Stella Rosa's Story – Section IV
by Sabine

Last update June 5, 2002

The Beginning
Previous Section
Next Section

June: Richard Fenwick’s Ball
William

Soon after Samuel had abandoned all of his efforts to teach Alexandra mathematics, the Hesters received a formal invitation from the Fenwicks—to attend a masquerade ball at Hereford. It was a most delightful news; and even the usually quiet, unenthusiastic Vanessa seemed genuinely pleased.

Alexandra, on her part, jumped up and down for a good minute, and it pained William greatly to deliver a different piece of news to her: she could not go.
“It is an adult function, Ali,” he said, trying to soften the blow as much as possible, but her lip had already started to tremble, and tears were about to flow from her eyes.

“But William, it is a masquerade!” Alexandra cried. Bloody hell, William thought, why did Dick Fenwick have to go and make it a blasted masquerade?

“It is still an adult function,” he persisted, and, having suggested that perhaps, she could go next year, made his escape before a river of tears would spill forth. He took Zanzibar and went riding, angry with Fenwick, Alexandra, but most of all, himself. But it was all well: by the time he would come home, he thought, the worst of it would have blown over.

As it always happens, it did not. At supper, Alexandra sulked and said not a word. She barely ate and her eyes were red like a rabbit’s. William tried to sound spry, made jokes, and talked too much about the disputes between his tenants and the calf he had seen born the day before. But it was all in vain; the women of his family kept their silence—both Stella and Vanessa seemed to have developed some sort of a plot to drive him insane, as both were perfectly pleasant and completely mute.

He would not be bested by three consorting women, William said to himself and, for the last part of the supper, spoke only to Samuel—who, still sour a week after William had thrown him out of his apartments, proved to be a poor conversation companion.

That night, he came to Stella’s apartments, fully certain of the coldest possible reception, and was surprised and delighted, having found his wife flirtatious, ready and willing. A moment after he walked in, her arms were around his neck, and his lips were on his.

“Madam, my sisters are going to crucify you,” he laughed, sweeping her into an embrace.
“We shan’t tell them,” Stella whispered back to him. I am ever so fortunate a man, William only just had the time to think, before all sense and reason abandoned him.

Later that night, his eyes roved lazily over her form, so perfect and womanly, as she lounged next to him, propping her disheveled head on one arm.
“Alexandra is very sad, Will,” she said. He groaned and fell back on the pillows.
“I knew it,” he said, half-jokingly. ‘I should not have come here tonight.”
“Do you regret it?”
“I shall, if you do not quit this subject. I know what you are doing, Lady Hester.
You lured me here—ensnared me with your womanly charms!—and now that I am completely undone, you are to deliver the final blow.”

“I did no such thing!” Stella said, laughing. “You came here—I simply afforded you the reception I thought should be afforded to one’s beloved husband.”

“Mmmmmm,” he closed his eyes and smiled. “Say it again,” he demanded.
“Say what again?”
“ ‘Beloved husband.’”

His eyes still shut, he felt her move nearer, felt her hair tickle his chest and her lips touch his ear gently.

“My beloved husband,” she whispered. This was the moment he could have given her anything she should deign to ask her. Except, of course, what she actually did ask for.

“William,” she said softly, “Ali is so broken-hearted.”

William sighed, uneasy at disappointing her. He valued her advice when it came to his siblings, but he felt that the undue indulgence in upbringing often lead to the most miserable results; in addition, the liveliness, which made Stella all the more attractive to his eyes could be damaging to his sisters. Particularly in someone like Alexandra, who had little proper understanding or self-limitation, such spryness could very easily degenerate into an extreme lack of decorum.

“I cannot take her, Stella,” William said. His eyes still closed, he felt, momentarily, that she held herself away from him, and sighed, grieved that her affection was so easily lost. Then, a second later, her head came to rest on his shoulder, and he clasped her tightly in his arms.

“She has been crying all day today,” Stella told him. “It is only a masquerade ball, Will.”

“It is just improper, Stella. She is but fifteen years old. She is not yet out. The ball is going to run until late into the night—and a mask is not going to hide her. Tomorrow—tomorrow, Stella—all of –shire is going to say that young Alexandra Hester was dancing at a late-night ball.”

“Why is it important?” she asked. “You often wonder about what all of –shire will think. Why does it concern you so much?”

“Because it is rather likely that when it is Alexandra’s time to have suitors, to be courted, to marry—it is very likely, Stella, that she will marry one of the local gentlemen. I do not want it to be said that my youngest sister is wild.”

“But you liked it—in me, I mean to say.”

”I did,” he agreed. “But I am afraid that Alexandra does not have your good
judgment and your common sense. If she is allowed to do what she wants, she’ll just remain silly like she is… I cannot,” he said stubbornly. “Please do not ask me anymore… It pains me exceedingly to refuse you.”

Stella made no further mention of the matter, having honored his request. William rejoiced, once again, at how clever a wife he had.

Stella

There was one more problem with the Fenwicks' invitation: I could not dance. My parents had not anticipated that one day, I may have to display my waltzing skills; all I knew where the Sephardim dances, which were as easy to learn as they were delightful to practice.

So, a fortnight before the great ball, William and Vanessa undertook to teach me waltz, mazurka, and polonaise. One morning, having for once excused Alexandra from her lessons, the three of us gathered in the Bloomfield ballroom--a great room, two floors high, with a magnificent crystal chandelier. On one side, a rather large gallery meant to allow the Hesters' guests to socialize and observe the dancing couples below.

Vanessa lead the way and landed, with flourish, in front of the pianoforte.

"Shall we now begin?" she inquired, throwing a meaningful glance at William and me, one eyebrow raised.

William, suddenly very formal, stepped towards me and, with a bow, offered me his hand.

"May I have the honor, madam?" he asked. I stepped up, placing my palm on top of his. His back very straight, he immediately pulled me closer, one hand grasping mine, the other expertly sliding to the middle of my back. "Now see, Stella: you start with your left foot and step back; yes, like so. And now, with your right one--yes, very well. And you turn as I turn. Vanessa, please."

Vanessa's talented hands took the first chord. "Just trust me," William whispered. "You'll do splendidly. Very well, one--two--three--"

It was really quite amazing; looking down at my feet, I expected them to make a mistake, but lo and behold! I was dancing. William's strong arms capably steered me around the dance floor, and his voice whispered into my ear: "One-two-three, here, hold my hand a little higher, one-two-three, you are doing beautifully, my darling, do not look at your feet--one-two-three--beautiful--"

I allowed him to lead me, and soon, my lips stopped whispering the "one-two-threes" and I stopped looking at my feet. I had never imagined that a simple dance may bring this much pleasure! What was once a childish diversion now became a purely sensual experience of surrendering to my husband's powerful embrace and allowing him to lead me.

Watching William as he danced was yet another beautiful experience. How graceful he was; how handsome; how easily his long body slid along the dance floor; and, what touched me most, how his eyes gazed at me!

We stopped, finally, and William, looking very pleased, laughed, picked me up and twirled me around the room.

"You are a natural, my love!" he said as he set me down.

Vanessa, turning around, applauded. "Oh, Stella, you shall take everyone's breath away!" she said kindly. I was elated; running over to her, I placed a most grateful kiss on her cheek.

"Another one, my love," William ordered more than asked; but was I glad to comply!

"Yessss, yessss, another one!" I cried, running back into his embrace. He kissed the top of my head as we took our position.

"Maestro, please!" my husband nodded to Vanessa, and my lesson continued.

...That night, I could not sleep, tossing and turning. In my head, there played a beautiful waltz; as I closed my eyes, I saw myself on the dance floor, in my husband's strong embrace. My heart beat wildly as I longed to go back to the ballroom.

His arms locking me into a tight embrace, William slept fitfully as well, muttering something in his sleep. As the night was very warm, I tried to free myself from his embrace, and woke him unwittingly. He muttered something, turned to the other side, and was immediately asleep again.

"Sorry, sorry," I murmured, sliding out of bed.
Throwing a dressing gown over my night-shirt, I slipped out of the bedroom and ran, barefoot, down the long hallway.

I found my way to the grand ballroom. It would have been quite dark but for the light of the large yellow moon that hung low over the Bloomfield gardens, peeking through the tall French windows. As it turned out, it was quite sufficient for me.

I threw my robe on a chair, and took a position in the middle of the floor.

"Sir," I nodded regally to my imaginary partner.
"You start with your left," he said, smiling kindly.
"Very well," I whispered, raising my arms, as if responding to his proffered embrace. "I shall follow you, sir..."

Closing my eyes, I stepped back with my left, counting softly to myself. It was not long before the music in my head raised me and carried me as if on shining white wings. The phantom arms steered me masterfully around the floor; very soon, the need to count disappeared and I lost myself in the waltz.

I did not know how much time passed before the music faded and I stopped. My eyes still shut, I sighed deeply, feeling my partner let go of me, as his hand, unwillingly, slipped out of mine.
The dance was over; I was, once again, all alone.

Great was my amazement when the ghost hand was suddenly replaced by a warm human one. I opened my eyes, only to see my husband in front of me.

"William, what are you doing here? Were you watching me?"

He nodded, smiling. "You never cease to amaze me, my beautiful Stella," he whispered. Like myself, he was barefoot, and wore only a pair of breeches and a white shirt, which gleamed faintly in the moonlight. "I could not sleep without you," he confessed, "and I knew where to follow you, my love." His hand found the middle of my back, pulling me closer. "Shall we?"

The music returned immediately, this time more joyous and confident, as my love guided me around the dance floor in the pale moon light. When our dance was over, we remained, for a long time, in the middle of the grand ballroom, our lips, our bodies, our very souls pressed together.

…………

Soon after the invitation came from the Fenwicks, William and I, together with Samuel and Vanessa, walked to town to buy our masquerade costumes. I was most excited; I had never before been in a masquerade.
“Yes, it’s quite pleasing,” Vanessa said, in her rather sedate manner. “The downside is that most of the costumes are really quite uncomfortable.”
It was decided that the four of us were to go dressed as the nobility of the previous century—complete with powdered wigs and glittering jewelry. To my surprise, it took our men longer to choose their costumes than it did Vanessa and me. Vanessa bought a red crinoline dress, and I set my sights on a very open frock of silver velvet, complete with a breathtaking train. William was resplendent in his costume of a marquis, which he stepped out, timidly, to show me.

“Is this good?” he asked. “I feel like an utter fop wearing this!”

I reassured him, candidly, that he was magnificent. He, too, approved of my choice, though looking quizzically at its very generous décolletage.
“Was there, perhaps, another one like this—” he whispered, “but less, um, uncluttered? No? Very well, then, this one is quite, um, exquisite on you.”

It was then that I noticed Vanessa looking intently at a costume of a page.
“Should you wear something like this?” I asked her.
“No,” she said, smiling. “Sadly, I am much too old for this, sister.”

Over the next week, I took many more dance lessons from my favorite teacher; both William and Vanessa constantly bestowed what I thought was unwarranted praise on me and finally, I, myself, began to believe them. Dancing with my husband was a superb pleasure to me—his arms around me were strong, but he was also splendidly graceful. Being so near him and so much in his power all but drove me mad with desire; the nights we spent together before the ball were our most passionate yet.

Then, several days before the ball, I knocked on Vanessa’s door. After I identified myself, there was some shuffling behind the doors, and then, Alexandra’s voice said:

“Come in!”
I entered and found the sisters, looking strangely uncomfortable, in front of a large mirror. What was even stranger, Alexandra was all but nude, wearing only her undergarments.

“What are you doing?” I asked them. Both girls looked away from me. Knowing full well that I would regret it, I approached Vanessa’s bed and quickly removed a cover. There, to my mortification, I found the very page’s costume I had seen in the shop.

“What is the meaning of this?” I demanded, quite angry.
“Oh, Stella, please, do not tell!” Alexandra cried.

I repeated my question, and the girls confessed: Alexandra was going to come to Hereford, later, alone, dressed as a pageboy and wearing a mask.
“Whose idea is it?” I cried.

“Mine,” Vanessa said firmly. “I think William is wrong in not letting Ali go to Hereford. I think it should be no great harm if she went.”
“You think? He is her guardian, Vanessa—and yours! If he so decided—“

“Oh, Stella dearest, please,” Alexandra begged. “I promise that I shall behave—and William will never know! Promise you shan’t betray us to him!”

I was quite confounded. My first loyalty was to my husband, but spying and reporting was quite against my nature. Margarita always did that, constantly spying after me and informing my father, Beni and even Luish, her husband, every time that I misbehaved.

“I shan’t tell,” I said. “But if something happens to you—how shall I look my husband in the eye?”

Incensed, I quitted Vanessa’s bedroom. For the next several days, I sulked, terrified that William should find out of the girls’ plan; I felt awful for lying to my husband and tried to justify it to myself as simply withholding the truth. But I knew: such egregious disobedience was a failing, and I was now tainted as well.

The night of the ball came. William came to my apartments and found me in front of the mirror, dressed as a marquise, my hair powdered with silver and a fake mole on my cheek. I placed another one, in the shape of a heart, just above the neckline of my dress. He noticed it immediately and made me blush by granting it a most immodest kiss.

“Mmmmm,” he sighed. “A new perfume, dearest? Orchids,” he whispered, regretfully taking his lips away. “Unfortunately, we must depart. But I shall think of you all night through, my love.”

We donned our masks, and I could barely contain my excitement—my husband would have to be the most handsome man in the entire assembly; and surely, the tallest.

“For tonight, madam, you should close your dance-list,” he told me as we quitted my bedroom. “For I shan’t give you up to anyone else…”

In the carriage, I tried to read Vanessa’s expression to determine whether Alexandra was to follow us to Hereford. Her face, however, was impenetrable behind her mask, and she said little. Samuel sat next to her, dressed similarly to William, with powdered hair and great blue bow on his foil.

At Hereford, we were greeted by Mr. Fenwick and his beautiful sister; he was dressed as a corsair, and she—as Anne Bonny.

“How delightful, Lady Hester,” Miss Fenwick purred, tossing back her blond curls and pointing at the mole on my chest, “I am sure this is much to Sir William’s liking!”
This was shockingly improper, but tonight, on the night of the masquerade, almost anything went.
“Yes,” William said, placing a possessive hand on my waist. “Much to my liking—as is everything my wife does, Miss Fenwick.”

Miss Fenwick grew somewhat sallow; her brother, on the other hand, beamed, looking very handsome, and could not take his eyes off of Vanessa. He soon inquired after her first three dances, and they were off. Samuel and Miss Fenwick followed them, leaving William and me alone on the threshold of the glittering ballroom, where many couples, richly dressed, whirled to the sound of a beautiful waltz.

“May I have the honor of this dance, madam?” my love asked me, most gallantly, and soon, the music lifted us up.

My husband proved to be the most wonderful dance partner. I danced with other men as well, barely managing not to stumble, but every time, I jealously watched William, as he danced with other ladies, and every time, I was glad to return to him. In general, I enjoyed myself immensely; I was beginning to believe that Alexandra, out of prudence, had changed her mind and would not appear.

After yet another waltz, William offered me his arm and we took a walk in the gallery, which overlooked the lush Hereford gardens.

“You have proved to be an excellent student,” he said to me, as we stopped in front of a large window, which opened over a stream running through Hereford.
“Of dance?” I asked him.
“Of everything,” he whispered, gently turning me around towards himself.
“I’ve had a most wonderful teacher,” I said, a second before a passionate kiss overtook us.

We stood like that for a long time and finally parted for air.
“I do wish we could retire home,” I whispered, turning away to look into the illuminated garden.
“Do you, really?” he laughed. “I thought you were having a good time.”
“True,” I agreed. “I love dancing. But when you kiss me, William, there is no place I should rather be than in your embrace—in our bedroom.”

He seemed pleased. “That is some forward talk from a refined young lady,” he said, smirking.

“I am sorry to cause you any unhappiness,” I said, teasing him, “but you may have to choose.”

“Choose?”

“Between having a refined young lady and a passionate wife,” I whispered, looking up into his face. Not even the ridiculous powdered wig could make him any less handsome. His kiss was his answer, and it assured me of what his choice would necessarily be.

When we parted again, I leaned against the windowsill to catch my breath. Casting my eyes about the garden, I noticed, all of a sudden, two familiar figures—a lady in a marquise costume and a handsome corsair—standing by the stream.

“William, look!” I whispered. He came to stand next to me, looking out into the garden.
“Why, if it is not Fenwick and my sister!” he said, with no small dose of surprise.

Indeed, the people outside were our Vanessa and our host. The fact of their presence in the garden was not by itself surprising—it was the fact that the corsair held marquise’s both hands, clasping them gently at his breast, which made us realize that we were intruding upon something private and momentous.

“William, we are spying after them,” I whispered, tugging at his sleeve. “It is most improper!”
“Oh, nonsense,” he answered. “I have a right to see how my ward is occupied!”
“Not only is she your war d, she is also your sister,” I noticed. “And Mr. Fenwick is a friend of yours! Cease, sir, it is most unfitting.”
“Do you not want to see?” he hissed, waving me away.
“I am dying to see,” I confessed.
“Well, hush, then, wife,” he whispered, looping one arm around my waist, and together, we watched the corsair bring his lady’s hands to his lips. With utter astonishment and joy, we saw him kneel before her and her—touch his face gently.

“I cannot believe this!” William muttered. “Fenwick, you fiend!”
“He hasn’t spoken to you about this?”
“No,” William shook his head. “Not a word. I knew that he liked Vanessa, but this—“

In the meantime, the corsair was back to his feet. Because the marquise was so tall, he did not have to lean when he put one hand on her face and gently touched her lips with his. I felt awful for spying on them, but thrilled that of all people, it was Mr. Fenwick. I knew that William loved him like a brother, and I was beginning to esteem his greatly.

Witnessing their kiss, William made an unintelligible sound.
“I told you we should not watch this,” I said.
“Aren’t you the fountain of wisdom,” he grumbled.

Suddenly, the corsair parted from the marquise and took off, running, in the direction of the house. She remained standing, immobile, as if frozen.
“What the—“ William furrowed his brow.
“I think we should return to the ballroom, quickly,” I suggested. “It seems to me your friend is coming to talk to you about something important.”

So we did, almost running. We were there before Richard Fenwick and when he entered, quite out of breath, pretended to have been engaged in a dance. He approached us and bowed to me sharply.

“Stella, may I take your husband away for a short moment?” he asked.
“Why, Fenwick, what is the matter?” William raised his eyebrows.
“Nothing—nothing’s the matter. I just need to speak with you, Hester—about something quite private.”

“Fenwick, there is nothing you can possibly tell me, which my wife is not fit to hear,” William said, bent on teasing the poor man. Fenwick hesitated, and I decided that I could not watch William torture him so.
“No, no, William, I shall not intrude upon you,” I said, stepping aside. “I am sure Mr. Fenwick’s judgment is correct. Go ahead, gentlemen. My dearest, I shall be here, waiting for you.” I gave him the most alluring glance I was capable of, and the two friends were off.

My heart somewhat aflutter, I made my way to an ottoman and sat down, and it was then that I saw, to my greatest consternation, Alexandra enter the room, dressed as a young page. She immediately saw me and approached me timidly.

“Ali,” I whispered. “Are you insane?”
“Stella, where is Will?”
“He is speaking with Mr. Fenwick about Va—about something important. How did you come to be here?”

“I rode Vicar.”

”Alone at night? Ali, William is going to be furious with you—and with the rest of us.”

“But I am wearing a mask,” she pointed out the obvious.

“Do you think your brother an imbecile?” I hissed. “In addition, you do not think, do you, that I should allow you to go back on horseback? You are to ride back with us, in the carriage.”

“But William is going to be angry with me!”

“Irate, I daresay. But you’ve made your bed, little one, you are now to lie in it.”

Alexandra sulked. At that moment, I saw my husband and Mr. Fenwick approach. For a second, I panicked, but a second later, realized that I was only able to recognize Alexandra because I had seen her costume before. She immediately stepped away, and William, who was clearly in high spirits, paid her no mind. Distressed as I was, I had to notice that both men were positively beaming. “My love,” William said, “Have you seen Vanessa?”

I told him I had not, hoping that my dismay was not too visible to him.
“My friend Fenwick has just asked for her hand,” William informed me. “I have given my consent to him gladly, and evidently, so has she.”

I pretended to be surprised and as to joy, there was no need to pretend. I liked Mr. Fenwick prodigiously, and was certain that he was to make Vanessa a most excellent husband. It was decided that we should all go and find her; but soon, there was no need to do so, because she, herself, approached us.

“Dear sister,” William effused, grinning. “I am so glad—Stella and I are thrilled for you!”

To my surprise, Vanessa’s reply was rather cool.

“I, too, am glad, brother,” she said, smiling calmly. “Mr. Fenwick and I have decided that we should not tarry and should get married as soon as the banns go through.”

“I shall have no objections to that,” William assured her. I was put off, somewhat, by Vanessa’s cool air at such a crucial and happy moment; but, I told myself, she is simply numb with happiness. Other than that, the match was agreeable to all of us. Of course, Lady Hetty permission would need to be asked, but no-one anticipated a negative reply. Yet there were at least two other people to inform at the ball—or so William thought—and Miss Fenwick was fetched immediately. To no-one surprise, she was found in Samuel’s company and the two came together.

The joy she exhibited at the news of her brother’s impending marriage was as insincere as Samuel’s was true. After enough congratulations were bestowed upon the happy couple—or at least the happy husband-to-be, and his reasonably pleased fiancée—Miss Fenwick started, as if remembering something, and said:

“Oh, Sir William! I thought you said that Miss Alexandra was to stay home tonight!”

Vanessa and I froze. We looked at each other, and as her eyes read mine, she grew white. The same question burned in our minds—if it was nearly impossible to recognize Alexandra in her costume, how did Miss Fenwick manage?

“I did say that,” William answered, still smiling from the recent happy news. “Why?”
“Well,” said Anabelle Fenwick, irresistible, blond curls escaping from under a pirate’s bandanna, “In this case, you are poorly informed, my dear sir.” And to Vanessa’s and my mortification, she pointed to the corner of the room, where Alexandra, still wearing a mask, flirted with a young shepherdess—who, at a closer inspection, turned out to be the young Roger Whitney.

For a second, William’s face betrayed his utter confusion; then, as it dawned on him what was going on, he colored deeply and clenched his teeth. By now, I knew him enough to tell that he was furious.

“Hester—” Mr. Fenwick placed a cautioning hand on his friend’s shoulder, but William moved away and said, with forced politeness:

“Leave it be, Fenwick.” After that, we watched, in utter mortification, as he made his way through the crowd and approached Alexandra, who, caught up in her flirtation, failed to notice him. William leaned over her shoulder and said something; she glanced up at him and staggered, obviously shocked at her easy discovery.

“Oh Lord,” Vanessa shook her head ruefully. “I am afraid that there may be nobody left for you to marry, Mr. Fenwick. My brother is liable to murder us all in his righteous anger.”

“I am sure you overestimate Sir William’s wrath,” Miss Fenwick said, smiling. I turned away from her—I simply could not bear watching her revel in family discord.

In the meantime, William returned, holding Alexandra’s elbow. They were both still masked; but it was easy to tell that Ali was crying and her brother was positively livid.

“Fenwick,” he said in the harshest tone, “we shall retire now. May I ask you a favor?”
“Surely.”
“My sister took her horse to ride here—would you be so kind as to send it back with a servant tomorrow? Miss Alexandra is riding back with us.”

“Will, I am staying behind,” Samuel said, throwing a glance at Miss Fenwick. “Let Ali take my seat in the carriage, and I shall take Vicar.”

“As you wish,” William said coldly. He bowed to Mr. Fenwick and his sister, turned around sharply on his heels, and quitted the ballroom. We were left no options but to follow him out.

In the carriage, no-one said a word. William stared straight in front of him and the three of us found it most prudent to keep silent. Once arrived at Bloomfield, Alexandra attempted to make for her room, but William stopped her.

“I shall have a talk with you, young lady,” he said harshly, and added, turning to Vanessa, “and with you.”
I half expected him to drag me along, but he seemed to ignore me. I watched the two sisters follow him, and worried about Alexandra: Vanessa, I knew, had strength enough to stand up to her brother.

That night, I expected him, as usual, to come to my bedroom. However, the time inched close to midnight, and there was no sight of him. I had undressed and brushed the glittering powder out of my hair; sitting in front of the fireplace, I mused about how perceptive Anabelle Fenwick turned out to be; that she was a snake not to be trusted was yet another obvious truth.

As time passed, I began to grow restless. At first I thought of writing him a note; but then, I told myself, this was my home and my husband. Surely I could intrude upon him in his chambers to inquire why he was ignoring me. I threw a robe over my nightdress and went.

As I knocked on the door of William’s bedroom, there was no answer. I knocked again and was about to go search for him in his study, when the door opened, and, to my great astonishment and consternation, I saw William already in his nightclothes.

“Madam, must you disturb me when I’m sleeping?” He asked in the most insufferable voice.

I was shocked; I had expected him to still be in his study. I could not imagine that he would purposely shun my bed because of a bad mood.

“I expected you to join me tonight,” I said.
“You need not do so,” he replied. “I am the master of this household and I shall visit you whenever I desire—and whenever I desire otherwise, I shall remain in my own chambers.”

“William!” I cried. “What is wrong with you? Are you to quit my bed every time one of your sisters disappoints you?!”

“This is has nothing to do with my sisters,” he said, in furious whispers. “You have disappointed me, Stella.”

“I have? Pray tell, how?”
“I cannot—shall not discuss this with you right now! We shall talk in the morning!” he snapped.

“Are you alone to decide when and how we resolve our conflicts?” I cried. “Have I no say?”

“Please,” he said, more constrained now. “Please do not pressure me, Stella. I shall explain everything tomorrow.”

“Then come to bed,” I nearly begged, already deeply humiliated. “Must you shun me so?”

“No,” he shook his head. “We shall talk in the morning. Good-night, Stella.”

This was the most insulting thing short of him slamming the door in my face. I turned around and ran down the hallway; I was fuming with anger, but as soon as I heard the sound of the door slamming behind me, my anger immediately turned into dejection and I burst out crying.

It was unthinkable at that moment to remain in the loneliness of my bedroom. Still crying, I knocked on Vanessa’s door. When she opened, I saw that she was not crying, but that Alexandra, sitting with her feet on the bed, was weeping most disconsolately.

“Stella!” Vanessa cried as I stumbled in. “What is wrong, dearest?” Unable to keep my grief to myself, but mortified to explain it to two unmarried girls, I covered my face with both hands and cried in shame.

“He has turned you away from his bed, hasn’t he?” Vanessa asked. “A vile bastard!”

I was shocked both at her understanding and at her inappropriate language; but it made things easier.

“See what you’ve done, Ali?” Vanessa fumed. ‘Oh, what am I about! See what we have done? Oh, I should never, never have helped you with this preposterous enterprise! Stella, I am so sorry—but I am sure he will be at your feet tomorrow! Much sense there is in marrying when men do things like that!” she added to herself.

Gradually, I stopped crying and sat down on the bed next to Alexandra, who was still whimpering.

“What did he tell the two of you?” I asked. “He is not sending you away, is he?”
“No,” Vanessa shrugged her shoulders. “He never would. That would mean surrendering his control over us!”

I knew that she was angry with William, and that made me forgive the obvious unfairness she bestowed upon her rather liberal and doting brother.

“But tonight—tonight he just raved and ranted and stormed around the room for a good quarter of an hour. I daresay it means nothing to me—but that he should treat you so abominably just breaks my heart.”

“He thinks I was involved, does he not?”

”No—I told him that you did not know anything, but I doubt he believed me. I think he knows that you knew, even if you were not involved.”

“One thing that baffles me,” I said after a while, “is how Anabelle managed to
recognize Alexandra when even I barely did?”

“Oh!” Vanessa cried, jumping up from the chair where she had landed but a
moment ago. “You should like to know that, shouldn’t you? Tell our sister, Ali, how it came about that Anabelle Fenwick knew it was you?”

In response, Alexandra fell into another bout of weeping. Vanessa, unable to stand it, shouted at her:

“Hush, you daft thing!” When Alexandra quieted down a bit, Vanessa turned to me. “I could not believe that Anabelle could tell—until Ali told me that she had shown her the costume!”

“What?”
“When they visited here with Mr. Fenwick a week ago, this—this—this fool showed Anabelle Fenwick—Anabelle, of all people!—her page costume!”

I was speechless.
“Ali,” I finally managed. “It was supposed to be a secret! And Vanessa is right—of all people, Ali!”

“How was I to know she would betray me?” Alexandra shouted through her tears.
“You should have thought and you should have listened,” Vanessa said poisonously. “But I gather that is too much to ask of you, sister—even when others’ well-being depends on your silence!”

“That should teach us not to misbehave in her company,” I noticed, glum.
“Or for her sake,” Vanessa added. Alexandra’s wailing rose, ever so loudly, to the ceiling. In her noisy misery, she looked and sounded so pathetic that Vanessa and I could not help laughing.

` I woke when I felt someone’s lips on mine, and someone’s hand wantonly caressing my face. Opening my eyes, I saw my husband. I was immediately angry: the night before I had locked my door, with the express intention to avoid exactly this situation.

“What are you doing here?” I asked him crossly, sitting up. He looked like he had been taken aback by my tone. “I have locked my door last night!”
“Well,” he said, smiling unsurely, “I have keys to all the doors in the house…”
“I hoped that a locked door would be a sign to you, sir, that I should appreciate not being intruded upon!”

“I did not realize,” he said, looking hurt, “that there were areas in my house where I could not presume to go!”
“It is decided, then,” I said, fuming. “You may go wherever you choose, and I have no right to privacy in your house!”

William stood up. “Very well, madam,” he said. “I shall go. I have no penchant for remaining where I am so obviously unwanted,” he announced, turning to go.
“Wait,” I said, feeling weak. However angry with him I was, I could not stand another day of estrangement from him.

He stopped in his tracks, then turned around.
“Wait for what?” he asked, harshly.
“You said that we should talk in the morning. Now is as good a time as ever.”

William hesitated. “I suppose you are right,” he said, finally. He returned to the bed and sat down on the edge. I gathered my nightdress around my shoulders: though it was summer, I was freezing at the thought of losing his regard.

William spoke first. “Vanessa told me that you were not involved in her and Alexandra’s decision to disobey me,” he said. “Is this true?”
“Yes,” I said.
“She also said that you knew nothing.”

I hesitated—it would have been all too easy to say that this was true, as well—that I knew nothing of his sisters’ exploit.

“That is not true,” I said. “I knew. I chanced upon them as they were trying on Ali’s costume.”

“So you knew,” he said, with visible displeasure. My heart fell.

“Yes, I did,” I said.

“And yet, you told me nothing.”

I watched him in mute astonishment. “Is this what you would have expected me to do?” I asked him after the gift of speech returned to me. “To spy on your sisters for you?”

“Must you put it in this way?” he frowned. “My restraints on their freedom are naught but reasonable. I have a reason to think of myself as a liberal guardian. But whatever rules I do establish—I should like Vanessa and Alexandra to follow them.”

“Very well,” I agreed. My mouth felt awfully dry and I thought, longingly, of the pitcher of cold lemonade Mrs. Livesay had down in the kitchen. “But William, how does it follow that I must inform you every time they break those rules?”

He seemed baffled. “You are my wife, Stella!” he cried. “You are my partner in life—my mate—my helper—“

“I am immensely pleased and honored, sir, that you consider me your partner and friend,” I said. “But you cannot make me spy on your sisters.”

“Spy—Stella, it is not that! But when you know that they intend to misbehave—that they intend to disobey my express orders—”

“Perhaps,” I said, marveling at my own boldness, “you should not order them, William. When you denied Alexandra the opportunity to go to Hereford—did you explain to her the reason for your refusal?”

He was silent, looking down. “You know very well, madam,” he said bitterly, “what I should and should not do as concerns my sisters’ upbringing.”
“William, I am only responding to a word you use—do you really think that orders are a fitting way to speak to young women?”

“You know perfectly well, Stella, that there is nothing I should deny my sisters if it were for their good!”

I hastened to reassure him that I did know that. He was silent for a short time, his fingers playing with the lacy edge of my nightgown.
“So,” he said finally. “You refuse to help me?”

“If that entails spying after Vanessa and Ali? Absolutely. If that helps you any, ask them, and they will tell you that I tried my best to dissuade Ali from going. That way I am always your partner, William—but not in what you ask of me.”

“Very well,” he said, after a pause, and rose to go. “I see the reasonableness of your refusal—and even though it is rather disagreeable to me, I shall respect it.”

With this, he made for the door. I, however, was not finished with our first fight.
“Wait, sir!” I said. “I, too, have a grievance.”
William turned around, amused. “A grievance?” he repeated. “Against me?”

“Absolutely against you,” I said. “You have denied me your company last night.”
He lowered his eyes. “Stella, I—” he started, obviously embarrassed. “This may be news to you, but most married couples do not share the same bed every night—indeed, it is considered most improper.”

“Oh,” I said, taken aback. “I did not know that. But William, you told me, on the day of our wedding, that it was your husbandly duty to provide that kind of—intimate company for me, just like it was my wifely duty to do the same for you.”

“Stella, I am a human being—“

“I know,” I hurried to assure him, “and I would never—never resent you if you failed—“ I felt myself color. “William, really, all I wanted last night was your company—and that you should deny it to me as a punishment—” I was finally too overcome to speak. “It was really quite wrong of you,” I added quietly.

“Stella, no!” He rushed to me, taking my hands in his. “Not as a punishment—how should I dare! Stella, my love, don’t you understand?!”

I was looking at his dear face, glad at this turn in our conversation. Any separation from him pained me most egregiously, particularly when it happened on terms so disagreeable to the both of us.

William gathered his composure and said with a most earnest air.
“Stella, you are my first love—and my first lover. There are simply not enough words for me to describe what you do to me—both to my soul and my body—” For a second, his voice broke and he hid his eyes, as if ashamed of his weakness. “Having you in the same bed with me at night, Stella, so beautiful, and warm, and inviting, and your hair—your hair smells of lavender—“ he shook his head. I was beginning to understand.

“I was angry with you last night,” he confessed. “If I were to share this bed with you—” He colored deeply. “It would have been torture for me—and it would have been most improper, for my heart was black with anger, even as my flesh was burning with desire for you. I am sorry, my love,” he added.

“Promise not to do this again,” I begged. “I have had the most awful night, William.”

“So have I,” he said, hurriedly. “I daresay I barely slept a wink.”

He finally gathered enough courage to pull me into a warm embrace. I set my nose against the folds of his robe, inhaling his beloved scent.

“Promise,” I muttered, hoping that he hears me. He did. “Very well,” he said. “I promise to never refuse my place in your bed—even if it costs me a sleepless night.”

“Well, you did not sleep much last night, did you?”
“And to think that I could have spent that sleepless night in a far more pleasant company than a volume of Rousseau,” he laughed, loudly inhaling the scent of my hair. “Ah, Kerida…”

“Ooh,” I laughed. “Music to my ears. Say it again,” I demanded. I simply adored it when he attempted to speak my language.
“Kerida,” he said into my hair, as his hands slid furtively under my gown and went roaming around my body. “Kerida, amada, linda Stella Rosa.”

“Sir,” I whispered, even as my own hands met his, ruffled his dark curls, and traced, timidly, the outlines of his body, “we are probably expected to breakfast. And I am expected to teach Alexandra this morning—“

He silenced me with a kiss. “Do not refuse me,” he begged me. “I cannot do without you, my darling, my beloved—“

Very soon, our words turned into a tune of sighs, moans, whispers and laughter, as we came together to celebrate the end of our first married argument. However disagreeable and painful the conflict itself had been, reconciliation, I had to admit, was sweet.

June-July: The London Misadventures
Stella

Vanessa's wedding was to take place on July 15, and, immediately after Richard Fenwick had secured William's and Lady Hetty's blessings, the preparations began. Lady Hetty arrived from London, and with her, her older sister, the long widowed Mrs. Sheridan. William's aunt had not come to our wedding as she was visiting her relations in Scotland; but now, I immediately came to like her. She was bright, had a sharp tongue and seemed to value honesty most of all. On the first day after her arrival, she took me for a stroll in the Bloomfield gardens.

"So how has the married life been to you, my dear?" she asked.

"I have never been as happy," I said, honestly.

"So you love your husband, girl?"

"I do, madam, very much so."

"How fortunate, indeed. How fortunate for Will," she said, pensively. "He is the kind of figure that attracts many avaricious, jealous looks--ever since he was a boy, parents have pushed eligible beauties on him, driven by naught but his impending wealth and status. Lord Hester--one of the best names in England, my girl."

I smiled. "Mrs. Sheridan, I have never thought of him this way--"

"And that is why I say that he is fortunate to have you. As far as I know my nephew, he is a gentle soul. He is a good man; with enough love, he should thrive into a great one."

"I have endeavored to give him all of my love, madam," I said, "for I have none but him in this world."

"True--your family have disowned you, haven't they?"

"Yes, madam."

"How sad, indeed. But do not judge them too harshly--it is a most trying thing when your beloved child disobeys you so egregiously."

I only nodded; however much I liked her, I could not bring myself to discuss my family with her. We walked in silence for some time, after which she said.

"Has Hetty been unkind to you?"
I was lost: I did not wish to complain about my mother-in-law, least of all--to her sister; but lying, I loathed.

"It would not be true," I managed, finally, "to say that. I should be in much trouble to define how Lady Hester has treated me."

Mrs. Sheridan chuckled softly. "I knew this: my sister has treated you with perfect indifference, hasn't she?"

"Perhaps," I hesitated, "her reception has been somewhat colder than I should have liked."

"I see," Mrs. Sheridan said. "I think there is something, which you need to know. Let us sit down."

Fortunately, we have just come by a pretty stone bench, shaded comfortably by a great oak. Together, we sat down.

"It is very nice here," Mrs. Sheridan said, looking around. "Old Isaiah Hester has certainly made this a beautiful and comfortable home."

"Really, William's father? But I thought that Bloomfield has been a family seat for centuries--"

"It has. But when Sir Isaiah came to own it, it was in quite a decrepit state--his father spent all his time in London and let this place fall into utter disorder."

"Hm," was all I could say.

"But I wanted to speak with you about something else entirely. You probably think that Hetty's cool reception of you is explained by the fact that you are a Jewess."

"That was my understanding."

"No," she said firmly. "My sister is a far better person than that, Stella. The reason lies somewhere else entirely."

She paused, and I kept silent, waiting for her to continue.

"You are aware, Stella, that Sir Isaiah passed away in the beginning of this year. He had been ill for a long time. Cancer of the bones took him away--and I daresay, I should not wish that sort of death on my worst enemy. He suffered greatly before he went--though, I must say, his spirit remained unbroken until the end."

"Yes," she continued. " His spirit. Not Hetty's. You see, Sir Isaiah had been her world. She married him very young--he was nearly fifteen years her senior. The way she married him, Stella--" Mrs. Sheridan smiled. "Ah, their courtship--it was perfect--as was their marriage. It was one of those rare unions of hearts, souls, minds, bodies--everything. To be honest with you, my dear, I am still befuddled--how does she go on without him? They had been together for nearly three decades before he died; his death all but ruined poor Hetty..."

I waited patiently for an explanation how it all pertained to my marriage.

"Dear girl, my sister was always a better wife than she was a mother. She loves all her children dearly, but not enough to avoid making favorites--and your husband is, without question, it."

"Pardon me, Mrs. Sheridan, but I fail to see why you think it out of the ordinary," I said, smiling. "I, for one, simply cannot imagine how it's possible not to love my husband."

"Well, well, of course, you cannot," she smirked. "He is a wonderful young man--his responsibilities and cares as the oldest son and the actual master of this estate have not jaded him, nor made him harsh or cruel. It is easy to love our dear William. In addition, he is Hetty's first child. But there is something else."

As she said this, his countenance grew more somber and she looked away.

"William knows nothing of this," she said, "nor do the other three. I trust in your discretion, Stella."

Somewhat mortified, I nodded and waited for the continuation.

"There was another child," Mrs. Sheridan said. "A girl, your husband's twin. As it often happens, she was the weaker one of the two, and died soon after coming into this world. They barely had the time to baptize her before the Lord took her little soul." She sighed. "Victoria Hester," she said. "Poor little thing. Both Hetty and Sir Isaiah were devastated and poured all their love into their only remaining child--your precious William."

I was fairly shaken; this was not the kind of information I should have chosen to know. Hiding something like that from my husband, whom it concerned directly, would make me feel awful, and yet, having acquiesced to his aunt's assumption of my discretion, I could do nothing about it.

"So there," Mrs. Sheridan continued. "You may now see why Will is so very precious to Hetty. He deserves the best--always has, always gotten it. And for a wife he deserves a princess--but only if Hetty herself chose her, hand-picked her for her dear boy. Do you understand now, Stella?"

I was beginning to think I did.

"And for all I know, you might as well have been a princess, Stella. Please understand: Hetty sees that William is happy and that makes her happy as well. But she needs time--time to understand that a strange, foreign woman of a mysterious faith, whom her beloved son simply dropped on her head one night is exactly what he needs."

That night, feeling tired and uneasy--it was difficult for me to look at Lady Hetty without thinking of the awful tragedy that she had survived so early in her life--I went to bed without waiting for William. I fell asleep almost immediately, mentally exhausted; when, some time later, I was woken up by the feeling of my husband's lips on the nape of my neck, I, for the first time in our marriage, struggled out of his embrace. I did not know why, but Mrs. Sheridan's confidence weighed heavily on my soul.

"What is the matter, my love?" William asked, raising himself on one elbow.

"I am tired," I whispered, moving slightly away from him.

"Tired? Stella, it is barely ten in the evening--are you well, my dearest?" His question was half-worried, half-hopeful, and as I read his thoughts, the memories of my discussions with his aunt came flooding back.

"I am well enough, sir," I said, attempting a smile. "But I do long for sleep..."

"Sleep, then," he said, pulling me into a comfortable embrace. I drifted away immediately, seeking in my slumber a refuge from troubling thoughts. My dreams that night were dark, frightening and suffused with sorrow.

The next morning, I awoke to see William looking at me. His gaze was so serious and intense that I became scared. Sitting up in bed, I grasped his hand and asked him what was the matter.

"It is my aunt, is it not?" he asked, in place of a morning greeting.

"William?" I was shocked; how could he have known?

"You speak in your sleep," he said.

"What did I say?" I whispered, mortified.

"Something about my twin sister," he said calmly.

"Your sis--I must have just had a bad a dream, William! You do not have a twin sister!"

"No, I daresay I do not," he replied. "But how do you know it was something bad, Stella?"

I was lost, and he seemed displeased. "Stella, I am a grown man, I can take anything you may wish to tell me--but I cannot have you lying to me or concealing anything from me."

"I cannot--"I murmured. "It was said in confidence--"

"Oh, Aunt Charlotte," he said, suddenly smirking. "She truly thinks that I know nothing about it, does she not?"

I watched him in utter astonishment.

"I know all about Vicky," he said, sighing softly. "As a child, I found her grave in the local cemetery, next to all the other Hesters. I wheedled the information out of my father--for my mother still won't speak of her."

"So you knew," I said, dejectedly.

"I did," he said. "I am sorry my aunt caused you distress--she means well."

"She wanted me to see why your mother--" I started and cut myself off. The last thing I wanted was to complain to William about his mother.

"Why my mother what?" He asked, squinting inquisitively.

"Nothing," I said, feeling myself blush, and made to rise from the bed. Catching me by the sleeve, he held me back.

"Why my mother what?" he repeated, and as I averted my eyes, said, his voice brimming with anger, "Stella, what have I told you, just now?"

"That you do not wish me to lie to you," I said. "But William--it really is nothing."

He watched me sadly. "I was afraid of this," he said. "My mother does not mean to be uncivil to you, Stella, she is just broken-hearted."

"William, she is not uncivil to me!" I said, angry with myself for the idiotic inability to keep my tongue. "She is as civil as mothers-in-law get--and I am perfectly happy with her regard!"

I finally made it out of the bed and rang for the maid to come: I needed a bath. William watched me, lazily, from the bed.

"I am thinking of going to London next week," he said. I froze: the insane idea of going to Elena's kiddushin had crossed my mind, but I dared not bring it up with my husband, not after the way my family had responded to his proposal. I inquired as to the purpose of his intended visit; social introductions, he said, still needed to be made. I had been introduced to the society in --shire during a series of rather trying morning visits to neighboring estates; but the London society was a whole other matter.

"London," I murmured. William looked at me quizzically, one eyebrow raised: his eyes were laughing.

"Come," he said, patting the bed next to him. I approached and sat at his side.

"Tell me about going to London, sir," I said.
I was most grateful to William for agreeing to take me to London for Elena’s kiddushin. After the abominable way my father had treated him, it would have been natural of him to refuse to have anything to do with my family; yet, here we were, making the rather arduous journey to London, so that I could see my sister get married.

As to the wedding itself, I had no plan. We were not invited, I knew that much, and it was not the celebration after which I longed. All I wanted was to see Elena and Joseph stand under the wedding canopy, wrapped in a single tallit; to see them drink from the same cup and walk, jubilant, hand-in-hand from the huppah. All I wanted was to witness my sister's happiness.

We came to London three days prior to Elena’s wedding. William decided to use our time in town to make all the necessary social introductions; it was most convenient, as, on the eve of Elena’s kiddushin, Lady Wellington gave her annual summer ball. Her Majesty herself was expected to attend, along with her husband Prince Albert. Vanessa came with us as well—to buy her trousseau and her wedding clothes—and Alexandra, who disliked staying at Bloomfield all alone, whined and moaned until Lady Hetty and Vanessa convinced William to take her as well.

We arrived late at night and I was disconcerted to find that Lady Hetty had ordered us placed in separate rooms. When no-one was looking, William nuzzled my neck and promised to come to me after the household went to sleep. He made good on his promise that night, and we giggled like children and stifled our moans of desire, as Lady Hetty’s room was next door to mine. At Bloomfield, we could love each other at leisure; it was our home and hardly anyone dared disturb us. Here, we were guests of William’s mother, and there was something deliciously clandestine about our lovemaking that night; pressing fingers to each other’s lips and whispering “sh-sh!—no, you sh-sh!”, we felt like two disobedient children. The natural consequence of our brave exploit was that, of course, William and I fell asleep and were woken up in late morning by Barrington, who was sent by Lady Hetty to look for her son.

As we sat at breakfast, Lady Hetty’s pursed lips and downcast eyes spoke volumes to the fact of her displeasure. Vanessa, evidently aware of the source of her mother’s discontent, smiled slyly; William made small talk and Mrs. Sheridan, who came to have breakfast with us, observed us all shrewdly. As to me, I, heeding my recent discussion with Mrs. Sheridan, resolved to be at my most pleasant and to pay no attention whatsoever to Lady Hetty’s sour moods.

She, however, had a bone to pick with me. After breakfast, she held me back and asked to have a word with me. As I racked my brains, trying to think of the potential subject for our conversation, Lady Hetty said:

“I would greatly appreciate it, madam, if in the future you did not disrupt the sleeping arrangements I establish in my house.”

I was speechless. The impropriety of this discussion was one thing; but what was I to say to this? At any rate, I was not about to just allow this rather ungracious intrusion into my family life.

“I did not,” I said, raising my chin, “disrupt anything.”
“Pray tell then, how did it come to be that my son was not in his bed this morning?”
“Madam,” I could not help laughing. “your son—my husband--is a grown man. This morning, he was where he belonged-—my bed.”

“This is most egregious disrespect, young lady!”
“Is it, now? Was it not disrespectful of our marriage, madam, to intentionally place us as far from each other as possible?”
“I do not see—it is most improper that you and my son should spend each night in the same bed!”

“My dear madam,” I quipped, “I fail to see the impropriety. You once told me that I was to make your son happy.”
“This does not mean—“
“Oh, but it does, Lady Hetty. How am I to make William happy if I cannot grant him what his soul most desires?”

“Impudent, wanton girl!” Lady Hetty said angrily, but beneath her furrowed eyebrows, her eyes were laughing. She was quiet for a moment, and then said. “I should greatly appreciate it, Stella Rosa, if in the future, the two of you behaved with a bit more discretion when in my house.”

That afternoon, as Mrs. Sheridan and I accompanied Vanessa on her visit to a wedding shop (Alexandra was left at home, fuming, laden with assignments in French and geography), William’s aunt asked:

“What did Hetty have to say to you, Miss Stella?”
I threw a quizzical glance at Vanessa, wondering if such discourse was appropriate in her presence; she smiled and stepped away, concentrating on looking at veils.

“Lady Hetty had an objection to the sleeping situation my husband and I have set up for ourselves, in spite of her, no doubt, wiser arrangements. She implored me to treat her abode with more respect…how, in desiring to share a bed with my own husband, did I disrespect it, I cannot fathom.”

Mrs. Sheridan laughed. “Pfa!” she cried, and added in a loud whisper. “This coming from a woman whose own son was conceived on a chair in her husband’s study!”

I gulped. “William?” I whispered. She nodded, still laughing.
“But how do you—“
“She told me herself. But you did not hear this from me, dear girl. Pay Hetty no mind, Stella —love your husband with all your heart—that is what she always did, whatever she tells you now.”

With a cautious cough to draw our attention, Vanessa approached us. She had made her picks and paid for them.
“I am ready to leave now,” she said. Smirking most inappropriately, Mrs. Sheridan said:
“The library—in my house!”
“Pardon?” Vanessa asked, looking confounded.
“Nothing,” both of us said quickly, as I felt myself color deeply. Vanessa shrugged and went outside; it was difficult to upset her composure.

That night at dinner, I threw curious glances at Lady Hetty, whose icy demeanor had apparently once concealed a very passionate nature. She was still a beautiful woman, a strawberry blonde with sparkling blue eyes, which both Samuel and Alexandra inherited. Though she was now dressed in mourning black, with a somber onyx brooch as her sole adornment, her beauty still glowed softly. After what Mrs. Sheridan told me, I was hardly surprised that such strong passions ran in all her children.

William, sitting next to me, kept his eyes on the plate; I had to wonder if Lady Hetty had spoken with him as well, as he was certainly more guarded than usual in his attentions to me. When no-one was looking, I motioned to him to lean lower and whispered, on an impulse:

“Meet me in the library tonight—after everyone else goes to bed!”
William threw a curious glance at me, but said nothing and nodded.

Later that night, after all of the house fell asleep, I sneaked out of my bedroom and headed for the library. There, I spent an inordinately long time picking a book; but of course, reading was the last thing from my mind at that moment.

The door creaked, and a second later, I felt William’s lips on the back of my neck. His arms encircled me and pulled me close to himself. Turning around, I kissed him and slipped my arms around his neck.

“Well, hello,” he said, smiling at me. “So what is all this mystery about, dearest?”
I dared not answer that, hoping that my behavior should better represent my intentions with respect to him. Pressing my body against his, I felt him respond to me; he murmured my name, running his hands up and down my back.

“Why don’t we—“ he breathed, tearing himself away for a brief moment, “—why don’t we go back—to—your—room?”
“No,” I replied between kisses, “here.”
“Here?” He pulled away and looked me in the eye, shocked.
“Your mother was most disturbed by the fact that Barrington found you in my bed this morning—“ I said, hoping desperately that he does not see this as an attack on Lady Hetty, “methinks it is the proximity of my room to hers, which bothers her so.”

“So now you are trying to seduce me in the library,” he confirmed, looking rather sheepish.
“What’s a girl to do?”
“Is it to spite my mother?" he laughed.
"No!" I hurried to assure him, as my hands entangled themselves in his curls. "It is just--we could be a little adventurous, could we not?"
"We could go up to my room,” he suggested.
“For shame, sir!” I cried. “Me, go to a gentleman’s room! Whom do you take me for, William?”
“Oh, and the library is—“
“Far more appropriate,” I said. He seemed rather accepting of my wild idea, and so, I renewed my attentions, kissing his neck. “Especially for a reading woman like me,” I added as I untied his cravat.

“You have gotten quite adept at this,” he mused, raising his chin to make it easier for me. After I was done with this complicated task, he took the neck-cloth out of my hands, folded it neatly and slipped it into the pocket of the dressing gown, which he wore over a shirt and waistcoat.

“I am adventurous,” he said, catching the look of surprise I’d given him, “not suicidal. I wish to leave no traces.”

He gathered me into his embrace and started kissing me, as his hands moved to undo the ties on my dressing gown and soon enough, slipped under it, caressing my body through the thin fabric of my camisole. In the meantime, I managed to liberate him from his robe and undo the clasps on his waistcoat. His mouth still on mine, he helped me, pulling his shirt out of his trousers, allowing me to slip my hands under it to feel the heat of his body and the rippling of the muscles on his chest. As I moved my hands lower, drawing them against his loins, he growled and said hoarsely:

”Be careful with that, Stella.”
“With what?” I asked innocently, continuing with my maneuvers. “With this?” I asked, caressing him where I knew my touch brought him the most pleasure. Making an unintelligible sound, he lifted me up off the floor, and carried me to a love-seat in the corner.

…As we lay together, sated and gratified, I felt slumber advance slowly. This was most dangerous: frolicking in inappropriate places was one thing, but getting caught there by Lady Hetty herself or, G-d forbid, by one of her daughters, was an entirely different one. “I daresay I have read enough,” I whispered, pressing against him. “And all this clothing—half-removed—I should dearly like to remove it all—can we go to your room now?”

He laughed. “You vixen,” he said. “Why could we not go there in the beginning?”

"Now that you have ruined me, sir, I have no more reservations and will follow you wherever you go," I quipped. We replaced our clothing the best we could and tip-toed, clandestinely, out of the library.
....................
Lady Wellington's Ball

On the night of Lady Wellington's ball, I sat in front of a vanity mirror, wearing nothing but a corset and undergarments, while my maid, Lucy, was busy setting my hair. On my bed, there lay by far the most elaborate dress I had ever worn--a gown of peach organza, richly embroidered by silks and decorated with ribbons and rolled roses.

In the mirror, I saw the door open; William came in, already fully and very formally dressed. I let out a slight gasp, as my husband was unbelievably handsome.

"I am almost ready," I told him, blushing as his eyes roved hungrily over my bare shoulders and arms.

"No hurry," William pulled up a chair and sat down. "Vanessa is not ready yet, either."

"Is Lady Hetty coming?"

"No," he said. "She isn't much for balls lately."

"Hm," I said, as Lucy gently craned my head forward and secured a glittery pin in my hairdo. "And Mrs. Sheridan?"

"My aunt has not missed a ball in her life," William chuckled. "Are you nervous?" he asked.

"No," I lied. "Should I be?"

"No," he shrugged his shoulders. "They are just people, not magical beasts."

"But the Queen, William!" I said, as Lucy affixed the final jewel to my hair and stepped aside.

"Beautiful, Lucy," William said. The girl curtsied and thanked him. "You may go now," he said. "I shall help Lady Hester with the rest."

Lucy curtsied again and exited quickly, leaving us all alone. Lazily, William rose from his chair and approached me, a seductive smile on his face.

"What have you in mind?" I asked, raising my eyes at him. Leaning low, he planted a lingering kiss in the hollow between my neck and shoulder, triggering sensations which were most inappropriate at the moment. His arms slid around my waist and roved, wantonly, higher, to caress the open skin above my neckline.

"What are you doing?" I whispered. "I have just had my hair done, William--what--"

Turning my head to the side, he kissed me, rendering me helpless in the face of my desire.

"Most unfair," I whispered to him. "You know that we must go, that we cannot--"

"Yes," he said earnestly, pulling back. "I know. I apologize," he added, and all of a sudden, a mischievous smirk appeared on his face. "No, actually, Stella? I do not--I should dearly like to have you thinking of me all evening long."

With this, he leaned closer again, pressing his lips to my neck. I sighed, undone.

"You are a demon of seduction, sir," I said. "Now, considering that you have driven my poor maid out of the room, shall you help me dress?"

An hour later, the three of us--William, Vanessa, and I, Vanessa wearing a gown of blue silk--entered the palace-like house of Lady Caroline Wellington. We were immediately thrown into a maelstrom of socialization: people approached us from all four sides, greeting us, bowing, shaking William's hand and congratulating us on our marriage. I felt positively shaken at such a deluge of attention.

The lady of the house soon approached us as well; she was a slight woman in her mid-thirties, pretty but with a face which would be difficult to remember.

"Well, well, Sir William!" she said, "Finally. I have heard ever so much of Lady Stella--but no compliment does her justice!"

I thanked her for the flattery, lost at what to do or say next. She, however, took the lead.

"Lady Stella, are you familiar with Sir Moses Montefiore?" she inquired. "I hear you are of Hebrew persuasion--I thought that you may know him, perhaps."

"No, not personally," I said faintly. Sir Moses was related, though distantly, to Marcus d'Almazan. The last thing I wanted right now was an introduction to a relation of my former fiancé. Either Lady Wellington failed to notice my mortification, or she thought nothing of it, but she insisted:

"Then I must introduce you to him! He was recently knighted and made sheriff of London and Middlesex!"

I threw a desperate glance at William, but we were left no choice but to follow Lady Wellington through the crowd of guests.

She stopped in front of a very large man of about sixty, who, I noticed, was even taller than William, and tugged shamelessly at his sleeve.

"Sir Moses!" she cried. "May I introduce to you Sir William and Lady Stella Hester of --shire!"

"The pleasure is mine," the gentleman said good-naturedly.

"Lady Stella is of Hebrew persuasion, like yourself," Lady Wellington continued. Sir Moses' eyes narrowed and he asked, which family in London I came from.

"I am nee de Lara," I said with as much dignity as I could muster. Wondering if he would recognize my name, I was pleasantly surprised, when he said:

"Are you related to Mr. Levi de Lara, a purveyor of diamonds and a member of the Deputados?"

I replied that he was my father. Sir Moses assured me that he knew no other man in the juderia, whom he respected as much and who did so much good in the community. This pleased me greatly; even more so, I was thrilled when the sheriff turned to William and said to him:

"Sir William, you are a fortunate young man. You have married a true Jewish lady of an excellent family. You are to be congratulated."

This was far better than I had anticipated; as we said our good-byes to Sir Moses and continued to slowly circulate about the room, I felt slightly more at ease. Most everyone seemed friendly and obliging; perhaps William was right, perhaps they were only people.

Even my interview with the Queen, which lasted only a few minutes, was as pleasant as such engagements are wont to be.

"Lady Hester," the young Queen said, gracefully inclining her pretty head, "I am delighted to make your acquaintance. My congratulations on your marriage. Lord Hester," she said, turning to William, "have you spoken with Lord Melbourne yet? He has seen you from afar and pledged to speak with you before you leave today. Oh, here he is!" she cried, her countenance brightening as the subject of her discourse approached. "Lord M, look whom I have here, sir!"

"Ah, William, my boy!" The elderly gentleman warmly shook my husband's hand. "How have you been? I heard you have got yourself a wife?"

William introduced me; the old gentleman paid me some inconsequential compliment and inquired after the rest of William's family. The news of Vanessa's upcoming nuptials seemed to gladden him, as he thought the Fenwicks an excellent family. He demanded that sometime during the evening, Vanessa come to speak with him.

"I shall relate your desire to my sister, sir," William bowed respectfully.

"It was delightful, Lady Hester," Her Majesty said graciously, sliding her hand down "Lord M"'s arm, as the illustrious pair strode away.

Left alone with my husband, I exhaled much too loudly, prompting William to burst out laughing.

"What?" I asked, unexpectedly hurt by his reaction. "Why are you laughing at me?"

"You see, love, it hardly hurt at all," he whispered, leaning discreetly to kiss my cheek. "Shall we dance?"

But it was not meant to be, for we were straight away accosted by William's aunt, Mrs. Sheridan.

“Mmmmm, Stella, my girl, have you enjoyed your newfound popularity?"
"Yes, quite. Though I do prefer evenings at Bloomfield, Mrs. Sheridan."
"But surely you could never meet such illustrious personages in all of Bloomfield, niece?"
"Aunt Sheridan," William said, smiling, "do let my wife be."
"Ah, nephew, I shall not abuse your little lady. How did you like meeting Her Majesty the Queen, the Stella?"
"As much as such acquaintances can ever be pleasant, I did like her very much, Mrs. Sheridan. I found her quite gracious."

Lady Sheridan smirked.

“Perhaps, dear niece, your definition of "gracious" is different from most of London. Her Majesty has not been loved lately, not after what she had done to the poor Flora Hastings!”

I knew nothing of the affair, and Mrs. Sheridan was glad to oblige me. I noticed that even as she said the lady's name, William cringed.

“The Queen’s dislike of John Conroy, her mother’s old comptroller, is well-known. You cannot blame her for it—he is an excessively brutish, unpleasant man--tried to control her rather rudely, though to no avail. What it was like to grow up in his shadow I cannot imagine. But at any rate, about a year ago, she spied one of her ladies-in-waiting, Lady Flora Hastings, entering a carriage with him. Her girlish fancy took flight, and she accused poor Flora of carrying on with Conroy. Lady Hastings replied to her that she was still a virgin—to that effect, Her Majesty demanded a medical examination. What fueled Victoria’s imagination was that Lady Hastings’ form had appeared somewhat swollen, so the Queen had imagined her pregnant.”

“Was she?”

“No,” William said, sounding annoyed. “She was, indeed, a maid. The swelling in her belly was caused by an advanced cancer of the liver, to which she soon succumbed, having suffered greatly.”

“That the Queen subjected the poor soul to such ungodly humiliation was obscene; that she tried to justify it by her need to preserve the morals of her court, when it was obvious that it was caused purely by her dislike of Conroy—now, that was horrid.”

“You judge her much too harshly, Aunt,” William said. “She is still very young, and was handed this immense responsibility when she was even younger—imagine Alexandra ruling England!”

“Well, well, nephew,” Mrs. Sheridan scoffed, “you only defend her because she favors the Whigs and their—pardon me, your—cockamamie notions!”

“I am as much a Whig, Aunt, as you are a Tory,” he replied with a smile. “Somewhat by conviction, but mostly, out of respect for my father’s memory.”

I knew that in his younger days, William’s father was a Whig MP from –shire, but that by the time Samuel was born, he had retired. Mrs. Sheridan long-dead husband, Mr. Thomas Sheridan, was, on his part, a rather active Tory member, who had served in Parliament for thirty years and finally met his maker on the floor of the House of Commons, in the middle of an impassioned argument.

“For shame, young man!” she said. “Your uncle Thomas, my husband, could never understand how I could allow my younger sister to marry a devout Whig! As if she ever asked me…”

She observed the Queen with a sharp eye. “Do you know, Stella, why Lord M is Prime Minister today? He was voted out office last year.”

William laughed. “You are determined, aren’t you, Aunt, to mar Her Majesty’s image in my wife’s eyes?”

Ignoring his quip, she continued: “After Sir Robert Peel took office last year, the Queen was supposed to replace all of her Whig ladies-in-waiting with Tory ladies-in-waiting. IT was an established custom, yet she outright refused, forcing the poor Sir Robert to resign!"

William was obviously annoyed with his aunt’s malicious remarks about the Queen, and we soon used a waltz as an excuse to quit her company. That evening, I stood up with many men, rather enjoying their gentlemanly attentions; but my favorite dances were the ones I danced with my husband. The protective circle of William’s arms rid me of any residual doubts or insecurities I had.

After a particularly beautiful and well-executed waltz, we escaped, laughing, into a gallery, and kissed, greedily, behind a column.

“Are you enjoying yourself, my love?” William asked, winding his arms around my waist; pushing me against the marble column, he immediately denied me the opportunity to answer.

We stood like so for some time. Finally, I reminded him that we were not at home and could be apprehended at any time; reluctantly, he released me, placing one chaste kiss on my forehead.

"All of a sudden, I am of a mind to go home," he said, grinning.
"No, sir," I replied. "I am enjoying myself here; your lustful desires will have to wait!"
"Cruel, teasing woman!" he sighed. We were about to step out from behind the column, when two shadows crossed our paths, and a familiar voice said:

"Who does she think she is! Presented to the Queen! Lady Stella Hester! A Whitechapel harlot!"

William and I froze in the shadow of the column; the voice belonged to Anabelle Fenwick, and the gentleman next to her was her brother, Richard. She was wringing her arms in displeasure as the two stopped right in front of us.

"Anabelle," Mr. Fenwick said, "I shall have you be more cautious when you speak of Hester's wife! He is like a brother to me, and they are soon to be our relations!"

"Rather a shabby connection, shan't you say?" She chuckled nervously.

"Anabelle, take care--" her brother said, a warning in his voice.

"Ah, Richard, you take care! She looked stiff as a board today, brother--it is obvious that she only has just learned to dance!"

"I danced with her, and I did not notice," Richard Fenwick said, and I heard him smile. "At any rate, Anabelle, perhaps you should better accustom yourself to Lady Hester's presence in our life--and of her husband's absence from yours." These last words sounded rather harsh; the woman threw up her hands and took off running down the gallery. Her brother shrugged and went the opposite way.

"William, what is the meaning of this?" I asked him, angrily.

"I shall speak with Fenwick," William said curtly, pulling me from behind the column. "Perhaps Anabelle had better keep her tongue!"

"No," I said, stubbornly, "I care not what she says--but what did Mr. Fenwick mean when he referred to your absence from her life? When were you ever present in her life?"

William looked away. "Oh, Stella," he said. "It was nothing. Several years ago, after I first came back from the Mahreb and settled at Bloomfield, I became captivated by her beauty. She was but seventeen then, just out of boarding school. I tried courting her, very formally, very slowly, and had grown quite interested in her--until one day, I overheard her berate a maid most cruelly--for breaking a tea-cup. It occurred to me that her behavior towards me, so sweet and feminine, was but a mask she wore. I immediately--and permanently--stopped my attentions towards her. That is all."

This was unexpectedly painful. I had imagined myself to be the first woman to have captured my husband's fancy. But this was a long time ago, I told myself; and there was nothing--nothing happened between them.

"Were you in love with her?" I asked him.

"No," he said. "I might have become so, but there was never any time for it."

"But are you still ... captivated by her beauty?" I asked quietly, looking up to meet my husband's eyes.

"Oh, Stella," he whispered passionately, stepping towards me and taking my hands in his. "I see none but you, my love. Anabelle Fenwick is nothing to me--you are my very life."

"I could not bear--" I whispered, tears dangerously close to my eyes. "Could not bear you to love anybody else, William--"

His passion captured me as his arms encircled my waist and his mouth descended, hungrily, upon mine. After he released me, I rested my head on his shoulder, suddenly aware that his embrace was my favorite place in all of the world.

"I think I have changed my mind, sir," I sighed. "I should very much to go home now, William."

...................
ELENA'S WEDDING--Through the Looking Glance to Bevis Marks

On the morning of Elena's kiddushin, my palms were damp and I could not swallow a bite. William looked at me over the breakfast table and offered me a piece of buttered toast; I refused, politely, and he grew angry:

"That you should be so nervous before visiting your own family!" he said rather bitterly.

"William, please," I begged him. I could not bear him to be angry with me, and there could be no worse time for it.

I had wanted to go alone; after all, I had lived in Whitechapel my entire life. But William insisted on accompanying me.

"It is not an area of the city where a young lady should be going alone," he said curtly. "I shall stay in the carriage, if you so wish."

We sat in the carriage, silent. I was watching the street, waiting for the bride to arrive. I spied the procession from afar, and hid behind the curtain. After they had gone in, I turned to my husband.

"I shan't be long," I said. He nodded, curtly, but then his countenance brightened and he smiled.

"I shall miss you dreadfully while you are gone," he said.

Clutching my mantilla under my chin, I went into the familiar space of Bevis Marks. I knew that the signing of the k'tubah was to take place first, together with the veiling of the bride; so I stole, quiet as a mouse, to the haham's study.

Through a half-opened door, I watched Margarita and Joseph's sister Sarah lower the veil over my sister's head. In a second before her face became hidden, I noticed the look of love Elena gave the young man who was standing in front of her. Bitterly, I thought that this was to become my prerogative--to help give my beloved Elena away. At the same time, however, I was thrilled at Elena's happiness. Joseph da Silva was a good man, and the two loved each other dearly.

It was too dangerous for me to remain so near my entire family. I could not bring myself to face my father; all I wanted was to watch Elena's wedding from the gallery. Thus, very quietly, I took the stairs to the upper gallery, where all the women gathered during services and celebrations.

I waited there, all alone, covering my face with my mantilla. To the attendants I must have looked like a typical Sephardi lady of some bearing and nobility, what with the jewelry I wore and the Spanish headdress William had ordered for me from a shop here in Whitechapel. I drew my hands over the carved wood of the gallery barrier; my fingers caressed the wooden griffon heads, which crowned the arms of my chair. In spite of the choices I had made, I loved who I was with a passion. I was a Jewess and had never in my life been ashamed of it. In the ancient words of the Torah and the Midrash, I found poetry, and the singing of the Cantor almost tore my heart apart, for with every note I felt, more and more sharply, the degree to which I have lost it all. Yet, sad as I was, at the old Bevis Marks, I truly felt at home.

I heard voices and jumped to my feet. A number of women entered the gallery, my mother, Margarita, Viola among them. As she saw me, my mother froze, a look of shock and pain on her face. I did not know what to expect: she could very well refuse to speak with me; she could drive me out of my sight and be justified for it. Yet, all I longed for at that moment was her embrace.

Making a step forward, I bowed low and whispered:

"Mama."

Opening her arms to me, my mother moaned my name, and a second later, I threw myself into her embrace.

"Oh, my child!" My mother cried, caressing my face. "My child, m'ija , my daughter!"

After another close embrace, we pulled away to look a each other.

"You look well, dear girl," she said, drawing her hand down my cheekbone. "Has your husband been good to you?"

"Very good, mother," I said, still holding both her hands in mine. But though her reflection on the way I looked pleased me, I could not say the same for her--she looked tired and sickly, and it pained me to think that I might have been the chief source for her illness.

"But why are you here?" she inquired. "Have you decided to come back?" A glimmer of hope shone in her eyes. I shook my head, and it went out, like a candle goes out in the night.

"I came to see Elena get married," I said.

"Well, then, come, it is about to start!" Mrs. da Silva, the groom's mother, said, taking her seat in the very front.

"Yes, yes, beloved, come," my mother lead me to my chair. I was gratified beyond measure; I could not have hoped for a better reception. The women around me smiled at me, and Viola, who was heavy with child, kissed me fondly on my cheek.

The only person who seemed displeased by my appearance was my sister, Margarita. As I was about to take my seat next to my mother, she took hold of my shoulder and turned me around, roughly.

"How dare you come here, you traitor!" She spat. I was dumbfounded: I had not expected any show of gladness on her part, but that she should so openly defy Mother's obvious wish for my presence there! I had no wish to fight with her; all I wanted was to witness Elena's wedding.

"Margarita, please," I said. "I shall be gone, soon enough."

"Indeed you shall!" she hissed back. "You slut, you bitch!"

I winced, but said nothing.

"Margarita, do not abuse your sister thus!" my mother cried out. The old Mrs. Abravanel, Margarita's mother-in-law, appealed to her as well, as did Mrs. da Silva. But she would not be mollified, and, having thrown one last poisonous glance at me, took off running down the gallery.

"Where is she going?" Mrs. da Silva asked. I did not know; I did not wish to think of it; and all of our attention was soon captured by what was happening in the sanctuary.

I was fully captivated by the ceremony below; during my own a month ago, the only thing that matters to me was the words that William and I said to each other and the ring he placed on my finger. I had always wanted to be married at Bevis Marks, in the wonderful intimacy of a wedding canopy; and my heart was glad for Elena, who stood, facing the congregation, next to her beloved Joseph, wrapped snuggly in his white tallit.

I had been caught up in watching Elena’s ceremony when all of a sudden, a strong hand grabbed my shoulder roughly. I looked up and saw, to my great surprise, my brother Beni.

"Come with me," he said, through his teeth. Behind him, Margarita was smirking.

"No!" I hissed, gripping the handles of my chair. My mother slapped Beni's arm, trying to get him away, but he paid her no mind, and raised me roughly to my feet.

"Come," he said. He was gripping my upper arm painfully and pulling me along. I threw one desperate glance at my mother, who, in even greater shock than mine, was wringing her hands, and a desperate cry of help escaped my lips.

I heard the cantor stop singing; but a second later, the ceremony resumed, as Beni continued dragging me towards the stairs.

"What are you doing?" I cried. "Where are you taking me?"

"Home," he said, in cold anger. "Where an unmarried daughter of a decent family belongs, even after she's brought it shame!"

"I am married, Beni!" I hissed, clawing at his hand, but he was far stronger than me.

"Not to me, you are not," he said. 'Married in a goyische church, are you? Slattern!"

I cried, I begged, I tried to threaten.

"You shall never get away with this!"

"Oh, we shall see about that," he puffed, and continued to berate me in words that I should not dare repeat. All of a sudden, turning about a corner, we came face to face with my very pale, very angry, very handsome husband.

What happened next remained a great blur to me. Several times, William demanded that Beni release me, to which my brother responded negatively and with the same conceit, with which he treated me. Before I could blink, William was at Beni's throat, pushing him roughly against the wall. Beni, who was much smaller, released his grip on my arm and I pulled myself away.

The women from the gallery came running, my mother crying; my heart was breaking just looking at her. Somehow, Beni managed to free himself, and before they could lunge at each other yet again, I pulled William away.

As we fled Bevis Marks, I wept desperately. All I wanted was to see my sister get married; was I even proscribed such a small liberty? William was white with anger and said not a word to me all the way home. I was certain that he should never want to associate with my family again.

That night, he came to me and we reconciled. My heart, however, was heavy, and kept me awake through the night. During our last days in London, the uneasiness remained. It permeated the entire family, though nobody seemed to know what the problem really was; I told no-one, and William was at his most reticent during these few days.

On our last morning in London, we our about to go out for some final purchases for Vanessa's wedding. I was still in a foul mood and hoped that perhaps, shopping for such a glorious occasion might distract me. We were about to step out when a maid entered, bringing with her an introduction card.

"This is for you, Stella," my mother-in-law said, having just glanced at the card. "Mrs. Joseph da Silva."

Elena! I dashed for the doors, only to meet my sister halfway. Crying and laughing, we embraced and held each other in the full view of the entire Hester family.

My happiness at seeing Elena was complete; and it pleased me greatly that William's greeting of her was of the warmest character, absolutely untainted by what happened the day before.

"Sister," he said, bringing her hand to his lips, "how wonderful that you've chosen to call on us!"

I sat Elena down on the couch in Lady Hetty's drawing room.

"How did you get away?" I asked, knowing full well that Sephardi weddings sometimes went on for days.

"I did not," she said. "I asked Joseph's permission. He is still busy celebrating with Enrique and the rest of their friends, and I promised to be back by noon. Oh!" she said, starting, "I wanted to thank you for the beautiful gifts you sent us with the Isaac and Rachelle."

"Did you like it?" I asked her. During our honeymoon in Bath, William and I bought Elena a beautiful bracelet, and her Joseph, whom I knew to be an avid shooter, an ivory-inlaid rifle. Blushing slightly, my sister lifted the edge of her sleeve to demonstrate us her gift.

We were soon left alone, as the rest of the household adhered to the plan and went out to shop for Vanessa's wedding. William, who remained, went up to his room to work--he had received a good heap of letters during our stay in London.

Sitting on a couch in the drawing-room, Elena and I could not take our eyes off each other.

"I wish I could have been there for you," I sighed, hugging her again.

"I hear you were," Elena smiled, raising her eyebrows. "Oh Stella Rosa, I know of what happened with Beni--I am so, so sorry! He had no right--everyone told him that--papa, and Enrique, and even Margarita's Luish had to agree that Beni did not behave like a gentleman."

"No, he did not, Elenica," I said, using my sister's childhood moniker. "I marvel at my husband's forbearance, Elena--my family has treated him abominably!"

Elena sighed, "I know. Sir William is kind. But do not be angry with them--they were devastated after you left. We were, I mean to say," she corrected herself. Sighing, she added, "Mother just cried for days; Father locked himself in his study and spoke to no-one."

"How soon did you realize that I was gone?"

"That very night. Mother came into your room and found your bed not slept in; Father and Beni then ran outside and found the door into the street open. Then they came after me."

She averted her eyes, and I saw that it was something she did not wish to speak of.

"Elena--"

"I am sorry," she whispered. "I told them that I had given your letter to Sir William, though I never admitted to knowing what was inside."

"Elena, my darling, listen to me!" I cried, seizing my sister's hand. "You have nothing to apologize for. I am only sorry to have caused you any kind of misery, and I--no, both my husband and I shall be eternally indebted to you for your support during our courtship."

I took a breath and looked at my sister. Her gaze was as serene as ever and her lips were smiling, but there was sadness in her eyes.

"Why did they not come after me, Elenica?" I asked.

"Mama begged Papa to follow you, but all he said was that you had made your own bed."

She looked away and suddenly, I knew that it was not all my father said. But I did not wish to dwell on that: the subject was painful to both of us. Having finally after a two-month-long separation, my sister and I had far pleasanter things to speak of.

And so we did: of our respective weddings and married lives--though hers had lasted for only a day by then; of our new homes and relations; of our husbands and love. Well able to predict her reaction, I asked Elena whether she had enjoyed her wedding night. She colored deeply, giggling like a silly girl and hiding behind her fan, but told me nothing. I was unable to resist the temptation.

"I could not imagine," I whispered to her, smirking, "how wonderful and pleasurable it can be."

"It?"

"It. All that Margarita said--how it is a boring and unpleasant duty--well, that must be what her husband is like..."

We snickered like two little girls. Elena's embarrassment was so endearing that I could not resist an urge of hitting her squarely with a sofa pillow, like we often did during our childhood. She squealed with delight and toppled backwards on the sofa. Reaching for another pillow, she aimed it at me, as I had to duck. Laughing, we embraced once again.

Having calmed down a bit, Elena said, with an earnest air:

"I daresay I have quite enjoyed what I have had of it--more than I expected."

"Do you remember Shir ha-Shirim?" I asked her. "It is all true, love."

"Oh!" she cried suddenly. "All but forgot! I have brought you a gift! Left it in the parlor!"

She rushed out and came back immediately, carrying a long, rolled sheet of paper. Standing in front of me, she unrolled it with a flair, and I gasped.

It was a k'tubah, possibly the most beautiful in the world. It pictured a garden of Eden at night--the background, painted as an evening sky, proceeded from the dusky blue in the middle of the k'tubah to the jet-black at the top, where myriad of golden stars were scattered. Two banners stretched across the width of the k'tubah; the one at the top proclaimed in Ladino: Set me as a seal upon your heart... The bottom banner continued: Set me as a seal upon your arm. A wondrous circle of flowers and miraculous beasts surrounded a plate, on which, in golden filigree, it was written in Ladino and English:

"On the 1st day after Shabbat, the ... day of the month of ..., in the year .... since the creation of the world, as we customarily count time in London, England; that the most honorable and, illustrious bridegroom, a man of honor and esteem, the exalted gentleman by the name of William, said to his most excellent, beautiful and beloved bride, a maiden of great worth, by the name of Stella Rosa: "In you, I have found the one that my soul loves. Be a wife unto me in accordance with my custom and laws, and I shall love you and nourish you and support you in the ways of my people.""

I threw a tear-filled glance at my sister.

"Well," she said, having misinterpreted it, "I know that it is supposed to say: "in the ways of the Law of Moses and Israel--but I tried my best to adopt it, so that it truly means something."

"Oh, Elena," I whispered, wiped away a tear and continued to read. "'And the maiden consented and became his wife; and she said: "The mountains may move and the hills be shaken, but my trust will not leave you nor my love for you fade." The groom, William, and the bride, Stella Rosa, said: "All this we take upon ourselves, with a full understanding and a glad heart. And may the grace of Adoshem be upon us."

All is valid and confirmed."

Having finished reading, I wept openly. Elena could not have given me a better gift; it was a sign to me that in my beloved sister's eyes, my marriage was legal and right. I jumped to my feet and rushed to the parlor, calling William's name.

He came out of his room, and I begged him to come downstairs, which he immediately did. His amazement and gratification at Elena's gift exceeded mine, and it doubled when he realized that she had painted the k'tubah herself. Both of us crying happy tears, I embraced my sister and kissed her wet cheek.

It was soon time for Elena to go. I came out to see her off.

"I am so happy that you came to visit me," I said as we stood on the front steps.

"You came first," she smirked. "Dearest Stella Rosa," she said with sudden passion. "I can see that you are sad--I know that it may be difficult for you."

I said nothing to that. My sister continued:

"Do you remember how you envied me marrying for love? And how I told you that you should have to give up too much if you were to marry Sir William?"

I nodded, silent.

"You are drifting away, aren't you?" she guessed. I sighed and told her about my desperate struggle to integrate the Hebrew customs in my new life; to my surprise, she found it fit to laugh softly.

"Stella Rosa, it will happen, whether you want it or not," she said. "You are becoming someone new."

"No," I said, shaking my head stubbornly. "I am who I am. I like them, Elenica, I like them very much. Most of them, at any rate. And I love William. But I am who I am."

"True," she said. "But that someone is changing--and you must learn to accept that. I, for one, shall love you, whether you sit on the gallery at Bevis Marks or in the front pew of a church."

For the tenth time that day, we embraced. I loved my sister dearly; she could not possibly know what her words of support meant for my emotional well-being, especially after the show of vicious prejudice exhibited by Beni. Long after the heavy carriage with the Da Silva crest on the side disappeared around the corner, I remained on the steps of my mother-in-law's London house.
........

William

In the carriage, Stella drifted into an uneasy sleep and William watched over her, guarding her slumber as she rested her head on his shoulder. He realized that the recent coolness in his manner pained her, but he could do nothing about it. It was purely a response to the stress they had endured: for a moment that day, he thought he had lost her. Such a possibility filled him with unspeakable dread.

Gently kissing the top of Stella's head, William remembered. He had been sitting in the back of the temple, bemusedly watching the wedding ceremony. As he had entered Bevis Marks, his first impulse was to remove his hat--until he noticed, with no small degree of surprise, that all the men inside had their heads covered. He remembered Stella telling him something to this effect.

He noticed the pleasing intimacy produced by a large, white scarf, in which the groom wrapped both himself and Miss Elena. He would have liked something like this during his wedding to Stella; and he would have liked her near him now, to explain to him the significance this pleasant custom had.

It was halfway through the ceremony that he heard some commotion in the gallery above. He paid it no attention at first, but then, to his horror, he heard a stifled, terrified, desperate cry, which reverberated off the walls of the sanctuary and forced the officiants to pause for a minute. An unpleasant silence spread itself over the congregation. Under the canopy, William could see Miss Elena start, but the groom held her back, and a second later, the cantor resumed his song.

Running out of the sanctuary, William first turned left, then right, trying to figure out how to get up into the gallery. Of course, as a man, he was strictly prohibited from going up there; but he did not care. A synagogue attendant placed himself in his way, crying out in Ladino. William simply brushed the man aside and continued. His heart thundered in his chest and there was an unpleasant sickly cold in his stomach, as he desperately sought his way among darkened staircases and columns.

Then, as he turned around some corner for what seemed like the third time, he found himself face-to-face with his wife. She was pale and trembling, and missing her mantilla; with utter disbelief, William saw, attached to her arm, a man he did not know.

"William!" Stella cried, lurching towards him, but her unwanted companion pulled her back. "Let me go, Beni!" she hissed, trying to claw at this hand, which was grasping her arm harshly just above her elbow.

It was her brother; William should have guessed. "What is the meaning of this?" he breathed, stopping the couple from proceeding.

"I am returning my sister where she belongs--her family!" Benjamin de Lara answered haughtily.

"Release my wife, sir!" William cried, pale with anger.

"She is no wife to you, she was never married to you--not as a Jewish woman should! She is but a slattern," the man scoffed, "and you, sir, are a fiend for seducing her!"

"Unhand her immediately," William said, his voice cold with fury, and a second later, without really knowing what he was doing, found himself holding Mr. de Lara by his cravat, pushing him roughly against the wall. For all intents and purposes, he was almost choking his brother-in-law. Stella, whom Mr. De Lara had by then released, cried and tugged on his sleeve, begging him to let her brother go.

A clamoring mob of women found and surrounded them as William, forgetting himself, tightened his hold on Benjamin de Lara's cravat. The man, though smaller in frame and a head shorter, finally found the strength to push him off and William staggered back, nearly losing his footing. Before he had the time to charge back, Stella gripped his sleeve with renewed urgency.

"William, please, I beg of you!" she cried, pulling him away. "Please, William!"

Among the women, William saw Mrs. de Lara, pale as death, and Mrs. Abravanel, who, he noticed, was no longer with child, snickering. Weeping, Stella grasped his hand and the two of them fled the Bevis Marks temple. He was completely numb and unsure of what had just happened. Only when they were in the carriage, the terror let go and was immediately replaced with anger at her. She cowered on the seat, covering her face with her hands and weeping convulsively, but it was a long time before William felt any compassion for her.

Once their reached Grosvernor street, he escorted her into the house and left immediately, too angry to face her. He took Zanzibar and went riding in St. James' park, all alone; by the time he came back, his fury subsided. What remained was total exhaustion and relief that nothing direr had happened.

He found Stella in her bedroom. She was lying down, and her eyes were red like a rabbit's. He sat down next to her and as he leaned to kiss her cheek, she wound her arms around his neck and wept.

"I am sorry, I am so sorry!" she cried. "I did not know--all I wanted was to see Elena marry--I did not know--I cannot believe he would do this, William, my brother, my own brother!"

He tried his best to console her; but within him, there remained a hidden sense of bitterness against her family, and through all his assurances that he was not angry with them, she could feel this slight patina of disappointment. Try as he might to justify Benjamin de Lara's violent reaction to seeing his sister as the evidence of his strong religious convictions, he could see it as nothing other than pure, malicious prejudice.

That night, shaken deeply, they did not make love. It was strange to him to not want his wife; but the fact remained, the heat between them was extinguished. Unfortunately, even though they were not otherwise occupied, sleep hardly came, and at breakfast, both of them looked drawn and exhausted.

Miss Elena's visit ameliorated the situation a bit. Her generous gift warmed their hearts and finally seeing her sister after two months of separation made Stella very happy. William was thankful to Miss Elena, who did her best to make him feel like family: she even included English words in the k'tubah and adjusted the text accordingly, so that his name on it did not feel like a dead weight. A most excellent bridegroom, he remembered with a chuckle, a man of honor and esteem--it was pleasant to think that at least someone among his wife's family thought of him this way.

On the first night after their return to Bloomfield, William found his wife in her bedroom. One knee upon a chair, Stella watched, as a servant hung Miss Elena's gift over the fireplace. A Georgian portrait of his great-grandmother, which had hung there previously, now stood aside, leaned against the mantel.

"Oh, William," she said, turning around, "You do not mind that I took this off, do you? We can hand this one elsewhere, you know? But I should like to have Elena's gift facing our bed."

She colored faintly as she said that and lowered her eyes. William regretted the presence of the servants in the room, for at that moment there was nothing he wished for as dearly as to kiss her.

That night, as they made slow, sweet love, their marriage contract looked over them, the wondrous beasts, flowers and stars shining their gentle light on the two lovers.

July: Dr. Younge’s Mistake
Stella

Vanessa's wedding approached quickly. Lady Hetty now remained at Bloomfield constantly, having followed us there from London within a week. I, of course, had no objections, though it did bother me a bit that in her presence, I hardly felt like the Mistress of Bloomfield. It was somewhat obvious that most of the servants, hired to work here when Sir Isaiah was still alive, clearly preferred her to me. I acquiesced quietly, knowing that any kind of tension between his mother and me caused William a lot of grief.

Richard Fenwick now spent all of his waking hours at Bloomfield. He was a delightful man--intelligent, kind, very amiable, with a gentle sense of humor--and clearly doted on Vanessa. He was three years William's senior; the two men had been friends ever since Mr. Fenwick's late father bought Hereford twenty years ago. Coming to pay his new neighbor a welcoming visit, Sir Isaiah brought along with him his oldest son--an exceedingly shy seven-year-old boy--whom Mr. Fenwick's ten-year-old Dicky immediately took under his wing. The boys became fast friends and remained so during their adolescence and their time at Cambridge; together, they traveled in the Mahreb. As they inherited their respective estates and became two of the most illustrious landowners in all of --shire, their friendship remained as strong as when they were children. And now, they were to become brothers as well, and the situation suited us all remarkably well.

The only problem with Mr. Fenwick was his sister. Miss Anabelle took every opportunity to pinch or abuse me; she asked me provocative questions, clearly meant to make me lose my temper; she made sneering comments about my choice of attire; and she flirted with William ad infinitum. I absolutely detested her behavior, but refused to run, complaining, to my husband, every time she made a malevolent quip. The more I saw of her, the more adept I became at returning her mean-spirited remarks. In addition, having overheard her discussion with her brother during Lady Wellington's ball, I no longer remained in doubt as to the reason for her maliciousness. William's confession about their brief courtship engendered within me a feeling of near-graciousness: after all, whatever she thought of me, I had what she wanted, and it was me the object of her desires loved.

It was possible for me to remain civil because Miss Fenwick always stopped short of really insulting me. But one night, as we sat down to supper, she crossed the line.

"Lady Stella," she turned to me, like a Portuguese Man-of-War turns its beautiful, but poisonous body, towards its next victim, "pray tell, how did your people come to be in London?"

Inside of me, everything went cold; from the way she looked at me, I knew that she was aiming for a scandal, and determined not to let her drag me into it.

"Amsterdam," I said. "Have you heard of a Mister Spinoza, the philosopher?" I asked, trying to seem as amiable as it was possible, but expecting a poisonous barb every conceivable second. And it did not fail to come.

"No," Miss Fenwick said condescendingly, "I much prefer the more established Christian philosophers, like Monsieurs Voltaire and Rousseau."

"I see," I smiled to myself, enjoying the fact that she had just admitted to her ignorance. "Well, perhaps, if you are fond of philosophy, you should give Mr. Spinoza a chance. He was an exceedingly clever man--and a great apostate as well. So great, in fact, that the community excommunicated him."

"What did he do to make himself an apostate?" Mr. Fenwick asked me.

"Well, he argued, publicly, that nowhere did the Torah say that G*d was not a corporeal being, or that angels exist. And, perhaps his greatest sin--he challenged the immortality of the human soul."

"What a dreary man!" Lay Hetty actually shivered. "To say something like that!"

"Well, the rabbis of the Amsterdam juderia were in agreement, so they excommunicated him," I went on, catching William's fond gaze. He simply adored it when I entertained his guests; he particularly enjoyed it when I showed off my wits or education.

"What a harsh community, indeed," Miss Fenwick's lips curled. "Methinks not much is necessary to earn oneself a complete expulsion!"

I knew where she was going, and I changed the direction abruptly.

"But the reason I had mentioned Mr. De Spinoza was because the same rabbis who had given his excommunication order also wrote a letter to Mr. Cromwell, asking him to allow the Jews to return to England--which he did. And that is how we've come to be in England."

"But I thought you were known as Spanish Jews?" Miss Fenwick persisted.

"We are. Judiyos Espanyoles. We had lived in Spain for century under the caliphs, but during the Reconquista, were forced to convert or leave Spain forever. Some chose to convert; my ancestors chose to leave."

"How abhorrent Christianity must have been to them!" she noticed. I breathed very slowly; this woman was determined to turn everything I said upside down, and my patience with her was growing thin.

"Miss Fenwick," William said, coming to my rescue, "it is not so much from their hate of Christianity, as it is from their devotion to their own faith, that Lady Stella's ancestors chose to leave Spain. And," he added, throwing me a smoldering glance, "I am very glad of that!"

I felt myself blushing; Miss Fenwick, on the other hand, has grown rather pale. Perhaps it was her deep irritation with William's intervention that made her forget herself, and she said, with no small amount of anger ringing in her voice:

"Perhaps you could tell me, Lady Stella, what a word in your language means?"

"Surely," I said, smiling, still basking in the sunshine of my husband’s eyes.

"Marrano," she said. I felt, physically, the smile wilting off my face.

"Where did you hear it?" I asked her, rather curtly.

"From Lady Judith Montefiore, while in London. When I mentioned the Sir William was married to you, she inquired as to your last name. When I gave it to her, she said that your family was marranos."

I doubted sincerely that Lady Judith would ever use this word when talking to a gentile, but I said nothing to that. Inside, I was ruing the fact that I could not ask Miss Fenwick to leave my table.

"--but Lady Stella, how pale you have grown!" she cried in mock agitation. "Perhaps it is not altogether appropriate, but I did not think so, since Lady Judith used the same word to refer to her husband's family!"

"How strange that she should use such a hateful word, Miss Fenwick," I said heavily. "Marrano means "swine." It was a vile epithet given to my people by the worst of the herd which would later drive them out of Spain. Some Jews use it to refer to the Spanish Jews in general, but in my family it was never used. Perhaps, Miss Fenwick, you should use some care and thinking before you use it at my table."

A heavy silence hung over the dinner table. Miss Fenwick lowered her eyes, muttering apologies, but I could see that she was smirking. I now seriously considered asking her to leave my house immediately, but my consideration for Mr. Fenwick and Vanessa restrained me.

The dinner ended in silence, and the Fenwicks left soon after. I did not see it fit to see them off; Vanessa, returning to the drawing-room, approached and touched my arm softly.

"Stella, I am sorry," she said. "Mr. Fenwick said to tell you that he was sorry as well, and that he will speak with Anabelle."

I thanked her for her concern and retired soon after. William found me in our bedroom, angry and brooding, tearing a brush viciously through my hair.

"I am sorry, love," he said, sitting down on the ottoman next to me. "I shall speak with Fenwick--"

"Poor Mr. Fenwick," I said, my hand jerking my hair furiously. "He is quite useless to us in this, William--he already has no influence over his sister, and what is to happen when Samuel marries her?"

He groaned. "I still hope it does not happen," he confessed. "I do not know how to prevent Sam from making this awful mistake!"

"Does Samuel know you have once courted her?"

"I think so. He was at Oxford at the time, but I do think he knows. And I think he cannot forgive me that."

"How unfortunate," I sighed, finally tossing the brush on the vanity. William immediately proceeded to ruin my hard work by burying his face in my hair and messing it up something dreadful. "That a woman like that came to stand between two brothers!"

"Well," he said, pulling away, "If she continues to behave towards you in such an abominable way, I shall stop inviting her."

"What about Mr. Fenwick?"

"He will understand. He knows all too well what kind of a person his sister is." He lifted the hair off my shoulders and buried his face in the crook of my neck. "Come to bed," he said. "I have thought about you all day today."

I did not answer, still furious. That I should tolerate this woman, with her constant flirting and making eyes at my husband was bad enough. But now that she took to insulting me in the worst possible manner, it was simply insupportable.

"Stella, please," he begged, and I relented. I allowed him to carry me to the bed and love all my sorrows away. Soon enough, my husband's embrace made me forget all about the impossible Anabelle Fenwick.

Two days before Vanessa's wedding, I asked her to take a stroll with me. The night before, as we lay in our bed, William started, as if remembering something and said against the back of my neck:

"Stella, I should like you to have a chat with Vanessa," he said.

"Regarding what?" I asked sleepily.

"Regarding what she should expect on her wedding night."

I groaned.
"Why me? I assume your mother would speak with her about that."

"I cannot count on that," he replied, pulling me tightly against himself. "You know that anything having to do with marriage is painful to her..."

"Perhaps I could just give your sister The Book. After all, it is her husband-to-be who had given it to you!"

"Stella," he laughed, reproachfully. "Darling, it is my sister you are talking about!" He nuzzled my neck affectionately from behind. "That, and I do not intend to part with The Book any time soon."

I promised him that I should speak with Vanessa, but that was easier said than done.

"Oh, but I know everything!" Vanessa cried impulsively as the two of us stepped outside. "Stella, I know Will put you up to this. But you really must not worry--"

"How do you know everything?" I asked, slightly mortified. "Forgive me, but you and Mr. Fenwick--"

"No!" she looked at me in mock indignation. "He would never--" she shook her head, laughing. "He is far too much of a gentleman," she said, and for a second, it seemed to me that she said that somewhat derisively. "But," she added, "I am, like yourself, a reading girl. And our library here at Bloomfield provides ample opportunities for this sort of education--whether or not my brother realizes this."

"Really?" I was surprised that William did not in any way check his sister's reading choices. "So you say you know it all?"

"I have a fairly good idea," she smiled. "But thank you, Stella. We shall talk about it when it is proper to talk about it, darling."

That night, I told William that I had spoken with his sister, without revealing the particulars of our discussion. He seemed pleased, and the subject never arose again.

The day of Vanessa’s wedding came. Early in the morning, I came downstairs and found the bride-to-be in the kitchen, mercilessly pinching a round bun, which the cook had just taken out of the oven.

“I could not sleep,” she said. She wore a dressing gown and slippers, and her hair was wild about her shoulders. She offered me some of her bread, of which I partook gladly; Mrs. Livesay, on my entering, welcomed me and poured me a glass of cold milk. Situated comfortably at a table near the window, we watched the nature outside awaken slowly, as the magnificent Bloomfield drifted out of the cobalt nighttime mist.

I watched Vanessa intently, and it occurred to me that today, on the day of her wedding, our novia was not happy. I reached out and patted her hand; looking up, she smiled and the same amused, curious expression that I so often saw on William’s face, appeared.

“Pardon?”

“Today is a happy day, sister,” I whispered. “Mr. Fenwick is a good man, he will love you dearly, and I think you shall love him as well.”

She smiled again, but this time, her eyes were suffused with sadness.

“Stella sweet,” she said evenly, “you are dearer to me than a sister could ever be. Therefore, I shall be honest with you… Marriage was never a goal in my life—I had never wanted it. All I wanted was to sing, which my beloved brother has denied me, and for which I shall never forgive him. So the way it is, I must either remain a spinster, or marry. Though I love you all dearly, I do not wish to remain one of the proverbial insane spinster aunts; so then I must marry. And in this case, I shall never be able to do better than Richard Fenwick.”

I dreaded to ask her that, but it was now clearly obvious to me that she did not love him.

“There is no illusion of love between us,” she continued. “But there is a great deal of respect and admiration for him on my part, and I daresay, he reciprocates at least some of it. Stella, what you and Will have is simply precious. I do not think you realize it, but nowadays, people rarely marry for love. I am realistic enough not to expect this out of life."

Vanessa’s modesty almost made me laugh. “You know how violently he is in love with you,” I said.

She gave me yet another morose smile. “I prefer not to think of it this way. It is a marriage of convenience, at least on my part. We are both comfortable financially; I know Mr. Fenwick well enough to know that he is not marrying me for my money. Perhaps,” she mused, “this is as close to conjugal happiness as I come.”

Later that day, after the new Mrs. Fenwick left for the lake country with her husband, Lady Hetty immediately returned to London, one of our carriages took Miss Fenwick back to Hereford (Samuel following at her heels), and the rest of the guests left, the sound of their carriages fainting slowly. Only the three of us remained—my husband, Alexandra, and I—and it was suddenly very quiet all around us.
“I think I shall miss Nessa dreadfully,” Alexandra sighed. “Whoever is going to teach me French now?”
“Ali, Hereford is but five miles away,” William said. “I am sure we can arrange it so that your lessons do not suffer.”

… The Fenwicks returned to Hereford in about ten days; they soon settled, comfortably, into being our neighbors. They dined at Bloomfield nearly every day, and Vanessa still tutored Alexandra three days a week. The situation was almost entirely agreeable to me, with the small exception of Miss Fenwick’s company. Ignoring my presence, she flirted mercilessly with my husband; since there was no response on his part, it did not really pain me.

Come to think of it, anything rarely pained me these days. The heat was getting the best of me and there was nothing I desired as much as sleep. At night, I retired early and drifted away as soon as my cheek touched the pillow, often leaving William yearning and disappointed. In the mornings, it took me a prodigious amount of will to open my eyes. In the afternoon, I often snuck away to my bedroom and remained there, behind the thin tulle canopy, submerged into the dreamless sleep.

One night, at dinner, as we were visited by the Fenwicks and Dr. Christopher Younge, the old family physician and friend, I had no appetite at all. It had been a hot day, and I would much rather have cold cucumber soup than the steaming beef stroganoff, which the cook had served. As I sat there, lazily sipping my orangeade, I noticed Dr. Younge's intense eyes on me. Catching my eyes, he smiled and turned to speak to Richard Fenwick.

"Stella, you have not eaten anything," William said, as the maid picked up my full plate.

"I have no appetite," I said, fanning myself. "Not in this infernal heat..."

"It really is not that hot," William said, looking at me quizzically. I looked around and noticed that I was the only person there with a fan; Vanessa even had a shawl around her shoulders.

After dinner, Dr. Younge approached me and asked to have a minute of my time.

"Lady Stella," he said, after we retreated to the library, "I noticed that you lacked in appetite today. Your husband has also informed me that you have been sleeping during the day lately--do you get tired easily?"

The look in his eyes startled me.

"What are you trying to say, sir?" I laughed incredulously. He asked me when my last period was; blushing, I told him that it happened roughly three weeks ago, just after we came back from London.

"Right," he said. "Well, I shan't inspect you yet. Wait and see if the next one comes. Send for me, if--you know."

After he left me, I remained standing at the window. Before, the thought of pregnancy hadn't crossed my mind. Naturally, I knew that there could be consequences from my nights with William, but I thought little of it, hoping that the Nature would take its course.

The physician's words startled me; I rubbed my hand against my stomach, wondering if I was already carrying a new life. It was a most peculiar, wondrous feeling, and, as I rejoined my husband and our guests in the drawing room, I could not stop myself from beaming.

For the next week, I spent days listening intently to my body. I read into the signs it gave me, waiting breathlessly for my period to come. But it did not; the day passed, and then three more, and yet, there was no blood. I became convinced that I was with child.

..."Stella Rosa!"
I looked up and saw my husband. Wearing his coat and riding boots, William sat astride Zanzibar, towering over the bank of a small stream. Leaning out of his saddle, he extended his hand to me. Looking down, I saw myself knee-deep in water, barefoot and sans stockings, my skirts tucked in and my sleeves rolled up.

"William, look!"

All around my feet, schools of silvery rainbow trout darted to and fro; leaning low, I tried catching one, but came up empty-handed. On earth, William laughed. I tried again, and oh joy! gripped a large one, and raised it out of the water.

"Stella, love, come out of there."

"Look, William, I have a fish."

The trout in my hands flapped violently and it only took me a second to loose my grip on it. Its sleek body twisted out of my hands and fell, twitching, the sun flashing in its scales, back into the stream. As I watched it disappear, gleaming like silver, among the schools of its brethren, a deep sense of loss overtook me and I wept. William quickly dismounted and, boots and all, jumped into the stream.

“Stella,” he said, over and over, as he gently shook my shoulder. “Stella, wake up.”

With a shudder, I opened my eyes. It was already morning; William’s concerned face was leaning over me. It was a dream, I thought, thank G*d it was only a dream.

“You were crying in your sleep,” he said, tenderly drawing his fingertips along my jaw-line. “What did you dream of?”

“I cannot remember,” I lied. For some reason, I could not bring myself to share this dream with him, even though the sense of loss persisted. As I shifted in bed, I felt wetness between my legs; flinging the covers aside, I saw that my nightgown was fairly stained with blood.

“Oh, Stella,” William whispered, reaching out to touch my cheek. Shying away from his touch, I jumped out of the bed and went to hide in my dressing room. There, as I cleaned myself and flung my soiled nightgown into a hamper, tears flowed indiscriminately down my face.

Why was I so devastated? I could not say. I had not lost a child; I simply never had it. But, my confidence bolstered by my strange state and Dr. Younge’s inquiry, I was nearly sure that I did. That I did not, came as a greatest—and most unfair—surprise, as I had convinced myself that I was with child. The disappointment was crushing; my confidence was all gone—I had to wonder whether each month would bring me the same kind of frustration.

“Stella,” William rapped urgently on the door. “Let me in, love.”
“I shall be right out!” I cried, flinging a gown about my shoulders. I wiped my tears and went back to my bedroom; but as I saw William, who was sitting, forlornly, on the edge of the bed, my eyes welled with tears once again.

“I do not understand—” he said, starting towards me. As I sat down next to him, nestling grimly against his shoulder, he put his arms around me. “I did not think that you were—why are you so upset?”

I had no real answer to that. “I do not know,” I whispered. “Dr. Younge roused my hopes—and then I was four days late—I had thought I might be—“ with this, I could contain myself no longer and wept, hiding my face in the folds of his dressing gown.

“Stella, Stella!” He took my chin and raised it, forcing me to look at him. I sobbed pathetically, sniffed embarrassingly. “We have not been married two months, love! Give it time, my darling, it will happen in due course.”

With utmost gentleness, his lips touched my wet face, kissing off my tears. He was right, of course, my wise, reasonable, compassionate husband; I thanked the Abastado for his ever-present kindness. Reaching up, I kissed William fully on the mouth, sliding my arms about his neck. When we parted for breath, he leaned his forehead against mine and closed his eyes.

“In fact,” he said, laughing against my lips, “the more we practice, the sooner it will happen.”

My tears now dry, I reminded him, sheepishly, that at least for the next three days, I was to be considered nidda; even as I said this, my hands caressed deftly the back of his neck and shoulders. I knew how unkind it was to him to tease him so while we were to remain celibate for the next several days; yet, I could not keep away from him. He entranced and captivated me, and my desire for him burned strong even in my saddest hours.

William sighed, his eyes closing involuntarily, his back arching against the touch of my hands. “Mmmmmm,” he murmured, “In this case, madam, shall you kindly desist from provoking me—or I may up and wreck your observance of this dreary custom…”

I followed his request, removing my hands; he sighed again, this time with obvious frustration, and said:

“Then we shall practice again in three days’ time. But Stella, I do find myself able to suffer this ritual of yours less and less!”

…Throughout that day, I remained somewhat down; during my lessons with Alexandra, I remained absent-minded and did not even correct her when she informed me that her great Macedonian namesake was the one to have sacked Rome. William, who, that day, insisted on coming to the lesson—which made Ali rather nervous, but did not even serve to take me out of my depressed reverie—immediately stopped the lesson, dismissed the dumbfounded Alexandra, and took me outside for a walk. Earlier, he had canceled all of his estate business for the day, calling off several meetings with his tenants and overseers.

My hand on his arm, we walked slowly down a forest path; we tried chatting about different things—Vanessa’s new marriage and how obviously in love Fenwick was with her; Miss Fenwick’s behavior, which was becoming more and more distasteful, and how awful it would be if Samuel decided to marry that harpy; our neighbors and the general society in –shire; tenant disputes and whether I should soon learn horseback-riding. But all of it felt artificial as we could no longer ignore the elephant in the room, or, to be more exact, in the garden.

“I had not thought about that before,” William said.
“Had not thought about what?”
“About being a father,” he said, quietly. “I guess it is to be expected now, is it not?”
“You do not want a child?” I asked, mortified.
“No!” he hurried to assure me. “I do, very much. I do. It is just—it has been such a short time—I have not had the time to enjoy being married to you, love.”

“Why should your enjoyment cease if I were to—“
“It should not. Nothing can diminish it. It is just—it would be something different.”
“I daresay it would,” I said, as we slowly turned on the path towards the house. “But I do think you should like it.”

“I might,” he agreed.
“You have been a father-figure to so many for so long,” I said. “You have been a doting son, a wonderful brother, and a Master of this great estate—I should think being a father should come naturally to you.”

He laughed. “You have it all figured out, you little imp,” he said, stopping and gathering me into his embrace. Cradling my head against his chest, he added earnestly. “This is one of my biggest fears—that I should fail as a father; that I should never be as good as my own father was—“

”You should make a great father,” I said firmly. I could not bear to have him thinking otherwise.
“The only thing I know is that I shall not be the first man in this situation, nor the last,” he said.

“This is the only thing you know?” I teased.
“Yes—why, is there anything else?”
“Well—“
”Are you, perhaps, referring to the fact that the prospective mother of my future heir is the most wonderful—exquisite—adored woman in the entire world?”

I giggled in utter joy; I could not get enough of hearing him say he loved me.
“—and that the process of making it—him, her—with her should be an absolute heaven for me?”
Forgetting all but my overwhelming need for him, I kissed him with abandon. It was some time, before William tore himself away and said, sighing:

“As soon as she stops torturing me and allows me the access to her divine self.”

Red and disheveled—as, while I was kissing him, his hands took liberty with my hair—I was lost as to my next move; had he propositioned me again, I should have forgotten all about being nidda and took him to my bed immediately; but we had not the time for that.

We heard steps and voices, and I turned away to make myself decent and to regain my composure. Turning back, I saw Mr. Fenwick and Vanessa, walking around the bend; in his hands, Mr. Fenwick carried a large paper package.

“Oh, good, he brought it,” William said.
”Brought what?”
“You shall see.”

The Fenwicks came nearer, and we all shook hands and kissed. Vanessa appeared to be in an excellent mood; and nothing more was ever needed for her husband but to see her happy.

“We stopped in town for it,” Mr. Fenwick said, thrusting the substantial-looking package into William’s hands, “I do not know if that is the one you wanted, but the shopkeeper assured it was the one you were looking at the other day.”

“What is it?” I asked Vanessa, as the four of us started walking towards the house, the gentlemen slightly ahead. My sister-in-law shrugged.
“Fenwick won’t tell me,” she said quietly. “A note came from Will earlier today, asking us to tea and supper, and to please leave Anabelle at home—“
“You are joking,” I said, flattered in no small degree—that my husband should commit such a grievous faux pas simply for the sake of my comfort pleased me greatly.
“No, I am quite serious. What has come over him?”
“I shall tell you later,” I said, as we approached the house.
“At any rate,” Vanessa continued, “it was quite easy, as Sam as at this moment at Hereford, probably confessing his undying love for my new sister. We left them there together—she could not very well ignore her gentleman caller—however much she wishes she could!”

The thought of Samuel at Hereford bothered me slightly, since I knew how opposed William was to his courting of Anabelle Fenwick, but I put it away. Today was not the day to concern myself with Samuel Hester’s matrimonial plans.

Near the house, William held Mr. Fenwick back, and asked Vanessa and me to go inside.
“What is this all about, Will?” Vanessa asked.
“You shall see—I shall come for you straight away, as soon as it’s fit to be seen.”

We went inside, Vanessa muttering, “Fit to be seen!” I won-der!” Apparently, Mr. Fenwick had ordered her—“And you know he never orders me!”—to stay in the carriage, while he went rummaging around the curio shop. Coming to the window, I saw William on his heels on the lawn in front of the house, and Mr. Fenwick standing over him, watching his maneuvers with a curious expression. Vanessa and I could not see what William was doing, as his broad back obscured the view.

Mr. Fenwick saw us and shook his head, reproachfully. “Let us go in,” I said to Vanessa. “If they are so bent on keeping this a secret, we might as well indulge their fancy.”

We went into the drawing room, and I landed momentarily in front of the piano-forte. It had belonged to Vanessa before her marriage; when leaving for Hereford, she received the assurances of her husband that he was to supply her with a new one, and she left it to me lightheartedly. Vanessa was insanely curious as to what our men were doing outside, and paced around the drawing-room, like a fury; I had been unhappy enough that day and could not stand her constant marching up and down the room.

“Vanessa, my dear, please come and play a number with me,” I begged. She sat down next to me, pushing me playfully with her hip.

“What shall we play?” she asked, reaching to ruffle through a sheaf of sheet music, and picked, of all things, a child’s lullaby. Her singing was beautiful, as always, but it tore my heart apart. The more I tried to convince myself that grieving for what I almost had was at least unreasonable, the more this irrational misery staked its claim on my heart. I accompanied Vanessa half-heartedly, making numerous mistakes, until she cut herself off, abruptly, and asked me what was wrong.

Blushing to the roots of my hair, I told my sister-in-law what had happened. So engrossed I was in my story that only when Vanessa, looking very distressed, offered me her handkerchief, did I realize that tears, once again, were streaming down my face.

“Oh,” I snuffled, “I am so sorry, Vanessa. I know how ridiculous it is, but—to almost have it and then lose it—“
”You have not lost it,” Vanessa said, in her usual uncompromising manner. “You simply misjudged when it was coming to you. Now, you shall simply need to wait a little longer.”

She threw her arm around my shoulder and pulled me closer to her. “Stella, Stella,” she said softly, “I am ever so glad you’ve come to be with Will—and all of us.”

A sound of rushed steps interrupted us, and Alexandra flew into the room, all aflutter. “Stella, Nessa, come, come!” she cried. “William and Mr. Fenwick have—“
“Good afternoon, Ali,” Vanessa said, all proper. “How was your lesson with Stella today?”
“She thinks Alexander the Great was the one to sack Rome,”: William informed her, appearing in the doorway. Alexandra’s lips trembled immediately, and I threw William a reproachful glare. “Well, well, Ali,” he hastened to add, “do not cry darling. I have only just myself learned that he didn’t. Now, ladies, come and witness a sight unseen.”

Curious, we filed out of the room. Vanessa and Ali ran ahead, and I walked slightly behind, still dabbing my eyes with Vanessa’s handkerchief.

“Stella, are you at it again, love?” William said gently, as he fell behind to walk next to me. ‘Please do not cry, darling, your tears are rending my heart in two…”

Following the girls, we stepped outside, and I gasped. There, sprawled majestically on the manicured lawn, lay an enormous red beast—a dragon with long spiked tail. That it was made entirely of red paper escaped me at first; for a second, it seemed to me that the thing that Mr. Fenwick held down, gently, on the grass, was alive.

Leaning, William searched for something in the thick grass; after he found the control for the beast, he wound it tightly about his right hand.

“Let go, Fenwick,” he said. Mr. Fenwick, how had been holding the beast down with one knee and one hand, rose, and all of a sudden, the magnificent beast came alive. It fluttered, its wings filling with wind. William stepped back, pulling it after him; the gentle summer breeze raised the monster in the air and raised it, higher and higher, until it floated just about near William’s head; at this, my husband slowly unwound the tether, and the creature, its red wings alive on the wind, rose high in the afternoon sky.

To the delighted cries of his sisters and the laughter of Mr. Fenwick, William quickened his step, pulling the magnificent beast after him; it followed my husband like a dog on a leash. because of its substantial size, it was difficult to fathom that it was simply a paper kite, and William, pulling it along with effortless grace, looked like one of King Arthur’s brave knights.

“Stella!” William cried to me, waving for me to come closer, “Come, darling, have a go at it.”

I approached, and he handed me the control; as I grasped it, the dragon seemed to realize that the powerful grip of his master has been replaced with a weaker hand of a woman. In the sky, it flapped its wings and tail, fighting the pull of the line and making it difficult for me to hold it. William, noticing my struggle, came up from behind and placed one hand over mine, gripping it tightly. His other arm wound around my waist, he pressed his cheek to mine in a gesture of intimate affection—of the sort that he usually shied in the presence of others. Immediately, the controls in my hand felt calmer, steadier; as if feeling William’s familiar command, the dragon in the sky behaved. William turned me around slowly, and the beast followed us; delighted, I laughed.

"Oh, I do so love to hear your laughter," he whispered, planting a kiss on my cheek. In his arms, my sadness had let go; I breathed freer and smiled without reservation. William's love for me was truly my bastion of strength.

Next Section