. He did not look to me like a man who had just spent a night on the road.

I was saved from further mortification--for the last thing I wished was to encourage any advances on the young man's part--by pitter-patter of feet and jumping and crying out, of Alexandra.
She rushed into the kitchen, wearing her dressing gown, and flung her arms around her brother's neck.

The rest of our stay in the kitchen, until proper breakfast was served and Samuel decided to take his rest, was spent in Alexandra's eager inquiries as to his graduation from Cambridge, the taking of his degree, and whether she could see his diploma.

...

Sir William came home, as he had promised, a week after he left. Vanessa and I had only just come out from one of our walks through Bloomfield; Alexandra and Samuel, who had gone on horseback, rode ahead, but the two of us tarried, inhaling the fragrant spring air and delighting in Bloomfield's natural beauty.

We appeared from the woods and were met by Alexandra, who rushed out in great excitement, crying out to us:

"Nessa! Stella! Come quick, Will's home!"

We ran towards the house, and as I rushed into the drawing-room, I indeed saw Sir William, who was standing, leaning against the mantel, listening to some account that his mother was relating to him. I stopped on the threshold, and he immediately turned around, as if sensing my presense. To my great delight, an expression of joy spread immediately around his beloved visage, as we rushed towards each other.

"Stella!" he said softly, taking my hands in his. From saying more, or expressing himself more warmly, he was prevented by others in the room, but he still managed to whisper to me how much he missed me.

But yes, there were others in the room. In addition to Lady Hester, his sisters and brother, two strangers, wearing traveling clothes, were there as well. A strikingly beautiful blonde sat on the sofa, chatting softly with Lady Hester, and behind her, stood a gentleman of Sir William's age.

"Stella, may I introduce to you my old friend, Mr. Richard Fenwick, and his sister, Miss Anabelle Fenwick. Miss Stella de Lara, my fiancee," he turned to them as the gentleman bowed to me, and the woman stood up and curtsied.

Sir William's siblings seemed closely familiar with their guests, and it was not before long that Samuel's attention was fully captured by the beautiful Anabelle, while her own brother directed his eyes, fully, to Vanessa. But Sir William was only looking at me, and even when we could not converse, I felt on me his steady, loving, gentle gaze.

That night, after supper, we gathered in the drawing room. It turned out that the Fenwicks were only to stay with us for two days and were then, after William was gone back to London, to follow through to their own estate, about fifteen miles north of Bloomfield. I did not mind it much, for I immediately noticed that while Samuel could barely take his eyes off Miss Fenwick, her own were most often directed at his brother. Vanessa, whom I discreetly asked about that very night, confirmed my suspicions.

"Anabelle has been after Will forever," she said. Noticing my discomfort, she smiled bemusedly and squeezed my hand lightly. "But Stella, it does not signify. If he'd wanted her, he would have married her ages ago."

She was right, of course: it did not signify. Particularly because Sir William, a most attentive suitor, was constantly at my side and never--not for a second--allowed me to forget how much he loved me.

...

It was the night after the Fenwicks departed that I witnessed a most uncomely argument between Sir William and his brother. What had started as a relatively genial family discussion of the impending coming-out season ended with Samuel rushing out and taking off on horseback and Sir William retiring early, having barely wished anyone good night.

Sir William and I had come back from walking around the park; sitting on the same large boulder in a timid embrace, we had exchanged furtive kisses until neither of us could bear it any longer, and we escaped back to civilization.

At supper, Lady Hester said:
“William, dearest, I think that we should be preparing for Alexandra’s coming-out this fall. Vanessa, pass me the green beans, please. ”
Alexandra hurriedly swallowed the food she had in her mouth and crumpled her napkin in agitation.
“Madam, I should say not. In my opinion, it is too early,” Sir William replied.
“But I am already fifteen, Willie!” Alexandra cried.
“You are yet fifteen,” Vanessa corrected her softly.
“Well, you are out, there is no reason why I should not be!”
“I have been out for a year, Ali, since I was eighteen. Will’s right, you are too young.”
“Well, it won’t be up to you!” Alexandra sneered at her sister. Vanessa shrugged her shoulders melancholically and busied herself with the food on her plate.
“No,” Sir William said. “It won’t be. But it will be up to me, and I say that you—are—too—young.”
“William, I really do not see what is so wrong with taking Ali out a year or two earlier.”
“There’s plenty wrong with it, madam. Stella, dearest, more wine?”
I refused politely, and he went on. “Alexandra’s education is utterly unfinished. Tell me, Ali, where is, um, Smyrna located?”
Alexandra huffed. “Sweden,” she said.
“Indeed,” Sir William smirked. “She is ready!”
“Do not make a spectacle of me, Will!” Alexandra said, hurt.
“Forgive me, my dear,” he said, gently, “but I am simply trying to illustrate to our Mother why it is I think you are unready to be out. You are yet a child—unfinished, in many senses. And I would like you to be a little more mature before you enter the world.”
“Anabelle Fenwick was out at sixteen!” Alexandra said. Sir William put his silverware down with a loud sound, startling Lady Hester.
“This is precisely the reason why I do not think you ready!” he cried. “The fact that you look to Miss Fenwick as a model, Ali, is enough to convince me to keep you in for the next two years.”
Samuel, who had thereto been very quiet, raised his eyes at his brother.
“What is wrong with holding Miss Fenwick for an etalon?” he asked, sounding offended.
Sir William said nothing, lowering his eyes and furiously cutting the meat on his plate.
“William, when you say things like that, I would have you answer for them!” Samuel said hotly. “Or at least to explain what it is you meant.”
“I shall not discuss a lady behind her back,” Sir William said dryly.
“Samuel, please,” Lady Hester pleaded, but Samuel would have his answer.
“No!” he said, throwing down his napkin. “You are being a coward, Will! You say damaging things about a fine young lady, and then you refuse to explain them!”
William laughed, hoarsely. “I am being a coward; well, brother, you are being a fool. I am simply trying to spare you the anguish of hearing what I think of Miss Fenwick, since I’ve noticed you take a liking to her.”
“Pray, tell, what do you think of Miss Fenwick?” Samuel postured, leaning back, arms crossed.
“I shall put it this way: she is an example of a most egregious mismanagement of a promising young lady through indulgence and immoderation.”
”You are speaking of your best friend’s sister! Have you no shame?”
”Young man,” Sir William said, curtly, folding his own napkin. “Richard Fenwick is my dearest friend. But not for anything in the world should I wish my sisters to turn out anything like Anabelle. You have asked me for an answer, Sam, why aren’t you satisfied? I think Miss Fenwick to be the meanest, daftest, most wanton woman of my acquaintance. In fact,” he added, “I am quite stunned that you do take a liking to her.”
Samuel leapt to his feet, furious.
“If only you weren’t my brother!” he cried. “I should fight you in a duel!”
“I should never fight you,” Sir William said calmly. “I do not want you dead.”
I saw Vanessa roll her eyes; Alexandra, on the other hand, was becoming more and more pale and her lips were trembling—she was evidently pained.
“Oh, hush the two of you!” Lady Hester cried, angrily. “I cannot bear it when you fight!”
“Mother, do be fair,” Sir William said coldly. “I had no desire whatsoever to get into this rather distasteful discussion. Samuel pried it out of me.”
“You know, Will, you are—you are not the father, nor the master of me!” Samuel cried.
“No,” Sir William agreed, calmly raising his eyes at his younger brother. “I never imagine, nor do I wish to be your father, Samuel. You are of age, a grown, independent man. It is then particularly unfit for you to make yourself a focus of a discussion which, until you so rudely interrupted it with your inquiry, concerned only Alexandra’s coming-out.”
“You have picked the one you love!” Samuel blew up. “ In spite of everyone, to the disadvantage of us all! You have gone with the selfish desires of your heart! And we have all acquiesced—and yet you have the nerve to tell me who deserves to be loved!”
Sir William was now at his feet as well; throwing down his napkin, he leaned over the table—and I, with a strange pleasure, noticed that he was substantially taller than Samuel, and broader in the shoulders—and said rather menacingly:
“Take care before you say another word, brother.”
Samuel, furious, ran out of the room; a minute later, we all heard the mad hooves of his horse.
Lady Hester, visibly upset, asked her eldest son: “Must you be so unyielding, William?”
“Mother, he practically begged me to say all that! And you would do extremely well not to encourage his attachment to Anabelle Fenwick!”
“Only because you happen to dislike her—“ Alexandra started and immediately fell victim to a cruel elbow jab from her older sister and a withering glance from Sir William.
“Alexandra is right, William.” Lady Hester uttered disapprovingly, “Perhaps it is your own prejudice against Miss Fenwick that causes you to speak so low of her!”
“How I happen to feel about Miss Fenwick does not signify,” he said gloomily, after a long pause. “But it should pain me greatly—and I daresay it would pain my father as well—if Samuel fell prey to a woman like her.”

With that, and no apology, he took his leave of us, and retired upstairs. I was beside myself—the thought that I might have contributed to a rift between the brothers mortified me, and even more was I ashamed to have caused Sir William any grief. Vanessa, having found me on the steps outside, attempted to reassure me:
“They are often like this. Pay them no mind,” she said, sitting down next to me. “William is a really good brother to all of us, Stella, but sometimes he does forget that he is only that—only a brother. Not a father—though a guardian to me and Alexandra.”
“Your father appointed him your guardian? And your mother?”
“Our father was a wise man, Stella,” Vanessa chuckled softly. “He knew that our mother would be a wreck after his death.”
“And William?”
“Oh, Stella!” Vanessa laughed. “Until you, I had not seen him as much as nonplussed!”
“And Miss Fenwick?”
“What about her?”
”Sir William was so—so distressed over her!”
“Over Samuel’s attachment to her. If my mother paid a slightest attention to anything beyond her own grief, she, too, would be distressed, nay, dismayed over it! If he marries her, he is sure to be the most miserable man in all of England!”
“Does William know—“
“Know what? That she fancies him?”
I nodded silently.
“Perhaps. I do not know. But Stella! Do you not see how much in love he is with you? But of course you don’t! You have never known him to be otherwise! What Sam said about him is true—there had not been a lady before you. If I know my brother at all, Stella, you are his first love.”
“Thank you so much, Vanessa,” I whispered. I rose to go inside, but Vanessa remained, musing, on the steps. “I shall stay here for a bit,” she said. “Have a good night, dear.”
Before going inside, I turned to Vanessa, and asked: “What Samuel said about William’s choice of me—“
Vanessa shook her head quickly. “He did not mean that, Stella. He likes you exceedingly—he told me that himself. He is just a little worried.”
“Worried?”
“Can I be frank with you?”
”By all means, of course.” I said, my heart sinking.
“Samuel is anxious that our—that his marriage prospects should suffer because William has chosen to marry you.”
”His marriage prospects to Anabelle Fenwick?”
”Yes. He covets her most impurely, Stella. My poor brother, she will break his heart.”
“Do you think it true?”
”Perhaps,” she shrugged her shoulders. “Though I should hope not. Richard Fenwick gives an impression of being a most sensible and liberal man. In any case,” Vanessa said, “for Samuel’s sake, I do hope that she rejects him.”
“What about your and Ali’s prospects?”
“Ali’s prospects are too far in the future to tell,” Vanessa said earnestly. “She has another five or six years to go before she is to be married.”
”And you?”
”My prospects!” she smiled bitterly, “All I have ever wanted was to sing. If William denies it to me, I should rather die a spinster than marry someone I do not care for, only to ease his conscience.”
Vanessa fell silent, and then said, resolutely: “In any case, Stella, it is your and William’s life. I cannot imagine asking him to sacrifice the one he loves to better my and Samuel’s marriage prospects. You have a right to this love, dear.”

The next morning, Sir William went back to London; before he left, he held my face in his hands and gave me a gentle kiss.

“Forgive me for what happened last night,” he murmured, leaning his forehead against mine. “I never wanted you to witness any of it.”
“If I am to be the part of this family, then I need to see the worst as well as the best of it.” I replied. “You do not imagine that my family is at all different, do you?”

With another kiss, we parted; it was agreed that as Richard Fenwick was to give me away, I should follow the Fenwicks to their estate of Hereford two days before the wedding. Vanessa was to come with me as my bridesmaid, and that eased the pain of having to spend time in Anabelle Fenwick’s company. Then, we were to be married. Neither of us could wait for this; neither of us could hope for it enough, or desire it enough.

William

"Argh!"

With a shudder and a gasp, William sat up in bed. Breathing heavily, he thanked his lucky stars that the nightmare he had just had was only that--a nightmare. He had dreamt that Stella's family appeared at the wedding and snatched his bride away.

He threw a panicked glance at the grandfather’s clock in the corner, afraid that he had overslept. The clock registered that it was all of eight in the morning; William sighed with relief and fell back on the pillows.

It would not do to fall asleep again, he thought, and sat back up. After all, the wedding was in two hours and he needed to get ready. William rang for his valet and ordered a bath for himself; he then sent the valet to wake up Samuel, who was to be his best man.

Stella Rosa had spent the previous three days with the Fenwicks. He knew that she did not want to go—for Anabelle was only short of uncivil to her—but if Richard were to give her away, it would be a proper thing to do.

Having taken his bath and dressed, he came down to breakfast, where his mother, Samuel and Alexandra already waited for him; Vanessa was with Stella at the Fenwicks’, as she was to be her bridesmaid.

“Good morning,” William grumbled, sitting down in his usual chair at the head of the table. “I trust everyone’s been well.”

They ate their breakfast in silence; William knew how sorely his mother disapproved of the match, and how cross Samuel had been with him after their recent fight over Anabelle. He told himself, however, that today, of all days, he should not occupy himself with the others’ concerns: if it pleased Lady Hetty and Sam to be sour to him on his wedding day, he could do nothing about it.

The only person at the breakfast table who seemed genuinely pleased with the situation was Alexandra. After they had finished eating, she held William back by his sleeve and said, sheepishly:

“Willy, dearest, I just wanted to wish you the very best of luck and happiness. She is wonderful, simply wonderful.”

William picked his sister up and squeezed her tightly in his arms.
“Thank you, darling Ali,” he whispered, giving her a kiss on the cheek.

And so they were off to church. In the carriage, the family kept its dead silence, and William was beginning to regret that stupid argument with Samuel three days ago; but, he told himself, it would have to do, for today is the happiest day of his life.

She was reasonably late for church, as young ladies are wont to. But when they finally lined up and waited for her to come down the aisle on Dick Fenwick’s arm, William’s heart beat wildly: for she was so exceedingly beautiful in the veil that he had brought her from London and a white dress! After Fenwick’s booming voice told the vicar that he was giving this woman away, she came to stand near William, and they knelt together.

Then the question, which William dreaded most, came:

“If there is anybody,” the vicar pronounced, “who knows of any reason why this marriage should not take place, speak now or forever hold your peace.”

The church was eerily quiet; William half-expected a voice or two to pipe up from the back pew, announcing to the world that they were eloped and trying to get married against her parents’ will. But the quiet persisted; nobody raised a voice, and the vicar seemed satisfied.

“Well, then,” he said. “Shall we continue?”

They listened to the parson's pronouncements on the three purposes of marriage; William agreed wholeheartedly with everything that the clergyman said. Indeed, marriage was the salvation for his soul, as well as his body. His mind has always been superior to his flesh; but lately, with Stella, he was beginning to lose all control over himself. Her kiss was sweet poison to him, meant to take away his sanity; her arms around his neck felt like silk snares. Their passion had to be legitimized, or, surely as the day was bright, they were going to fall.

But it was more than that; for there was no other person in the world in whose company he felt as suffused with happiness. She brought him so much joy! Sometimes it actually seemed to William that when entering the room, Stella Rosa brought with her a kind of happy glow. That he should love her was the most natural thing—for, as Henry de Lara said, who could feel anything else for his fiery Stella Rosa? That she should love him back was most unexpected, delightful and wonderful. Indeed, he said to himself, we are a couple meant for happiness.

All through the ceremony, Stella Rosa was looking in front of herself. Not once did hse turn to him—not until it was his time to say the vow—and even then she kept looking straight ahead, her gaze focused, strangely, on his lapel. He could guess what she was thinking—to her, this ceremony must have had little meaning. But then he heard the parson ask him the most important question, and his heart brimmed with tremulous happiness.

"William, do you take this woman to be your lawful wedded wife--"

A wife. He is now to have a wife. A companion to rely on, a lover to cherish, a helper along life’s most difficult roads. His father, prior to his death, had asked him—begged him—to marry soon and marry happy. William wondered whether Sir Isaiah would have approved of his marriage; whether he would have given him his blessing; or whether he, like Stella, would have been cast out and dispossessed.

“—to have and to hold, at bed and at board—”

Oh how he longed for her; these weeks, when she was almost his in all but name, it took him an prodigious amount of self-discipline to curtail his emotions, desires and yearnings. But tonight—tonight it was all to happen—William chased the carnal thoughts away; for it was not the place for them, nor the time.

“—for better for worse, for richer for poorer, in sickness and in health—“

That they should be rich, he had no doubts; with prudent management, they would soon be able to double and triple his estate. But health—William thought of his father, of his torturous last months, of how it ruined his mother, slowly, day by day—

“—until death do you part?”

"I do," he said, firmly.

The parson asked Stella the same question, and it pleased William to no end to see the jubilant smile on her face as she acquiesced.

William, took the ring, proffered to him by Samuel—a simple golden band with their initials carved on the inside—and slid it on her finger, saying:

"With this ring I thee wed, with my body I thee worship, with all my worldly goods I thee endow, in the name of the Father and the Son and the Holy Spirit. Amen."

Her smile warmed his heart, as they continued to hold hands.

“What the Lord has joined together,” announced the parson, “let no-one put asunder. I now pronounce you man and wife. You may kiss your bride, sir William.”

Forgetting all propriety—after all, the only ones in the church were his relations—William gathered Stella in his arms and kissed her most passionately on the lips.

It was done. They were now married.

The Fenwicks hosted a small wedding breakfast for them at Richard’s estate; the only people there were his family, their cousins, the London Hesters—Uncle Lazarus, Aunt Anne, and their cousins, Captain Alec and the young Cedric, the Fenwicks themselves and the parson with his wife. Nobody questioned the absence of relations on the part of the new Lady Hester; Stella herself did not seem to mind. At any rate, William hoped that the happiness of being married to him compensated, if only in the smallest degree, for the loss of her family.

They were soon off to their honeymoon, having borrowed one of Fenwick’s coaches. It was only a week in Bath, with theater and mineral waters, after which they were to be back to Bloomfield Park. Lady Hetty informed William that by the time they were to come back, she would be gone from Bloomfield; he invited her to stay, but all she wanted was to be in London, near her sister.

“I would like you to leave the girls at Bloomfield,” William had asked her, and to his surprise, she agreed. Samuel would stay as well, while searching for a proper home for himself somewhere near Bloomfield and the Fenwicks.

As their carriage pulled away, Lady Hetty waved and Vanessa and Ali showered it with rice and flower petals. Samuel, standing next to the beautiful, but insufferable Anabelle, smiled and waved his hand; William’s heart gave way, and he leaned out of the carriage window, pulling his brother into a close embrace.

“Forgive me, Sam,” he said softly, and his brother slapped his back genially.

“Congratulatinos, brother,” he said.

The carriage took off; William leaned back and looked at his wife, who had by now removed her bonnet and veil and was all the lovelier with fresh flowers in her dark hair.

HIs married life has now begun.

Stella Rosa

“Marry in May and rue the day,” Anabelle Fenwick said to me on the morning of my wedding. I was all nerves, worried that my family may choose this particular day to separate me from Sir William. I did not need Miss Fenwick with her piece of folk wisdom buzzing around; in fact, as much as I liked her genteel, friendly, amiable brother, I was beginning to outright hate her.

“Miss Anabelle,” Vanessa said through the numerous pins she held between her teeth. “do not frighten the bride! It is but an old wives’ tale!”

“I am not frightened,” I said, coldly. “These supersticions mean nothing to me. We Hebrews do not have Mays, or Aprils, or Decembers, for that matter. We have Adars and Nisans—and you can chuse any month to marry.”

Vanessa smiled. She had been putting wax flower and orange blossoms in my hair all morning, and in general, proved herself to be most useful and supportive.

“Almost done,” she whispered, affixing a particular pretty flower just above my left ear. “Will should adore this…”

As regards my family, I had mixed feelings: on the one hand, I was thrilled that they had made no attempt to interfere with my marriage plans; on the other hand, I was prodigiously disappointed. It seemed like Enrique had told Sir William the truth: perhaps they really did forget all about me.

“Oh, Stella,” Vanessa said as I was about to step out, “Ali asked to give you these,” and she handed me a box. I opened eagerly. Inside, there was a pair of lovely wedding slippers—decorated with silk ribbons, wax flowers and jasmine. “She would like you to wear them as she made them herself.”

And so I did, gladly.

Ani l'dodi ve dodi li. I am my beloved's and my beloved is mine. In church, I peered through the heavy drapes, to see Sir William stand next to the vicar and Samuel. My heart rejoiced at seeing him; my pride swelled because he was the most handsome man I had ever met. As Mr. Fenwick walked me down the aisle, I saw the emotion in Sir William's eyes. This man--oh, this man! How much have we already sacrificed for each other, how much shall we still have to sacrifice? For better, for worse, we were now forever bound to each other with the strongest bonds of love, affection, trust and responsibility--already a beloved and a friend, William was now to become my home, my family, my master.

I came to stand next to him. He cast a quick glance at me and turned to back to the vicar. He was more serious than ever, if only that was possible, looking earnestly, and speaking earnestly, and as he slid the ring down my finger, his hand trembled. The words that he said meant nothing to me; it was the prodigious amount of love, which I could read in his beautiful eyes, and his sweet candor, that touched my heart. I remembered Vanessa's words: "If I at all know my brother, Stella, you are his first love." When the vicar allowed him to kiss me, our embrace was passionate, and there was possessiveness and power in his kiss.

Holding hands, we walked past William's family, who were all smiling--and Alexandra was positively beaming!--and stepped outside. It was a bright, May morning, and our new life has just begun.

...Happy as I was, I had to wonder about the wedding night. Perhaps I was not as ignorant as most gentile girls my age: the subject of babies and pregnancies was common in my family, and neither Elena nor I were usually shunned. However, my understanding of the process was still rudimentary: it remained somewhere between the beautiful poetry of King Solomon’s Shir ha-Shirim and the long, lusty looks that I caught, sometimes, between Enrique and Viola. I knew that there was something to be done; something to be endured; a duty and homage to be paid to the man who was now my husband. But however frightening that might seem, I loved Sir William so much that I placed my trust, my body, my soul in his hands willingly and with a glad heart.

In the carriage, the tension mounted. We threw longing stares at each other, and he rubbed my fingers, gently, in his. The subject of the first night must be broached, but I could not be the first to mention it. Luckily, he finally found the courage and inquired of me, suddenly stumbling over words, what exactly I knew or expected of the night to come.

I told him that I had a duty to him as my husband.

“I do detest that word,” he said, wrinkling his nose. “I, myself, have never thought about it this way. Duty, indeed. Poems are written and whole countries are taken in the name of duty!” He sneered almost derisively.

“William!” I cried. “Poems are written in the name of love!”

He laughed. “What do you think I am talking about?”

“Well, I should not know that, having never been married!” I was suddenly very hot.

“Aw, Stella, you are such a child,” he whispered, caressing me with his eyes. “There is more to love about love than moon-lit rendez-vous, my darling. But I think we should rather change the subject.”

“Why? What would you rather talk about?”

“Books. Politics. Anything but that.”

I was indignant.

“Books, on the day of our wedding! Politics! William, it is most un-romantic! I am still basking in the sanctified glow of our marriage, and you propose to talk about books!”
“Well, what would you rather talk about?”

“To-night,” I said, fighting an urge to turn very red and cover my face with my veil again.

“We still have a long ride in front of us, Stella. This is a most inopportune conversation on such a hot spring day,” he said. “I am afraid that if we get too much into discussing tonight, there may--there may be no to-night. ”

I was taken aback by the hoarseness in his voice; with one rough movement, he pulled loose his cravat and drew his hands over his face.

“Very well,” he said quietly, not taking his eyes off my face and neck. “What would you like to know?”

“You disagreed with the use of the term of “duty,” I said. “Is it to say that you have a different conception of what is to transpire tonight?”

"I must first confess something to you," he said. With a look of deep embarrassment, he went on. "My experience in these matters is rather limited--nay, what am I about. I am as inexperienced as you are. Any connections I've ever made in life have only been of the most genuine sort. I have not been of habit of forming relationships for the sake of anything rather than the greatest degree of attachment to the person itself. Such have been my friendships, and only such would be my more--tender--engagements. Being with someone solely for the sake of the flesh--I could not do that. And," he added in the most earnest fashion, "before meeting you, I had not been in love."

He was so dear to me at that moment, I should have kissed him had I been less shy. William seemed to apologize for the very thing which I wanted most--that I was to be his first and only love, just like he was to be mine. But listening to him mutter and mumble, watching him, red in the face and viciously embarrassed, was exceedingly pleasurable to me, and I decided to prolong his torture.

"So what you are saying," I said, "is that you really have no real basis, on which to form an opinion of what is to transpire to night. Isn't it so?"

He swallowed. Hard.

"Not exactly," he said. "I have--the general--idea. I also--in my anticipation of our marriage, I have purchased and read a book on the subject--"

"A book?" I asked, leaning back. "What kind of book, pray tell, my dear husband?"

"A most interesting one," he smiled. He was now coming along, a little less embarrassed.
"And you have it with you?"
"I do--it is among our things in the back."
"Can you--can you show it to me?"
"I should not dare."
"Why not? Am I not a married lady now?"
"Not in the full sense of this word. Now, after tonight--"
"--after tonight?"
"--yes, after tonight, you should be fit to see it."

"Most unfair!" I cried, laughing. "You have just confessed to me that you, yourself, are not a married gentleman in the true sense of this word! And yet you have read it! And won't show it to me! How am I to know, then, what is to transpire? You must tell me, then, what you have read in it!"

He colored deeply and gave me a sheepish smile. "I cannot give you the particulars!" he said.
"I am not asking for the particulars!" I answered. "All I want to know--" I stumbled. "There was no-one I could ask before the wedding, but from what I had briefly heard, it is most commonly rather disagreeable to the woman."

"Oh!" He cried, dismayed. "Fine sources of information you have had, Stella! "A duty, and a disagreeable one at that! You should be mortified of tonight!"

He gave me a look, considered something, and then said.

"And yet you are not. So perhaps you have had other sources of information as well-"
"Perhaps I have," I smiled and hastened to reassure him. "But only the most proper ones!"

And, leaning forward, I whispered to him verses from Shir ha-Shirim:

"Let him kiss me with the kisses of his mouth--for his love is better than wine. His ointments have a goodly fragrance; his name is as ointment poured forth; therefore do the maidens love him."

With a bolder hand, I caressed the outline of his face, prompting him to press his lips to the inside of my palm.

"How can these words possibly be written about something disagreeable?" I whispered to him. He laughed and raised his eyes to the sky:

"Oh the joy and torture of having a reading woman for a wife!"

We laughed, leaning our heads together. All of a sudden, a rough turn shook the carriage and practically threw me into William's emgrace. He gathered me comfortably and set me down on his lap, his arms locked tightly around me.

"Now I have you," he said, looking intensely into my eyes, 'And I shall not let you go."

He placed a kiss on my lips, and I responded, with all the heat of the Shulamit responding to Solomon; his became bolder, his grip on me tightened, and for what seemed like an eternity, we were locked a most passionate embrace. Our lips sought greedily those of the other; our hands were beginning to rove most impurely. My head was spinning and I could barely think straight. Suddenly, urgently, William pulled away from me, casting my arms from around his neck.

"What is wrong, William?" I asked, for for a second, I was gripped with anxiety that my caresses were somehow abhorrent to him, that perhaps, I had been so forward.

"'Tis too much," he said, shaking his head. "Another minute, and I shan't be able to control myself any longer."

Timidly, I expressed to him that perhaps, it did not signify, since we were already married.

"No, Stella," he wshipered, hotly. "Please. It has to be proper. It cannot happen like this, not in a carriage--it cannot be some sort of a distasteful tryst! I am only a fallible man, Stella," he added into my hair. "And you are the greatest temptation I have ever faced. Please," he said. "It has to be special."

I honored his request and moved to the opposite end of the carriage. After our faces cooled off, we renewed our conversation.

"You never did explain to me what your conception of a wifely duty was," I said.
"Wifely?" he raised his eyebrows. "I have always thought that it was just as much of a husbandly duty as wifely duty--and when I say that, I mean "duty" to love the other with all the forces of one's soul and body!"

"How lovely," I said, smiling, "to know that it is a mutual covenant. How pleasant. It means that there is something in it for me, as well."

"Oh, Stella," he said in a most emotional voice. "Stella, Stella! I should do my absolute best to ensure that there is everything in it for you!"

"You shan't hurt me, then?"

"Hurt you?"

"Well, you know what they say. It has to be exceedingly painful, the first time around."

"Exceedingly painful! Who told you that?"

"It is just a most common conception. And then my older sister has said something to the effect."

"Well, perhaps," he agreed, "as I cannot counterpose any actual experience, but--the book--"

"The book!"

"Yes, the now-proverbial book. The book says that if the husband is gentle and, um, dedicated enough, there will be very little pain, if any, and it will be brief."

"And shall you be gentle with me?" I inquired of him, though I already knew the answer. Across the carriage, he reached for my hand and held it to his lips.

"You may depend on it," he said earnestly.

"Well," I smiled, "you have certainly lessened my fears. I can speak about politics now."

"Yes, let us," he replied. "Let us find the most un-romantic subject available--if we are ever to make it to our inn."

Stella Rosa

We reached Bath by about nine o'clock in the evening. Our inn was handsome and had every manner of comfort; immediately upon our arrival, we were served a what I am certain was an absolutely delectable supper, which neither of us was able to eat. Instead, we aimlessly spread food on our plates, staring at each other with hungry eyes.

Finally, having left most of our supper on our plates, we rose.

"Um--" he said, looking at the tips of his shoes. "How much--I assume you shall need time to--"
"Yes," I said gratefully. "I shouldd very much like a bath."
"I shall see you, then, when you are done with your toilette?"
"Yes," I whispered, unable to contain the silliest smile.

We went into our respective dressing-room. A steaming bath was already ready for me; an inn abigail helped me undress and as I slid in the hot water, I tried my best to relax. It was difficult, considering all the disagreeable things I had heard of the wedding night. But William loved me; he would not hurt me for the life of him--and if he did, I could certainly bear a bit of pain for the sake of being with him! There also remained the poetic beauty of the Shir Ha-Shirim: as I had said to William, whoever wrote it had certainly enjoyed the experience well enough!

The abigail, Mary, came up, cursying, and asked which gown I was to wear to-night. Lady Hetty had given me one--a pale blue, embarrassingly open, thing of French silk and Alencon lace. After hearing out my doubts in regards to the propriety of such a gown, she snapped:

"You are to make my son happy, Miss de Lara! Trust me when I say that men are partial to these kinds of enticements!"

I was surprised at her forwardness, but preferred it to the steely-cold politeness, with which she usually treated me. Now, as Mary helped me into the gown, I looked in the mirror and saw a vixen. Mary gasped.

"If I may, madam, it is so pretty!"
"Is it not too open?"

The girl lowered her eyes. "Pardon me, madam, but I think it should serve its purpose."

William was already in the bedroom, sitting in the chair and staring intensely into the cold fireplace. He was wearing a long robe of indigo silk and a billowing white shirt underneath. I cleared my throat quietly, and he sprung to his feet.

"Lord, you are beautiful!" he said.

I thanked him, feeling his hungry gaze on my neck and shoulders. It was, however, quite uncomfortable. We both hid our eyes, too nervous and embarrased to approach each other. More to break the silence than for any other reason, William asked if I should like some wine, which I politely refused. All the flirting and playfulness of our engagement was now forgotten; it was as if we barely knew each other.

It was becoming somewhat unbearable, and resolute, I approached the bed and stood next to it. Not quite trusting my voice, I said:

"I--I am ready, William."

He threw a quick glance at me, looking somewhat confounded:

"You are?"

"As ready aw I'll ever be," I admitted.

He shook his head vigorously: "No, no, Stella, this won't do. You must be ready--really ready--only then can we both enjoy it."

"Are you ready?" I asked, raising my eyes at him.
He coloured somewhat as he answered. "I--I have been--but men are different, Stella. Come," he said, extending his hand to me.

William led me to the sofa in front of the fireplace. He picked up a poker and shuffled the coals in the fireplace; they glowed faintly, spreading pleasant warmth all around. As we sat down, William held me--somewhat akwardly at first, but then, one bodies seemed to have melted together, to have found a common form, as both of us relaxed. Absent-mindedly, his hand stroked my hair; then, he turned to me, gently moved my chin up with his finger and placed a gentle kiss on my lips.

"Do you know how much I love you?" he asked. "Do you have any idea how happy you've made me?"

I told him that I loved him, too; that he had turned my world around; that I was the happiest girl in all of England, nay, it had to be in all of the world. At this, he kissed me, and his lips were no longer timid, but forceful and searching. He had kissed me this way before, but then, as we had not been married, we constantly had to keep ourselves in check. Now, as husband and wife, we could do anything we wished; there was no need to stop, no need to check ourselves, no worrying that someone might see us. We were finally abandoned to our own devices; what was more, we felt entitled to them... Our kisses were sweet like apples dipped in honey.

Very soon, William's lips moved down my neck--as they tickled my throat, a sweet and torturous quiver ran through my body--and to the silk boundary, formed by the edge of my gown. As he stopped, uncertain, drawing his lips along the lace, I slowly undid the clasps, which held the delicate gown together, allowing it to slide down around my shoulders. He gasped quietly and raised his eyes at me, and though I was now completely unclothed down to my waist, as the gown was naturally draped around my waist, I felt no shame. Quite the opposite, I felt positively regal, like Shulamit as she shared her first lovers' embrace with Solomon. For a second, his eyelashess fluttered and he closed his eyes, sighing.

"What are you doing to me, Stella?" he whispered.

"If you wish me to, I shall replace the gown immediately," I teased him.

"No!" William said quickly. "No, it is perfect--you are perfect--just as you are."

I slid back on the sofa and surrendered myself to his carresses, which were becoming more and more passionate. I soon discovered that some kisses felt infinitely more heavenly than others; I returned his carresses as well as I could, and he accepted them with enthusiasm. Soon after that, my gown was finally flung away, as were his robe and nightshirt. I raised my eyes at him: he stood in front of me, beautiful as a god, resplendent in all his fabulous masculinity. What was only barely visible under his clothes was now apparent: William was tall, long-legged, broad-shouldered, with a powerful chest and a thin waist. My husband, I wondered; over some residual embarrassment, I studied him carefully--I had never before seen a man unclothed and what I found was, quite simply, perfect.

"I think we should be infinitely more comfortable in bed," William said, leaning to gather me in his arms. I said nothing, pressing my face against his chest, inhaling his scent. His embrace felt like the safest, warmest, most comfortable place in the world.

The bed, indeed, proved to be comfortable, but we should hadly care had it been a lair of stones. Wrapped in each other's arms, we finally abandoned all restraint and, soon enough, what had to happen, did.

It was quite perfect. There was some pain, but I was so excited and so in love that I suffered it gladly, forgetting about it as soon as it was over; there was some blood, but to me, it was simply the evidence of my newfound womanhood. There was also a disconcerting moment towards the end, when I thought that I had somehow caused him pain. Such was my lack of experience that I could not imagine how pleasure could come so close to suffering; but when a moment later, I saw an expression of utter bliss spead over his handsome face, I knew that all was well. I felt womanly and maternal as I cradled his head against my chest.

Exhausted by our exertions, we fell asleep soon, William's arm slung possessively over me. Drifting away, I felt his breathing, gentle, on the back of my neck, and thought that if the rest of our life together were like its first night, I should be perfectly satisfied.

William

Their first day as a married couple was spent almost entirely in bed. Though sharply aware of how ridiculous it must have looked to the help, William simply could not tear himself away from his new wife. He felt himself most fortunate, for his fondest wish has been granted: he had married a woman who was a friend, a companion and a lover put together. She was kind, clever and compassionate; she was sweet and amiable; she was beatufiul, womanly and alluring. How many men can say all that about their wives? William's head swam with happiness and he wondered how he could possibly have any doubts.

Last night--oh, last night. He had hoped and dreamt and imagined it all, oh so many times. He had spent long, lonely nights, when sleep evaded him and the heat in his body could only be exorcized--most cruelly--by freezing water. He ached and yearned for her--but he could not imagine how blissful their first encounter would be.

Before, as he read the wonderful book Richard Fenwick had so kidnly and thoughtfully given him, he wondered and worried about what her temperament might be. He had heard men complain that their wives barely tolerated them, if at all; William had been terrified that his marriage to Stella might similarly disintegrate in their bedroom. He imagined himself seeking her intimate company, and her--finding a thousand excuses not to be with him. THis picture had frightened him excessively; it has, however, been banished the previous night. Though a virgin, she was as passionate and willing as he could have hoped. She did not seem to mind the pain; she had no use for tears. Instead, a joyous, pealing laugh he loved so much escaped her in the very end and bounced off the walls of their bedroom. Stella Rosa was truly the most amazing woman in the world.

William had woken up in the middle of the night to find Stella gone from his side; for a second, panic seized him. Then, he saw her: curled up on the sofa in front of the faintly glowing fire, she looked pensive and unhappy. William rose quietly from the bed and approached her, startling her out of her reverie.

"Why aren't you asleep?" she asked, looking up at him. She had wrapped herself in his robe; to him, she looked as vulnerable as a little girl, whom he had a strong urge to protect.

"Only a day married, and already you've abandoned me," he smiled as he knelt in front of the sofa. "It turns out I cannot sleep without you, my lady. But why aren't you sleeping?"

She smiled, ever so unhappily. "Just a girl saying good-bye to her girlhood," she whispered, extending her hand to caress the side of his face. "Go back to bed, my love, you shall freeze."

"Come with me," William implored. He knew very well what she was thinking about: now that she had given herself to him, there was truly no way back for her. It was not only her maidenhood that she parted with, it was also any remaining hope at the reconciliation with her family. But this would not do: he could not think about it; he could not imagine even for a second that she regretted marrying him--when he thought about such a possibility, his heart was breaking.

She obeyed and allowed him to gather her in his arms and carry her back to bed. Holding her against his chest, William wondered at how quickly his heart became betrothed to this woman. Stella quickly fell asleep again, her head heavy on his arm, but he remained awake until morning. Only when the sky behind the window turned gray did he begin to drift away.

In the morning, he woke up and saw her looking at him. Stella was sitting up, watching his face intently, and he had to wonder how long she had been studying hin in such a manner. When she saw him wake, a delightful smile spread over her pretty face.
"Good morning, sir," she said.

"Good morning, love," he muttered, yawning sweetly. "How long have you been sitting here like this?"
"Not long. I did, however, take a liking to watching you sleep. You look most innocent when you slumber."

"What a misapprehension," he laughed. He was, all of a sudden, sharply aware of his renewed desire for her. "Come," he said, stretching his arm, and she quickly came to take her place next to him, contently resting her head on his shoulder.

"William, hm," she said. "Was the last night to your liking?"
He smirked. "What do you think?"
"I really cannot tell--I am far too inexperienced to tell." She was teasing him, asking him for praise, and he readily forgave her this little indiscretion.
"Well," William said, wrinkling his nose, pretending to think hard. "I really cannot remember."
"You cannot remember?" She sounded shocked, displeased--this was obviously not the answer she had expected.
"Must have been too much for my poor, feeble mind," he continued to tease her.
"Well, how preposterous!" she cried. "How insulting!"
She made to rise from the bed, but he had foreseen such a reaction to his words, and immediately pinned her down, preventing her escape.

"Perhaps," he said, trying in vain to kiss her lips as she wiggled and turned her face away, "it is in your power to remind me."
She stopped wiggling. "Remind you?" she asked. He finally managed that kiss.
"You cannot refuse me," he murmured, moving his lips down to her neck. At the same time, his hands pulled on the hem of the nightgown she had put on while he slept. "I am your lawful wedded husband, and I would have you obey me," he managed to get the gown off, and sat back, admiring her.

Stella made no attempt to escape him now. Instead, she folded her arms on her chest, sadly obscuring from his view her delightful assets. "And waht if I should refuse?"

"Nothing," he confessed. "But I can promise you, I shall be exceedingly sad."

"That is a somewhat better reason," she replied, looking intently into his eyes. Her own were puffy, and in general, in her nude, disheveled state, she was unbelievably desirable to him. "But," she added thoughtfully, "Not good enough."

He laughed. "Well," he said. "How is this for a reason, Stella: if you were to refuse me, you shall be exceedingly sad."

"And why is that?" she inquired.

"Because," he whispered, as he bestowed feathery kisses all over her body, "I am afraid I did not do right by you last night."

"Why so?"

He gently moved her still-crossed arms away from her breast and continued with his business of pleasing her; a guttural moan escaped her lips as he said between the kisses:

"Because I was overwhelmed--befuddled--confounded--could not think straight--because I am mad for you, Stella, my Stella," He tarried a bit around her nipples, listening to the low-pitched growl that activity elicited from her. "You must allow me to show you how grateful I am for last night, my love..."

By the time he was done with his explanation, she was completely undone. A gentleman that he was, William had nothing left to do but follow through with what he had started; the conclusion, he was able to deduce, was almost as agreeable to her as it was to him.

Several hours later, after they finaly made it downstairs, William found that all he craved at that moment was to immediately go back up, where they were safe from curious glances and needed not observe the rules of propriety. As it was, he noticed the disapproving glances some of the older ladies at the inn shot at them whenever he leaned in to kiss his wife; but he was powerless to do anything about it, and he counted the hours until they could be alone again.

She saw his longing and took pity on him. "Ah," she yawned delicately, covering her mouth with her gloved hand, "I am quite tired. I think I shall go upstairs for a bit, to rest." William almost asked her what it was that tired her so, in between a short walk down the street and a luncheon at the inn; but he thought better of it, and inquired timidly, whether he could perhaps join her, as he, too, was simply exhausted.

"Well, of course!" she cried out, making large round eyes at him. William thanked his lucky stars as he followed her up the stairs. Of course, rest was simply a pretense for her: as soon as they were behind the doors of their apartments, they commenced to tear each other clothes' off.

Some time later, as they lay together, curled up and contented, the new Lady Hester reached over and picked up what remained of some very expensive silk french undergarments she had worn but an hour ago.

"This won't do, William," she mused. "You simply tore the poor thing apart."
"I shall buy you a hundred more," he murmured, hiding his face in her hair. "With the express right to tear them off you whenever I want to."
"You are certainly willful, sir," she laughed.
"Ah, Stella," he sighed, as he took the garment out of her hand and flung it away, "I daresay I am a strong man. Might I not indulge in my only weakness the best I know how?"
She sat up, pretty as a picture, but still somewhat shy of him and wrapping herself in a sheet, as if he hadn't already seen all of her.
"My darling," she said, smiling, "I must confess: you know how very well!"

It was true: though utterly inexperienced, he found such joy in pleasing her that his awkwardness was soon smoothed out and the signals her body gave him became clearer than the day. Fenwick's book helped, of course, but with the introduction more than anything else; his love for her and her eager approval of his exploits took it from there.

He soon suggested, half-heartedly, that they should probably go back downstairs. Stella was candid.
"Why?" she asked. "So that we may look at each other, yearning to return to this bed?"

He saw her point. It was agreed that they would stay in their room until supper and the theater to-night. Placing her head on his chest, her hair spread around like black silk, Stella yawned like a kitten.

"William," she said, pensively. "I remember you saying that once we have consummated our marriage, I would be fit to see the book."

"What book?" he played an innocent and was immediately punished for it by the removal of the lovely head and the wrapping of the beauteous shoulders in a sheet.

"You know perfectly well, which book," she said. He drew her back to him.
"What about it, dearest?"
"I should like to see it," she demanded.

William was suddenly shy; it was as if the secrets of his newfound mastery were suddenly to be exposed. He protested, without much heart, but she would not give in. He was forced to stand up and fetch the book from among his things. Stella snatched it from his hands, immediately, and proceeded to study it.

His long body stretched alongside hers, William watched his bride as she became more and more engrossed in the very improper reading he had just handed her. From time to time, a small "Oh!" escaped her lips and she would go red to the roots of her hair; William reveled in her embarrassment, for after all, she had wanted this.

"Do you find it interesting?" he inquired. "I shall expect you to pass an examination after you are done reading it," he warned her. She cast a sly look at him above the pages.

"Well, in his case, I shall need real instruction," she said. "Come hither, sir, and read it with me."

Oh Lord, William thought, shall we ever quit this bed tonight?

...That night, at the theater, he rejoiced, watchhing her enjoyment of the play. What they watched hardly registered with him; it was a comedy by Shakespear, he knew that much. He sat slightly behind her, watching her laugh, applaud and fan herself, a diamond necklace gleaming about her neck, just below a most tempting dark curl, which had escaped from her hairdo. She was far more entertaining to him than any play could possiblly have been.

At the conclusion of their first day as a married couple, the Lord and Lady Hester retired to their apartments and, having fallen into their bed, fell asleep immediately. As he slept, William dreamt of the woman in his embrace: enticing, beautiful, warm, and yet, a mystery to him.

...

In a Bath music shop, William bought his new wife a Spanish guitar. It was a strange gift—one, which he, himself, would never have chosen—but that was what she desired. He was glad that she had chosen it, herself, for from their courtship, he knew that Stella was far from avaricious when it came to gifts. Jewels and fine silks pleased her and she aceepted them gratefully, but in her everyday life, she dressed simply and had little use for them.

He had dragged her inside the shop, insisting that they look for a new pianoforte for her; she protested, saying that little as she played, she might very well use Vanessa’s instrument. But as soon as they had entered, her gaze was fastened to the old instrument.

“Oh, William!” she cried, caressing the old varnished wood and running her hands over the discordant strings, “This is what I want!”

“Can you play?” he inquired, rather surprised.

“Yes,” she said. “This is, truly, the best instrument for Ladino songs, William. They were not, after all, written for a pianoforte!”

“If you wish,” he shrugged his shoulders. The instrument was so old and ruined that it was no longer for sale; it took William a long time to even get the shopkeeper to name his price.

At the inn, she immediately retired upstairs, carrying her precious purchase, and he followed her, with no small degree of amusement. Sitting on the sofa in their drawing room, Stella picked at the strings with her right hand, as she painstakingly tried to adjust the tune with her left. As she so labored, she murmured a Ladino song.

William was greatly diverted and touched, watching her so: wrinkling her small nose in displeasure as the harmony escaped her yet again; her raven’s wing hair was set up on top of her head, in the manner of a regal crown; her long, slender fingers caressing the strings of the guitar most sensually—William nearly lost his composure just watching her.

She suddenly raised her head and looked straight at him, as if reading his rather impure thoughts: “Why don’t you go for a walk, William?” she asked.

He colored as he answered:
“Are you casting me away, my love?”
She smiled demurely. “With all this cacophony, you are sure to get a headache, sir.”
Indeed, the sounds she extracted out of this old soap-dish, as William had come to think of their latest purchase, were of a most discordant sort, save for an occasional fleeting harmony.

“Shall you play me a song when I return?” he asked her.
“Of course I shall, mi lindo amor,” she answered quickly, as if not thinking.
He was moved almost to tears by her address. What is it with me, he asked himself, why does everything she says and does brings such an emotion out of me? Out loud, with a sharp intake of breath, he asked:
“What did you call me, my love?”

“Mi lindo amor,” she repeated in a most charming accent but without raising her eyes at him, still preoccupied with the instrument. “I should not have to translate that, sir—your knowledge of Spanish should—“

Overcome by passion and tenderness, he crossed the space between them in one long stride and silenced her with a kiss. As her lips responded to his and she sighed and trembled, her fingers educed a most awful disharmony out of her guitar. Tearing herself away from him, Stella begged:
“Please, sir! Do go for a walk! Otherwise, I shall never be finished with this! I cannot think nor work when you are around! Go, William!”

He laughed, rising to his feet. “Have it your way, cruel, cruel Stella. I shall go. But!” he raised one finger into the air. “I shall return—and claim a reward for your present cruelty to me.”
“Very well, sir,” she smirked, looking at him with her clear, green, brilliant eyes. “You shall have it.”

He left the inn in excellent spirits, expecting to find his wife impatient and excited for him when he returned. As he directed his steps towards the old Roman mineral baths, William’s thoughts kept wandering back to Stella, the vision of her hand upon the gleaming yellow wood of the old instrument and the sweet smell of her hair as he kissed her. Against his own wishes, William had to hope that at some point soon, his passion for his wife should subside so that he can, once again, be a useful, rational, thinking man.

At the Baths, his thoughts were interrupted by the sound of a familiar, yet unintelligible language; someone at his side was speaking Ladino. Turning around, he saw a young couple, fashionably dressed and walking arm in arm, whose swarthy complexion betrayed their affiliation with Stella’s race. Curious, William dared to interrupt their conversation.

“Pardon me,” he said, “I mean not to intrude… I noticed that you were speaking Ladino—“
They immediately switched to English; and in their expressions, there appeared something rather distrustful and defensive.
“I daresay we were,” the young man said, raising his chin. His wife, dressed up to the latest London fashions, peeked timidly from behind his broad shoulder.
“I do not mean to upset you—“ William noticed the disconcerting effect his words had had on them. “My name is William Hester,” he said, extending his hand. The husband shook it vigorously, seemingly more at ease.
“Isaac Duran,” he said. “This is my wife, Rachelle.”
William bowed. “The reason I intruded upon you so rudely is that my wife—she speaks your language as well—“
‘Your wife is Jewish?” the young woman piped up.
“Yes; she is nee de Lara.”
“De Lara!” Mr. Duran exclaimed. “How extraordinary! I happen to know her sister, Miss Elena, and her brother, Mr. Enrique de Lara!”
“Then perhaps, you know my wife as well?” William wondered. “Formerly Miss Stella Rosa de Lara.”

“I have heard Miss Elena mention her, but have never met her.” Mr. Duran said. “De Laras are one of the best-respected families in all of London juderia.. But I have not realized that Miss Elena’s sister was married to--”

There was an awkward pause; William realized that the nature of their marriage was known among the people of the juderia.
“We have only been married several days and are here on our wedding journey,” he said, hurriedly. “Mr. Duran, Mrs. Duran—I know my wife would be thrilled to meet you. I would be much obliged if you paid us a visit while we are at Bath.”
“We would be honored,” Mr. Duran said, bowing. After William gave his new acquaintances directions as to their situation at Bath, they parted, and William, spirits aflutter, walked back to the inn.

To his immediate disappointment, he found Stella slumbering on the sofa, her precious guitar on the rug next to her. As he covered her with a plaid, she stirred and murmured something in her sleep. William could not help it: he simply had to kiss her. He was stunned by what happened next: she responded eagerly, looping her arms about his neck and pulling him down to lie with her.

“Back already?” she murmured, caressing his head.
“I thought you were asleep,” he replied.
“Well, I was—but you woke me, sir.”
“Forgive me.”
‘Never mind that, husband. Tell me, rather: are you ready for the reward I’ve promised you?”
His imagination running rampant, he eagerly acquiesced, and was rather nonplussed when she pushed him away.

“Well, then,” she jumped spryly to her feet. “Here it is.”
She lifted the guitar off the floor and sat down on the chair opposite him, while he remained on the sofa, tormented and unfulfilled.

“A song for you,” she said, and, to his utmost surprise, as her fingers descended upon the strings, a melodious harmony escaped.
“You’ve tuned it!” he exclaimed.
“So I have,” she smiled. “I am quite industrious when you are not around.”
Cocking her head to the side, her eyes closed, she sang. Her performance was beautiful and heartfelt; her voice carried most sweetly and to him, she looked absolutely beautiful.

“A la una yo naci
A las dos m’engradaci
A las tres tomi amante
A las quatro mi casi!”

The first quatrain repeated itself in the end, and, as she finished, Stella looked up and sang the last verse directly to him:

“Alma, vida y corazon!” And, slowly lowering the guitar on the rug next to her, she added. "My soul, my life, my heart belong to you, William."

He was undone; she had brought him nearly to tears and for some time, he did not trust himself to speak. Which, naturally, gave the performer the wrong signal.

“Was the song not to your liking, sir?” she inquired, her voice suddenly trembling.

“It was beautiful, my love,” he said, his voice hoarse with tension. They both rose and approached each other, gingerly, their passion suddenly tempered, as if they were not the same eager lovers that had taken each other with unbridled ardor the night before and this very morning.

FIghting his own sudden shyness, William pulled his wife into his embrace and began kissing her--the high forehead, the closed eyelids, the exquisite marble neck, but returning, time after time, to her full, sensual, slightly open lips. Stella was immobile at first, but as the first small fire of passion stirred within her, she began to respond and, winding her arms around his neck, whispered to him words of love in her own language. Kerido, amado, adorado, she whispered almost unintelligibly, mi amor, mi marido, mi coracon...

His hands trembling, he undid the tiny round buttons, which went up to the small collar of Alencon lace, revealing a patch of white, silky, fragant skin. Like a man thirsting drinks for the first tim from a sweet fountainhead, so, too, William pressed his eager lips in the opening, longingly drinking her divine scent. He was quite aware of the fact that the door was not locked, and this was not their bedroom: they could be intruded upon at any moment. Yet, she did not seem to mind, as she, herself, reached up to loosen his cravat; and so together, they stumbled back over to the sofa.

The semi-public nature of the room did not permit them to fully undress. Only that, which was absolutely necessary, was opened or removed. The rest of their garments muted their caresses and obscured somewhat the access, but what remained to them was all the sweeter. The sensation of her body through the half-opened dress; the line of lily-white skin visible between the lacy top of her stocking and the ruffled petticoats; the feel of her hand pressing under his shirt--all of it was incredibly erotic to him. Pressing their faces together, laughing and crying, they made quick love in the sitting-room of their hotel apartments. After it was over, she shifted under his substantial weight and demurely straightened her skirt. He raised his face, wet with her tears, from the crook of her neck and planted the gentlest kiss on her lips.

"I love you so much," he whispered, pulling away.
"I love you, too," she smiled. He sat up, pulling her up with him, and they adjusted their clothes, all of a sudden shy once again and avoiding each other's eyes. What am I doing, he thought--a fine thing it would have been to get caught by a servant in a flagrante delicto! Wearily, they gathered the clothes they had thrown away and went back to Stella's bedroom, where both of them immeidately fell on the bed and fell fast asleep, exhausted by their amorous exertions.

...William was awoken by Mary the abigail, who knocked on the bedroom door. For a moment, he was not certain where he was; having finally gotten his wits together, William went to the door.

"Yes?" he inquired gruffly of the girl.
"Pardon me, sir, but there's a gentleman and a lady calling on you, sir." She handed him a card. He read it and cursed under his breath. It was his new acquaintances, the Durans. He had completely forgotten that he had invited them to pay Stella and him a visit.
"What time is it?" he asked.
"A quarter to seven, sir."
"Please ask them in," he told Mary. "Tell them that we should be right out." And, having thrown a glance back at the bed, where Stella still slept, her black hair unkempt on the pillow, he added. "And Mary, do come back--I expect her ladyship will want her hair done."

After Mary was gone, William rushed back to the bed; but this time, waking Stella up was no easy task. She turned and muttered in her sleep, as he gently shook her shoulder. Not knowing what else to do, he started kissing her neck, and she finally opened her eyes.

"Oooh, how pleasant," she murmured, smiling blissfully.
"Excellent," William said, straightening up. "Rise, darling, we have guests."
"Guests?" she sat up, frowning. "What are you speaking of?"
He explained it all to to her, quickly, as he was feverishly straightening himself up in front of a mirror.
"Hebreos?" she inquired of him, looking rather shocked. He only nodded, as he struggled with his cravat. It took a minute to finally get it right; he drew a brush over his hair and darted into his dressing room, to splash his face with cold water. When he returned to the bedroom, Stella was sitting in front of a mirror, quickly buttoning up her dress.
"You say they know Elena?" she asked, looking up at him.
"The husband say he does. And your brother Henry," he said.
"Oy Abastado," she muttered, coloring faintly. "Go to them, darling, I shall come out presently."

William came out to the sitting room in slight terror: he had imagined that by accident, he and Stella had left something--some intimate article of clothing--as an evidence of their exploits. But, as he threw a worried glance around the room, everything seemed clear.

The Durans were in the drawing-room; as William entered, Mr. Duran rose to greet him.
"Lord Hester," he said, looking quite uncomfortable, "Perhaps we are too rash to impose on you so soon!"
William noticed to himself that the young man had already learned that he was a lord; bowing to Mrs. Duran, he assured them, with all possible civility, that there was no imposition, and that he was exceedingly glad to see them.
"As my wife, no doubt, will be," he said. "Forgive our tardiness--the heat has gotten the best of us and we had fallen asleep."

On, indeed, it has, he thought poisonously to himself.

"Mr. Duran! Mrs. Duran!" he heard, and saw Stella enter the room. Pretty and all straightened-up, her hair set back on top of her head, as if he had not just run his fingers through it.

They rose to greet her, with all the civility and appropriate degree of respect due a lord's wife. What followed next was a lively conversation, to which William was barely a party, and which filled him with sense of sadness and desire to belong.

"Sir William tells me you've come from London?" Stella inquired of Mr. Duran.
"We have," the young man answered. "We have just been married, and are on our wedding journey."
"And what do you do, sir?"
"I am in the banking business," Mr. Duran said. "I was pleasantly surprised to find out that there was another person of Hebrew persuasion vacationing here at Bath."
"Yes," she said. "We are on our honeymoon as well," she shot William a coy glance.

"Mr. Duran, my husband also mentioned that you are familiar with some of my close family?"
"Yes," he said quickly. "I have had the honor and pleasure to meet your sister, Miss Elena--through her fiance, Mr. Pedro da Silva."
"And pray tell, are you close friends with Mr. Da Silva?"
"Our friendship is new--we have met through the Liberal Reform movement," he said.
"Well!" Stella cried. "How odd it is that the young Mr. da Silva be a part of something so radical!"
"Yes. He is new to it; it pains his father the khakhan a great deal that his son should reject most of what he believes in! But many of the young fashionable members of the juderia swirl around the Movement. Most of them come and go, of course. Some stay. This is where I have met your brother, Mr. Enrique de Lara."

"Enrique," Stella whispered, smiling to herself. "But tell me, Mr. and Mrs. Duran, when was the last time you have seen my sister?"

"I was at Mr. da Silva's house less than a week ago," Mr. Duran informed them. "Your sister had been visiting him, together with Mrs. Viola de Lara, and they were just leaving."
"Pray tell, did my sister look well? She did not look pale or sickly, did she?"

Cautious as to not offend the sensibilities of his young wife, Isaac Duran assured Stella that Miss Elena looked as beatiful as ever.

"And her kiddushin is but three weeks away!"
"Yes. I was honored by Mr. Da Silva's request that I serve as one of the ushers," the young man smiled, proudly.
"Oh how I wish how I could be there for my dearest Elena!" Stella cried. Mrs. Duran, who, at closer inspection, did not look to be older than sixteen, asked naively:
"Can't you go? I have heard it is only a day's ride from your part of the country to Town!"

An awkward pause ensued. Finally, Stella explained to Mrs. Duran: "My family does not look with a kind eye at my marriage to Lord Hester. Appearing at my sister's wedding would be tantamount to causing a great row--I should never dare. But I should love to send Elena a wedding gift."

Eager to remedy her preceding tactlesness, Rachelle Duran cried eagerly:
"We should be thrilled to take it--shouldn't we, mi amor?"
"Absolutely, Rahelica," her husband responded. All of a sudden, William noticed how this term of endearment affected Stella: she held her hand to her breast and looked away, as if in pain. William knew this look and feared it. It came on when she unexpectedly came in contact with some element of the world she had abandoned: this was the look on her face when during their engagement, he brought her from London a mezuzah, to nail to her doorpost. She looked like she did not know whether to jump for joy or to weep in sorrow. It was a world she loved dearly and had lost absolutely; and William knew himself to be the reason for it.

Several times during her conversation with the Durans, Stella allowed herself to use Ladino words--sometimes not more than expletives, but more often than not--words he could not understand. It grieved him, though he knew that she meant him no disrespect. In fact, William was rather jealous--not of Isaac Duran, of course, for the young man seemed completely innocent and utterly in love with his little wife, but of the commonality, which Stella sharead with these two strangers, and to which he was a stranger. He felt, very sharply, his own alienation: if it hadn't been for his impeccable manners and the fact that he, himself, had invited the Durans to visit them, he would have quitted the room. As it was, he remained, torn between jealousy and guilt.

His involvement with his wife's Jewishness was limited to a few Ladino and Hebrew words, mostly those of love, which she had taught him during their engagement; occassionally--standing idly by as she lit a candle on the Sabbath; and in general, serving as a temptation, sent to lead her away from the Tradition of her people. William felt positively awful.

Rachelle Duran noticed he guitar, which still lay on the rug at their feet, and praised the old instrument. The Durans begged Stella to play, and she acquiesced, looking coyly at his husband.
The song she played sounded somewhat like a waltz, and William was immediately enchanted, and somewhat--though not completely pacified--by her beloved voice.

Tres hermanicas eran,
Blancas de roz, ay, almas de flor
Tres hermanicas eran, tres ermanicas son.

Las dos eran casadas,
Blancas de roz, ay, ramas de flor,
Las dos eran casadas, la una--"

She suddenly cut herself off and laid her guitar on the coffee table.

"Why have you stopped, Lady Hester?" the young Mrs. Duran inquired. "You sang ever so prettily!"
"I don't remember how the song ends," Stella said, dryly. William wondered; it was something about three sisters, he could tell; two were married, the last one-- what happened to the last one?

The Durans soon took their leave, having insisted that they must sup together before long, and promised to take Stella's gift to Miss Elena. After they were gone, Stella remained by the window, pensive, looking out at the setting sun. William came up from behind and, somewhat in spite of himself, gently pulled her into his embrace.

"What happened to the third sister?" he whispered.
"Pardon?" she looked up at him, startled.
"The song was about you, wasn't it? There were three girls in your family."
She smiled unhappily and admitted to it. "My mother used to sing to my sisters and me when I was a child." And at this, she fell silent again.
"So?" he asked.
"So what?"
"So what happened to "la una"?"
Stella sighed. "La una se deperdio," she whispered. "She was lost."

He stepped back.
"Is that what you think?" he asked, deeply hurt. "That you are lost?!"

She turned around quickly, desperate to correct the effect of her words on him, but it was already too late: what was said, was said.

"No!" she cried, "No, William! I do not think so! It's just--"
"Do not insult me by lying to me," he said fiercely.
"Well," she hesitated. "A part of me is lost, William. My family--my people--my tradition--"
"Stella," he said bitterly, "I have tried my best--and I promise you, I should try best in the future--to complement what you have lost--but I shall never be able to take the place of your family."
There were tears in her eyes and it tore his heart to pieces.
"I can not jump higher than my own head," he continued. "I can only love you--but if that is not enough for you--I cannot bring your family back, Stella."

He felt himself breaking down and thought, in utter horror, that he was about to cry. He had not really cried since his dog, Napolitano, died when he was thirteen--not even at his father's wake did he shed a tear. Now, there was a painful lump in his throat and his eyes were welling with teras. He turned away, trying his best to take control over himself. But a second later, her arms encirled his waist from behind, and as she pressed herself to him from the back, he could no longer contain himself.

"Forgive me," he sobbed, pathetically, "Please, Stella--do not hold me--I shall return--"

He cast her hands away and rushed out of the room, hiding face in his hands. Standing in the hallway, he pressed his forehead aginst the wall, weeping most pitifully and hating himself for that. He had not known this side of love; he had not wished for it; but something inside of him was telling him that this terrible feeling of losing his newfound happiness would always walk side by side with the happiness itself. That Stella may blame him for the loss of her family; that he may lose her love; that their felicity was by no means secure--all of it filled him with utter despair and heartache.

William heard the door open, and through his tears, saw his wife come out into the hallway. He was deeply ashamed of himself: what must she think--her husband, her protector, bawling like a woman! He turned his face away from her, hiding. Immediately, he felt her hand on his shoulder and heard her voice--and there but love and concern in it:

"Come inside, dearest," it said, as she gently turned him around. "Please," Stella begged as she handed him a handkerchief.

William wiped his eyes and noticed that she, herself, had been crying. He held the door for her as they went back inside.

"Please forgive me," he muttered. "I do not know--this will never happen again."
"Surely," she said, placidly. "And I hope you forgive me as well, my love."
"For what?" he grumbled, somewhat more composed now, his face burning with shame.
"For being so utterly insensitive to you, Will. Please understand--even if I grieve after my family, I in no way blame you for my loss of them. Marrying you was a choice I made--and I have not regretted it yet, and I never shall--unless you take your love away from me."
"Never!" he said hotly, seizing both her hands and squeezing them tightly. "How can you even think this is beyond me, Stella!"
"Very well," she whispered, smiling at him. "It is decided, then--we are to love each other, forever, with all our hearts."

With a groan, he pulled her into his arms. Alit by the setting sun, they stood in front of a large window, embracing fiercely and saying nothing. That night, even as he slept, William held on to his wife tighter than before; for, he knew, life without her would be worthless to him.

June: The Letters
Stella

The morning after our return to Bloomfield Park, there was a knock on my dressing-room door as I sat at my toilette.

“Stella?” I heard my husband’s voice. I told him to come in and he soon loomed behind me in the mirror, handsome as ever.

“Good morning,” he said, leaning and nuzzling my neck. “Have you slept well?”

“I would have slept better if I had your arms wrapped around me,” I replied, looking up at him. He laughed and gave me a most teasing kiss.

“I thought it better to leave you be after such an arduous journey.”

“Well, think better next time,” I smiled. “Your company could never be a burden to me, William.”

He slowly knelt in front of my chair. “I should take a note of that,” he whispered, wrapping his arms around me. It was then that I noticed that he was holding a letter.

“Is this for me?” I asked with trepidation.

“What?” He seemed dazed. “Oh, that. Forgive me, dearest, it is for you. I become an imbecile in your presence. It came with the post while we were on the holiday. ”
Great was my agitation as I tore at the seal, having recognized that of my father’s house.
“I shall leave you to read it,” he rose and quitted the room. I was so captivated that I paid him no mind.

The letter was from Elena. I had written to her soon after coming to Bloomfield, and then, one more time, right before the wedding. I had been anxiously awaiting an answer from her, and now, finally, it was come.

“Kerida Stella Rosa,” my sister wrote. I nearly wept: though William made a conscious effort to preserve my full name, I knew that it would soon be irretrievably lost, as I became Lady Stella Hester. “Forgive me for not replying to you straight away, my dearest, but this is the first time an opportunity has presented itself, as Father is away on a business trip. He has been very cross with me after you left—had it not been for the protection afforded to me by the da Silvas, he might turn me away. But let me tell everything in good order.

After you left, Marcus d’Almazan came to our house, furious. He abused us all most abominably and would have laid his hands on Father, but Beni and Enrique threw him out of the house—in the full view of the juderia, to the laughter of the street children. There is really no one now who doubts that he is the most dreadful boor, so that should give you some comfort.

Unfortunately, dear sister, this is where the good news ends—the situation in our house has been at best very disheartening in the past month. Father has announced that you are dead and has sat in mourning for you, every day since your escape. He and Beni sat shiva [8]for you—but Enrique has refused and has not been to our house since. Father rent his clothes and still walks barefoot at home—and all the mirrors in our house are covered. This is the first time Father has left the house since your elopement. It is really quite distressing. Forgive me for giving you pain, but I know that dishonesty would pain you more.

Beni and Enrique had a falling out over the new shul that is to be built in the West End. Twenty young men from the juderia and the German quarter have agreed to found some new religious society--a very liberal one at that. Enrique is with them, as well as my Joseph (which greatly grieves his father the khakham). They say that they want Jews to concentrate on becoming full-fledged members of the British society, and they are said to look with kind eye towards marriage with gentiles. Beni is, of course, very displeased with Enrique, and has gone so far as to say that he will not speak to him until he abandons this “dangerous nonsense.” But it seems to me that maybe, they are right about it… Beni, on his part, has been talking much about moving to Palestine—it should not surprise me if this event happened before the end of the year…

Our mother is reasonably well, though Father has been rather furious with her, and for a few days, she even took to her bed. But she is all better now; I know that she holds no bitterness towards you. I am certain that she would have written you if she could.

Dear Stella Rosa, my kiddushin is to take place on July 1 (Hebrew Month?). I shall be glad enough to quit Father’s house, for it has been a dale of tears since you were gone. But it will pain me greatly to know that you are not there. I do miss you dreadfully, my dear. Since you were gone, there is hardly anyone to speak with at home—Mother is, well, Mother, Rivkah barely says a word, Margarita is as mean as ever—not even her approaching confinement has made her any kinder—and Viola has not been to our house in two weeks because Enrique will not let her. And you know, she has never been much for intelligent conversation to start with…

I surmise that you are married by now. I should have liked it well to be there for you. I wish you and Sir William all the joy in the world. May Abastad smile at you and your besher’t from above. Pray for me, too, dear sister, and write to me. After I am married to Joseph, I should prove to be a better correspondent. I remain your loving sister, Elena de Lara.”

I put down the letter and cried, bitterly. It contained no surprise for me—though it did cause me pain to know that my father preferred to think me dead rather than married against his will. But it was a natural turn of events—having so egregiously disobeyed my father’s orders, could I indeed expect anything other than the total estrangement from my family? What really grieved me was that I was a source of pain for all of them, particularly for my mother and Elena.

Having cried my fill, I walked around the house, searching for my husband. I finally found him in his study, hunched over a writing desk.

“Stella!” he turned around as I approached, catching me in his arms.
“What are you writing?” I sniffled, most pathetically.
“Simply business correspondence,” he said. “But you are crying. What—what has your sister written to you?”

Saying nothing, I gave him the letter.

“You wish me to read it?” he asked, unsure.
“I cannot tell you what’s in it,” I said, dabbing my eyes with a handkerchief. “I should rather you read it. As it is, I have no secrets from you.”
“Very well,” he said, unfolding the letter. As he read it, a shadow ran across his handsome brow; he finally folded the letter, and sat there, looking extremely confounded.
“I do not know what to say to you, dearest,” he whispered, looking gently into my face. “This was to be expected, Stella.”
“Expected!” I cried. “I certainly expected censure on the part of my family—but that my own father should hold me dead, should read Kaddish for me! Never, William!”

He took my hands in his, gently: “Stella,” he urged me, “I do not know how I should behave if one of my sisters disregarded my will as regards her marriage!”
That he tried to find a kindly excuse for my family touched me greatly; for in my bitterness, I could barely find it in my heart to do the same for them.

That night, I wrote Elena an answer.

“Mi Kerida hermanica,” I wrote. “You cannot possibly imagine how much joy and sadness your letter gave me. Joy, because it is a first voice from home and because it gave me news of you. Sadness, because it tears my heart to think that my family has buried me alive. But as I made my bed, so I shall lie in it; I have made my choice and, given another opportunity, would do the same again.

Dearest Elena, do not think me heartless: it pains me exceedingly to have grieved my family. But only now have I understood: all this time, I have been in love with Sir William and, if I were to be separated from him, my life would be misery alone. I wish you to be as much in love with Joseph as I am with my husband—and his love for me alone is worth anything in the world—even, forgive me, the loss of my family.

We were, indeed, married, though not according to our custom. I suppose then, that in the eyes of the juderia, I am still living in sin. I do hope that you do not condemn me, sister; for in the eyes of the rest of the world, our marriage is legitimate and solid. I love him so very much, Elena—a day away from him is like a dagger in my heart.

Mi hermanica, on our honeymoon in Bath, we met a Mr. and Mrs. Duran, a delightful couple, who claimed to be friends with your Joseph. They were not much for news, but they did agree to take a wedding gift from us to Joseph’s house. William and I chose it together; I hope it is to your liking.

I think I shall tell you a little bit about my husband—as if you and I were in our childhood bedroom, chatting before going to bed. He is a kind man; there is none I have met who would deny it. As his father had been ill for a long time before his death, William took all the family affairs upon him and has managed them splendidly ever since. His mother and siblings depend on him alone, and he dotes on them: he is a kind and caring brother, son, friend, master, landlord and, of course, husband. At the same time, he has a sharp mind and a natural flair for administration, which have made him so successful in managing his father’s—and now his own—estate. He is also naturally modest and sweet of disposition; strong and passionate—and all other manner of good things of which I cannot speak with you yet, since you are not yet married. I love him dearly: his regard means everything to me.

His family have treated me kindly, though some more so than others. Lady Hetty, his mother, has been polite but distant, as I understand she disapproves of our union. I cannot blame her: her son stood to make matches far more advantageous than the one he has ultimately made. I may only hope that with time, she will warm up to me.

William’s sisters, whom you have met briefly, are delightful girls. Vanessa, the elder, is really quite bright and sings beautifully; she has been my companion, since I have lost you. She has a sharp mind and tongue; she can make a loyal friend, but I should not want to become her enemy. Alexandra, the youngest child in the family, is coddled but kind, pleasant and sweet, but somewhat unformed and uneducated. Their brother Samuel, four years my husband’s junior, I cannot speak for—I have not had a chance to learn his character well enough. Like his brother, he seems bright, but also—willful and difficult. He has been unwaveringly friendly to me, but I suspect that in the future, his attitudes are to be governed by the woman we all think he should soon marry—a rather unpleasant sort, Miss Anabelle Fenwick. She alone deserves a separate letter.

Elena, marriage is a delightful thing, if you love your spouse. I do wish I could be near you at the time of your kiddushin, but you may rest assured that my thoughts, prayers, and the very best wishes will be with you. I think there is no need to say it again, but I shall nonetheless: you and your husband are welcome at Bloomfield Park any time. William esteems you greatly and regrets any pain that our elopement may have caused you (particularly, and the rest of our family generally).

I shall send this letter to Mr. Da Silva’s house, as I should not wish it to fall into Margarita’s hands. I forever remain your loving sister, etc, etc.”

I sent the letter that same day. All through that evening—my first full evening as a Mistress of Bloomfield Park—I remained pensive and a poor companion for my husband.

Top
June: La Vida d’Una Mujer
Stella

During the first few weeks of my marriage, it was exceedingly difficult for me to adhere to the customs and traditions of my people. Though William made an honest attempt to help me—for instance, Mrs. Livesay was given express instructions to exclude pork almost entirely—we were often invited to supper at our various neighbors’, and then, I should have to eat whatever was served. Pork was, of course, the biggest problem, as it was accompanied by such a hefty portion of guilt that it made me ill almost physically. There were other dietary problems as well, as the peculiar combination of milk and meat, as in a beef stroganoff, though somewhat familiar to me from our stay at Brighton, also proved most disagreeable to my stomach and conscience. I, however, tried my best not to embarrass William in front of our neighbors.

Food was not the only problem. Being active on Shabbat and idle on Alhat was a new thing and took some getting used to. William was liberal with me, as he allowed me to light candles every Friday night—and indeed, he seemed to quite like watching me do it—and ordered a mezuzah from a Whitechapel shop. I was thrilled and had it affixed to the doorpost of my bedroom; Samuel, to William’s consternation, noticed that he could not perceive how such a small amulet, fashioned of glass and metal, could protect anyone from anything.

“It has the writings of the Torah inside of it,” I explained to him, trying my best to be patient with his ignorance. When he rolled his eyes, rather disrespectfully, I saw William stiffen. Rising, he demanded that Samuel join him in his study. Samuel followed him, reluctantly, even as Vanessa, smirking, drew her hand sideways across her throat. The audience must have been rather unpleasant, because Samuel soon stormed out of the house and did not come back until much later. Feeling extremely uncomfortable, I tried telling William that in no way did I want to be a reason for disagreement between him and his brother.

"Stella," he said rather roughly, "You are my wife and the Mistress of this estate. My brother should better accustom himself

to treating you with utmost respect."

My first disagreement with my husband over my customs came two weeks after we were married. I had started my menses and, as the custom of my people was, was wont to remove myself from my husband’s presence. It had been an absolute custom among my people that a menstruating woman was unclean; she could not share her husband’s bed or he, too, became contaminated. William, however, was shocked to hear of it.

“You wish me to quit your bed for the next ten days?” he inquired of me. I had come to speak with him in his study, and he stared at me quizzically, as I had torn him away from some estate business.

I explained to him all about our customs in this area. He seemed dumbfounded.
“I should not press my rights tonight,” he agreed, “but why can’t we sleep in the same bed?”
“Because it will make you unclean.”
To my utter consternation, he burst out laughing. “By whose estimation?” he cried out. “Forgive me, dearest, but I was not brought up in your faith, and I do not see the need to remove myself to the opposite wing of the house every time this time of the month comes!”

I was deeply insulted. “You make light of my religion, sir!” I cried.
“No,” he argued, “I do not. You cannot say that I have not made an honest effort to make you comfortable in this respect—but this I protest, absolutely.”
“Very well, then,” I said, furious. “I shall quit my own bed tonight, sir.”
“Oh, well, if this is how far this goes—” he shrugged his shoulders. “I shan’t bother you tonight, however ridiculous this seems to me.”

With this, he turned back to his papers, and I quitted his office, more angry at myself than at him. He was true to his word; that night, I slept alone—for the first time since we have come to Bloomfield. Or, to be exact, attempted to sleep, tossing and turning all night long. At breakfast, to my perverse satisfaction, I noticed that he, too, looked as if he had not slept the night.

After we ate, I held him back and confessed that I was a wreck without him.
“Please come to me tonight,” I begged him.
“What about your religion?” he asked, earnestly. “I confess, I much prefer your company to an empty bed, but I would not dream of imposing myself on you.”
“I shall have to sin, then,” I said, smiling at him. After all, I thought, my whole marriage is a grievous sin according to my religion.
“Stella,” he said, gently taking my hand, “You are so lovely and wonderful. I can hardly understand how you can be unclean at all—and more so, how you can make me anything but better by your presence.”

I felt my eyes well with tears as he embraced me and planted a gentle kiss on my lips. “There, there,” he whispered, “do not cry, my little Jewess.”

There was one more part to this custom: at the conclusion of my period, I was to take a ritual bath, in order to purify myself. In London, my sisters and I went to mikveh at the Bevis Marks synagogue; here, at Bloomfield, a bathtub, though stat would have to do.

All alone in my dressing room, I undressed and cleaned myself as I should do at Bevis Marks. I then slid in the behemoth tub and held my head under water for a fraction of a second. As I came up, my eyes closed, I muttered a prayer. When I had said my prayer for the third and final time and finally opened my eyes, I was surprised to see William standing in front of me.

“What are you doing here?” I asked, slightly shocked at the impropriety of it. “Have you been watching me?”
“I was looking for you,” he said. “I had to ask you something.”
“What?”
“I confess I quite forgot,” he murmured, peering, most inappropriately, at my form, unclothed and wet. Then, to my further surprise, he began to unbutton his coat.
“What are you doing?” I cried, laughing, as he flung his coat to the floor.
“It seems that I, too, am in need of a little purification,” he said, tearing at his cravat. “After all, I have shared your bed for the past three nights, my darling—and have been polluted most egregiously.” His cravat, then his shirt, breeches, and boots joined his coat on the floor. “My soul is in danger, Stella—unless you cleanse it—now.”

As he joined me in the bathtub, William said, his voice hoarse:

“I have to say, Stella, that your people are wise. Three nights in your bed, unable to touch you—that really was quite a torture.”

He began kissing me, his lips slipping on my wet skin. I was still nidda, unclean: another week needed to pass before my husband could legally touch me. Yet, I could not contain myself: I responded to him with all the heat, which had been preserved in me for the past several days. Since the time of Solomon, we Jews are bid to find the greatest simcha, mirth, in the union, both spiritual and carnal, with the one we love.

…

One morning, as we all sat at breakfast, Mlle Carefour, Alexandra’s governess, announced that she was leaving to get married. William, who apparently knew about this, looked sour.

“We shall all miss you,” he said to Mlle Carefour. “My sisters shall miss you. And I shall certainly miss the results of your good labors,” he glanced at Alexandra.

“You shall have no trouble finding mademoiselle Alexandra a good governess,” Mlle Carefour said.

“Oh, I doubt that,” William sighed ruefully, shaking his head.

Richard Fenwick who, of late, had been coming to Bloomfield nearly every day, suggested quietly:

“Perhaps Miss Hester should teach her sister.”

“I?” Vanessa laughed. “How am I qualified?”
“Actually,” William said, suddenly caught up in the idea. “I think you are tremendously qualified!”
“What shall I teach?”
“Grammar, literature, music, French—“
“C’est vrai,” Mlle Carefour agreed. “Mlle Hester parle français aussi bien que moi.”

“Nessa, I should quite like you to teach me!” Alexandra said pensively. “I am going to miss dear Mlle Carefour dreadfully, but if someone else has to teach me, I should rather it be you than a stranger!”

“I shall think about it,” Vanessa promised, obviously flattered. “But I cannot teach everything—there are subjects of which I am perfectly ignorant!”

“You are being too harsh on yourself, Miss Hester,” Mr. Fenwick said.
“No, no. I know little of history and geography, and my literary education is incomplete as well. And though I understand mathematics, I am poorly qualified to teach it.”

“Well then, let Stella help you.” William said, throwing me a hopeful glance.
“William, I would be honored, but like your sister, I am worried that having knowledge is not the same as being capable of teaching!”

“There is no harm in trying,” William said. “Please, Stella, you know history and geography better than anyone I know. The both of you should be great. Do me this favor and try?”
“Well, all right,” I said, baffled. Samuel immediately suggested that on his part, he could teach his younger sister mathematics, to which she loudly objected:
“Willie, why do I need mathematics, of all things?”

“You need everything,” William replied sternly. “It forms the mind. It shall make you a clever young lady—or should you rather be obtuse and make a joke of yourself among intelligent people?”

Alexandra retreated, grumbling to herself that Miss Such-and-such, while not knowing how to put two and two together, was splendid clever, and no-one was making her spend the days of her youth suffering over numbers—but William’s one raised eyebrow was enough to silence her on the subject.

So it was decided. We were now to teach Alexandra everything we, ourselves, knew of the world. I felt positively influential, for Ali, though delightful and kind was, indeed, somewhat unformed and uneducated. William was thrilled at having come to such a useful decision; he quite forgot that it was Mr. Fenwick, who suggested it to him in the first place. On my part, I welcomed the opportunity to talk about the things I loved most with someone I liked and to impart my passion upon another.

During our first lesson, I came to discover exactly how unfinished Alexandra’s education was. Apparently, whatever Mme Carefour taught her, it was not geography. Alexandra and I stood in front of a large globe in the library; I handed her Mlle Carefour’s old pointer and asked her to show me where we were at the moment.

After she had wandered around the globe for a good five minutes, looking for Bloomfield Park anywhere from Brazil to Ceylon to Russia, I turned the world around so that we were faced with a map of England.

“Oh, right,” she said. “This is where we are!” And she indicated that Bloomfield Park was near none other than Dublin, Ireland.

“I see. Shall you do me a favor, dear Ali? By our next lesson, which is, well, tomorrow, I should like you to learn the map of Britain.”
“Of England, you mean to say?”
“No,” I said. “Of the British Isles—England, and Scotland, and Ireland, and Wales.”
Alexandra sulked. “Learn it?”

“Well enough to show me any city, county, or river I ask for.”
“But Stella!” she protested. “I already have homework from Vanessa!”
“And you shall have more from me,” I said. “It is only eleven o’clock, Ali, you have all day. I have promised your brother to try my best—how am I to fulfill that promise if I do not assign you sufficient homework?”

With that, we went to history. Before going into the beginnings of time, I decided to find out what my sister-in-law knew about what was happening in the world at the time. Suffice it to say, her knowledge of geography was vastly superior to that of current affairs.

“Who is the ruler of England?” I asked her. She stared at her shoes. “The Queen?” She muttered, looking up at me.
“Very well, the Queen,” I said. “And her name is—“
“I do not know,” the girl said.
“Then how do you know that we have a Queen?”

“Because the vicar in Church says, “God save the Queen.”
“Right.” That was definitely an improvement. At the very least, her deductive skills were good. “Her name, by the way, is Victoria.”
”Oh, of course, Victoria! I knew that!”

“Do you know how old the Queen is?”
“I should think she is entirely too old and displeasing! And hideous, probably.”
“She is my age,” I said, baffling Alexandra. “And quite amiable and attractive, from what I heard.”

“But that makes her barely older than me!”
“Yes. If you were forced to govern a country tomorrow, Ali, what should you do?”
Alexandra seemed duly impressed and I decided to go on. “And the prime-minister?” I asked, sheltering no hope. She stared back at me, saying nothing.
“Mlle Carefour did not teach me that,” she said, finally.

“Pray tell, Ali, what did your excellent Mlle Carefour teach you?”
The girl became excited. “French,” she cried, “And piano, and singing, and some drawing, even!”

“Delightful,” I said, thinking that perhaps, it was an exceedingly good thing the woman had left. “Is your French good?” I asked her.
“Well, Vanessa does not think so. She says I should work more on my accents and grammar—but I think I am good enough to speak at balls, if I wanted to seem refined.”
I stifled a laugh; should William, with his odium of any kind of pretension, hear this!
“Well, I cannot judge your French,” I said. “I should like to learn it myself.”
“Do you not speak it at all?”

“No, I was never taught.”
“Do you speak anything else?”
”Hebrew and Ladino,” I said. She became curious and asked me questions about the languages, and when I told her that both Hebrew and Ladino were written right to left, she became very excited and pressed me into writing her name for her.

“Later,” I said resolutely. As far as homework, I pitied her, and only asked her to tell me, by tomorrow, who the Prime Minister was and which party was in power.
“And you cannot ask anyone!” I warned her.
“How am I to find out, then?”

Taking her by the hand, I turned her around, pointing at the numerous book-cases that rose, filled with books, to the very ceiling. “And,” I added, “William receives a Sunday paper from London, which he keeps, having read it, in that large basket, right over there.”

Alexandra spent all of that day in the library. She went there after supper as well, and we did not see her for the rest of the evening. Much later, before retiring ourselves, William and I went to check on her in the library; we found her, poorly lit by the only remaining candle, asleep in a large armchair. Her fingers were covered in ink and an open issue of The Times half-slipped off her lap. Several books and numerous sheets of paper, all covered with squiggly writings, were scattered around her on the rug. I picked one up from the floor and read:

“England—London, Birmingham, Liverpool, Manchester. Scotland—Aberdeen, Glasgow, Edinburgh. Wales—Swansea, Cardiff. Ireland—Dublin, Ulster. Lord Melbourne is the Prime Minister…”

I showed it to William. He looked over it, smiling. “What a day’s progress!” he whispered, obviously delighted. “You are a treasure, Lady Hester.”

He then lifted Alexandra in his arms and carried her to her room, where we surrendered her to the cares of Mrs. Livesay.

Vanessa’s impressions of Alexandra’s knowledge were slightly better than mine, for she tutored her in subjects, which had previously been the focus of Mlle Carefour’s instruction. Samuel’s lectures, on the other hand, failed miserably.

It was about a week into our little project that Vanessa and I, having walked in the Park, came home to a screaming argument between Samuel and Ali. She had been morose over Vanessa’s refusal to take her with us, as she still had her mathematics lesson. Now, as we entered the house, we were met by screaming and weeping emanating from the library: the former belonged to Samuel, the latter—the desperate, dejected sobs—to his sister.
“Oh, no,” Vanessa said, directing her step towards the library.

There, Samuel paced madly, from time to time erupting in mild blasphemy, which invariably caused Alexandra to become more inconsolable.
“What is the matter?” Vanessa cried as we entered. Alexandra sprung to her feet, rushed towards us, and threw her arms around my neck, proceeding to weep on my shoulder.
“I cannot teach her, Vanessa!” Samuel exclaimed. “How on earth did we get a sister so stupid?”
“Samuel, please!” Vanessa said angrily. “Choose your language more wisely, if you please!”

Alexandra, tearing her face away from my shoulder and pointing accusatively at her brother, moaned through her tears:
“He always says that! Ever since we’ve started, all I hear from him is ‘stupid, stupid, stupid!’ Why does he even try teaching me?!”
“It is like she is not our parents’ daughter! Lazy, unthinking, stupid girl!”
This brought on a new spell of weeping; the dress on my shoulder was now positively soaked. I was furious with Samuel; it would serve him well to be a bit kinder to his sister.

“How do you expect her to learn anything when you shout at her?” I asked. “Did your professors at Cambridge abuse you in such an abominable manner?”
“The difference was, dear sister, that I never merited such a reproof,” Samuel said, haughtily. I had nothing to say to that.
“Come,” I said to Alexandra, who was still sobbing. The three of us quitted the room, leaving Samuel to fume alone.

That night, after William came home from a surveying trip, Vanessa and I told him of what had transpired. He frowned, silent, and then asked Samuel for better self-control next time.
“She won’t learn a thing with him,” I said to him that night. “Perhaps you should teach her yourself.”
“Samuel is remarkably good at mathematics. He has all manner of awards from Cambridge. I, on the other hand, am only average at it. He can do a better job teaching her.”

It was exceedingly strange to hear that he could have been average at anything; I remained convinced that patient and good-hearted as he was, William could do a far superior job to what his hot-blooded, intolerant brother had been doing.

Samuel’s forbearance lasted for exactly another week; his second fight with Alexandra happened in William’s presence, leaving the latter irate with his younger brother. William had been sitting in his study, occupied with some accounting documents for the estate; as I sat reading, I moved my chair close to his. He was like a source of light to me: simply being in his presence made me feel warm and happy. From time to time, he reached for me and stroked my hair absent-mindedly.

This fairly pleasant pastime was most rudely interrupted, as Samuel and Alexandra burst through the double doors, screaming at each other. Alexandra was weeping, and Samuel was flailing his arms in great agitation. William put down the papers and stared, bewildered, at his younger siblings.

I pleaded with Samuel and Alexandra to calm down, but that was easier said than done. Samuel continued to pace, furiously, around the study, while Ali sniveled piteously, shuddering with every sob.

William said nothing, waiting for an explanation, but I could see that he was slowly beginning to boil. I did not understand the problem that Samuel was having: there was not a person in the world who could not get along with Alexandra. Perhaps, I thought, it would be good if he felt the brunt of his brother’s anger.

It was all the same: she complained that he was verbally abusive, calling her a daft idiot; the only thing that Samuel could say to his defense was that she had been inattentive, careless and lazy.

“Right,” William said. “No more mathematics for you, Alexandra.”

Sob.

“That is, until we find you a more fitting tutor—one with better self-control and more gentlemanly manners!” he added, poison in his voice.
“I fail to understand why you encourage mediocrity in her, Will!” Samuel said haughtily.
“I! Encourage mediocrity!” William cried. “If I could, I should encourage some kindness in you—but that, I am afraid, is impossible!”
“Does it strike you that perhaps it is just impossible to teach her?”

William frowned, as if physically pained, as Alexandra emitted a dangerously high-pitched sob.

“Just—disregard my request, Samuel, shall you?” he said briskly, turning back to his papers. “And please quit my apartments immediately,” he added.

Samuel did as told, slamming the door behind him. William pretended to read, while I tried to comfort Ali. All of a sudden, he set his documents aside and said, crossly:

“Lady Stella, shall you help my sister calm down—outside of this room?”

I complied, leading Ali out of the room.
“Will is cross with me, is he not?” she asked, miserable. “Why, oh why am I so dull?”

“William is cross with Samuel, not you.” I answered. “And you are not dull. You are perfectly clever—you are just a tad bit inattentive sometimes, but that is to be expected of young ladies. At any rate, you can teach yourself to concentrate.”

That night, in our marriage bed, William complained to me, like a child.

“I am just so tired, Stella, I am so tired of worrying for everyone,” he whispered. “First my father, and my mother, and now Samuel is determined to propose to the wrong woman, and Vanessa is constantly cross with me for not allowing her to sing, and Alexandra—Alexandra is promising to turn out a daft blabbermouth of sorts, and I must feel responsible for all of it!”

“You cannot concern yourself so,” I whispered, gently stroking his face. “You are responsible for their guardianship, true, but you cannot make them all perfect, and you cannot keep everyone happy.”

“Well, I feel responsible for them,” he sighed. “My mother loves us all dearly, but she could never be a disciplinarian, not for the life of her! I am afraid that if I were to leave Alexandra with her, she would turn out pretentious and empty-headed…”

“What about Samuel? You cannot influence him. He is already a grown man.”
“No,” he agreed. “But he is searching for his own lodgings in the area—I cannot turn my own brother out of doors! The truth is,” he admitted, “I am quite ashamed to admit it, but my own patience is short when it comes to Samuel. Sometimes I fear I find too much fault with him… Ah, Stella,” he whispered, “you make me think of these things—you make me a better man.”

He held me tightly against him, and like so, we fell asleep.

Next Section