Free Lady Barbara's Dilemma by Marjorie Farrell

Barnabas had won first prize. And that is no lie, she thought to herself, for since none of us has seen such a creature, there can be no complaints or comparisons.
    Betsy’s face lit up and her hand trembled as she accepted the blue ribbon and the guinea that were first prize. She popped Barnabas back in his box and went off to find her parents.
    “Well done, my lady,” said the fiddler.
    “Why are you here, sir, and not off somewhere playing your fiddle?” demanded Barbara.
    “I am a great animal lover,” he explained, his eyes twinkling. “And I remember the pet competitions when I was a boy. It takes great diplomacy to be the judge. I would say that the Old Bailey is all the poorer that women cannot sit on the bench!”
    “Enough of your toadying, Mr…?”
    “Alec Gower.” Alec had borrowed his teacher’s surname for the year.
    “Good day, Mr. Gower,” said Barbara, turning on her heel and trying to keep a dismissive tone in her voice. He was encroaching, this fiddler. But there was something about the man… His talent, for one thing. And his charm. He had been utterly charming with Betsy.
    Alec watched Barbara walk off. A fine-looking woman, lad, he said to himself. Oh, aye, and it is too bad ye canna expect her to gie ye a second look. For the first time since he had left his grandfather’s library, he chafed under the conditions of their wager. Lady Barbara was clearly related to the Earl of Ashurst, whether his sister or daughter. As the grandson of the Duke of Strathyre, he would have been able to pursue an acquaintance. As a poor wandering musician, he was beneath her notice. But she had noticed his music, by God, and this evening he would make sure she noticed it again.
    * * * *
    The dancing was held on the village green, with a temporary platform erected for the musicians. Old Daniel had been a bit resentful at first at the stranger’s presence, but after he had heard him play, his envy melted away. Gower’s talent was far superior to any of Daniel’s rivals in Sussex or Kent. They played together and then each played a few dances alone. Daniel’s music, as always, was a joy to dance to. But when Gower played, something magical seemed to happen. Everyone felt more energy; the figures of the dances flowed together, one into the other, so that no step felt separate. The dancers, the dance, and the music were as one.
    There was no attention paid to rank on Midsummer Day. All danced together: Robin with the blacksmith’s wife, the squire with his tenant’s mother, and Barbara with Betsy’s father. And so when the fiddler approached her, she shouldn’t have been surprised.
    “May I have this dance, Lady Barbara?” he asked in unaccented English.
    Barbara was flustered, but could hardly refuse him. Daniel struck up a reel, so there was little chance for exchanging pleasantries, even if she could have thought of any. Despite his height, Gower was a graceful dancer, and once she had given herself over to the music she realized she had never had such a sympathetic partner. There was a smile on her face by the end of the tune that she couldn’t have hidden if she had wanted to. And somewhere, deep inside her, she felt a stirring of joy. She had almost forgotten, in the disappointments of the past few years, what that felt like.
    “Ye have a fine pair of legs for dancing, lass.”
    “Tell me, Mr. Gower, how is it that sometimes you speak the King’s English, and at other times you are almost incomprehensible?” asked Barbara, ignoring his outrageous compliment.
    “I went to a hard school, lassie, wi’ a master who tried to beat the Scots out of me.” Which was not too far from the truth, thought Alec. His grandfather had never approved of Alec’s mother, and strictly forbade any lapse into Scots. “Ye might say I can speak like a Sassenach, but Scots is ma mither tongue. And have ye recovered from yoor wee fright this afternoon?” he continued, a wicked grin on his face.
    “What fright,