Stella Rosa

Part V

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

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

"Um--" he said, looking at the tips of his shoes. "How much--I assume you shall need time to--"

"Yes," I said gratefully. "I should very much like a bath."

"I shall see you, then, when you are done with your toilette?"

"Yes," I whispered, unable to contain the silliest smile.

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

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

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

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

"If I may, madam, it is so pretty!"

"Is it not too open?"

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

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

"Lord, you are beautiful!" he said.

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

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

"I--I am ready, William."

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

"You are?"

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

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

"Are you ready?" I asked, raising my eyes at him.

He coloured somewhat as he answered. "I--I have been--but men are different, Stella. Come," he said, extending his hand to me.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

William

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Good morning, love," he muttered, yawning sweetly. "How long have you been sitting here like this?"

"Not long. I did, however, take a liking to watching you sleep. You look most innocent when you slumber."

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

"William, hm," she said. "Was the last night to your liking?"

He smirked. "What do you think?"

"I really cannot tell--I am far too inexperienced to tell." She was teasing him, asking him for praise, and he readily forgave her this little indiscretion.

"Well," William said, wrinkling his nose, pretending to think hard. "I really cannot remember."

"You cannot remember?" She sounded shocked, displeased--this was obviously not the answer she had expected.

"Must have been too much for my poor, feeble mind," he continued to tease her.

"Well, how preposterous!" she cried. "How insulting!"

She made to rise from the bed, but he had foreseen such a reaction to his words, and immediately pinned her down, preventing her escape.

"Perhaps," he said, trying in vain to kiss her lips as she wiggled and turned her face away, "it is in your power to remind me."

She stopped wiggling. "Remind you?" she asked. He finally managed that kiss.

"You cannot refuse me," he murmured, moving his lips down to her neck. At the same time, his hands pulled on the hem of the nightgown she had put on while he slept. "I am your lawful wedded husband, and I would have you obey me," he managed to get the gown off, and sat back, admiring her.

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

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

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

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

"And why is that?" she inquired.

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

"Why so?"

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

"Because I was overwhelmed--befuddled--confounded--could not think straight--because I am mad for you, Stella, my Stella," He continued with his caresses, listening to the low-pitched growl his activities elicited from her. "You must allow me to show you how grateful I am for last night, my love..."

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

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

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

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

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

"This won't do, William," she mused. "You simply tore the poor thing apart."

"I shall buy you a hundred more," he murmured, hiding his face in her hair. "With the express right to tear them off you whenever I want to."

"You are certainly willful, sir," she laughed.

"Ah, Stella," he sighed, as he took the garment out of her hand and flung it away, "I daresay I am a strong man. Might I not indulge in my only weakness the best I know how?"

She sat up, pretty as a picture, but still somewhat shy of him and wrapping herself in a sheet, as if he hadn't already seen all of her.

"My darling," she said, smiling, "I must confess: you know how very well!"

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

He soon suggested, half-heartedly, that they should probably go back downstairs. Stella was candid.

"Why?" she asked. "So that we may look at each other, yearning to return to this bed?"

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

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

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

"You know perfectly well, which book," she said. He drew her back to him.

"What about it, dearest?"

"I should like to see it," she demanded.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Can you play?" he inquired, rather surprised.

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

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

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

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

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

He colored as he answered: "Are you casting me away, my love?"

She smiled demurely. "With all this cacophony, you are sure to get a headache, sir."

Indeed, the sounds she extracted out of this old soap-dish, as William had come to think of their latest purchase, were of a most discordant sort, save for an occasional fleeting harmony.

"Shall you play me a song when I return?" he asked her.

"Of course I shall, mi lindo amor," she answered quickly, as if not thinking.

He was moved almost to tears by her address. What is it with me, he asked himself, why does everything she says and does brings such an emotion out of me? Out loud, with a sharp intake of breath, he asked: "What did you call me, my love?"

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

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

He laughed, rising to his feet. "Have it your way, cruel, cruel Stella. I shall go. But!" he raised one finger into the air. "I shall return---and claim a reward for your present cruelty to me."

"Very well, sir," she smirked, looking at him with her clear, green, brilliant eyes. "You shall have it."

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

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

"Pardon me," he said, "I mean not to intrude... I noticed that you were speaking Ladino-"
They immediately switched to English; and in their expressions, there appeared something rather distrustful and defensive.

"I daresay we were," the young man said, raising his chin. His wife, dressed up to the latest London fashions, peeked timidly from behind his broad shoulder.

"I do not mean to upset you---" William noticed the disconcerting effect his words had had on them. "My name is William Hester," he said, extending his hand. The husband shook it vigorously, seemingly more at ease.

"Isaac Duran," he said. "This is my wife, Rachelle."

William bowed. "The reason I intruded upon you so rudely is that my wife---she speaks your language as well-"

‘Your wife is Jewish?" the young woman piped up.

"Yes; she is nee de Lara."

"De Lara!" Mr. Duran exclaimed. "How extraordinary! I happen to know her sister, Miss Elena, and her brother, Mr. Enrique de Lara!"

"Then perhaps, you know my wife as well?" William wondered. "Formerly Miss Stella Rosa de Lara."

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

There was an awkward pause; William realized that the nature of their marriage was known among the people of the juderia.

"We have only been married several days and are here on our wedding journey," he said, hurriedly. "Mr. Duran, Mrs. Duran---I know my wife would be thrilled to meet you. I would be much obliged if you paid us a visit while we are at Bath."

"We would be honored," Mr. Duran said, bowing. After William gave his new acquaintances directions as to their situation at Bath, they parted, and William, spirits aflutter, walked back to the inn.

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

"Back already?" she murmured, caressing his head.

"I thought you were asleep," he replied.

"Well, I was---but you woke me, sir."

"Forgive me."

‘Never mind that, husband. Tell me, rather: are you ready for the reward I've promised you?"

His imagination running rampant, he eagerly acquiesced, and was rather nonplussed when she pushed him away.

"Well, then," she jumped spryly to her feet. "Here it is."

She lifted the guitar off the floor and sat down on the chair opposite him, while he remained on the sofa, tormented and unfulfilled.

"A song for you," she said, and, to his utmost surprise, as her fingers descended upon the strings, a melodious harmony escaped.

"You've tuned it!" he exclaimed.

"So I have," she smiled. "I am quite industrious when you are not around."

Cocking her head to the side, her eyes closed, she sang. Her performance was beautiful and heartfelt; her voice carried most sweetly and to him, she looked absolutely beautiful.

"A la una yo naci
A las dos m'engradaci
A las tres tomi amante
A las quatro mi casi!
Alma, vida y coracon!"*

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Afterwards, he raised his face, wet with her tears, from the crook of her neck and planted the gentlest kiss on her lips.

"I love you so much," he whispered, pulling away.

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

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

"Yes?" he inquired gruffly of the girl.

"Pardon me, sir, but there's a gentleman and a lady calling on you, sir." She handed him a card. He read it and cursed under his breath. It was his new acquaintances, the Durans. He had completely forgotten that he had invited them to pay Stella and him a visit.

"What time is it?" he asked.

"A quarter to seven, sir."

"Please ask them in," he told Mary. "Tell them that we should be right out." And, having thrown a glance back at the bed, where Stella still slept, her black hair unkempt on the pillow, he added. "And Mary, do come back--I expect her ladyship will want her hair done."

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

"Oooh, how pleasant," she murmured, smiling blissfully.

"Excellent," William said, straightening up. "Rise, darling, we have guests."

"Guests?" she sat up, frowning. "What are you speaking of?"

He explained it all to her, quickly, as he was feverishly straightening himself up in front of a mirror.

"Hebreos?" she inquired of him, looking rather shocked. He only nodded, as he struggled with his cravat. It took a minute to finally get it right; he drew a brush over his hair and darted into his dressing room, to splash his face with cold water. When he returned to the bedroom, Stella was sitting in front of a mirror, quickly buttoning up her dress.

"You say they know Elena?" she asked, looking up at him.

"The husband says he does. And your brother Henry," he said.

"Oy Abastado," she muttered, coloring faintly. "Go to them, darling, I shall come out presently."

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

The Durans were in the drawing room; as William entered, Mr. Duran rose to greet him.

"Lord Hester," he said, looking quite uncomfortable, "Perhaps we are too rash to impose on you so soon!"

William noticed to himself that the young man had already learned that he was a lord; bowing to Mrs. Duran, he assured them, with all possible civility, that there was no imposition, and that he was exceedingly glad to see them.

"As my wife, no doubt, will be," he said. "Forgive our tardiness--the heat has gotten the best of us and we had fallen asleep."

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

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

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

"Sir William tells me you've come from London?" Stella inquired of Mr. Duran.

"We have," the young man answered. "We have just been married, and are on our wedding journey."

"And what do you do, sir?"

"I am in the banking business," Mr. Duran said. "I was pleasantly surprised to find out that there was another person of Hebrew persuasion vacationing here at Bath."

"Yes," she said. "We are on our honeymoon as well," she shot William a coy glance.

"Mr. Duran, my husband also mentioned that you are familiar with some of my close family?"

"Yes," he said quickly. "I have had the honor and pleasure to meet your sister, Miss Elena--through her fiancé, Mr. Pedro da Silva."

"And pray tell, are you close friends with Mr. Da Silva?"

"Our friendship is new--we have met through the Liberal Reform movement," he said.

"Well!" Stella cried. "How odd it is that the young Mr. da Silva be a part of something so radical!"

"Yes. He is new to it; it pains his father the khakhan a great deal that his son should reject most of what he believes in! But many of the young fashionable members of the juderia swirl around the Movement. Most of them come and go, of course. Some stay. This is where I have met your brother, Mr. Enrique de Lara."

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

"I was at Mr. da Silva's house less than a week ago," Mr. Duran informed them. "Your sister had been visiting him, together with Mrs. Viola de Lara, and they were just leaving."

"Pray tell, did my sister look well? She did not look pale or sickly, did she?"

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

"And her kiddushin is but three weeks away!"

"Yes. I was honored by Mr. Da Silva's request that I serve as one of the ushers," the young man smiled, proudly.

"Oh how I wish how I could be there for my dearest Elena!" Stella cried. Mrs. Duran, who, at closer inspection, did not look to be older than sixteen, asked naively: "Can't you go? I have heard it is only a day's ride from your part of the country to Town!"

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

Eager to remedy her preceding tactlessness, Rachelle Duran cried eagerly: "We should be thrilled to take it--shouldn't we, mi amor?"

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

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

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

Rachelle Duran noticed he guitar, which still lay on the rug at their feet, and praised the old instrument. The Durans begged Stella to play, and she acquiesced, looking coyly at his husband.

The song she played sounded somewhat like a waltz, and William was immediately enchanted, and somewhat--though not completely pacified--by her beloved voice.

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

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

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

"Why have you stopped, Lady Hester?" the young Mrs. Duran inquired. "You sang ever so prettily!"

"I don't remember how the song ends," Stella said, dryly. William wondered; it was something about three sisters, he could tell; two were married, the last one-- what happened to the last one?

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

"What happened to the third sister?" he whispered.

"Pardon?" she looked up at him, startled.

"The song was about you, wasn't it? There were three girls in your family."

She smiled unhappily and admitted to it. "My mother used to sing to my sisters and me when I was a child." And at this, she fell silent again.

"So?" he asked.

"So what?"

"So what happened to "la una"?"

Stella sighed. "La una se deperdio," she whispered. "She was lost."

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

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

"No!" she cried, "No, William! I do not think so! It's just--"

"Do not insult me by lying to me," he said fiercely.

"Well," she hesitated. "A part of me is lost, William. My family--my people--my tradition--"

"Stella," he said bitterly, "I have tried my best--and I promise you, I should try best in the future--to complement what you have lost--but I shall never be able to take the place of your family."

There were tears in her eyes and it tore his heart to pieces.

"I can not jump higher than my own head," he continued. "I can only love you--but if that is not enough for you--I cannot bring your family back, Stella."

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Please forgive me," he muttered. "I do not know--this will never happen again."

"Surely," she said, placidly. "And I hope you forgive me as well, my love."

"For what?" he grumbled, somewhat more composed now, his face burning with shame.

"For being so utterly insensitive to you, Will. Please understand--even if I grieve after my family, I in no way blame you for my loss of them. Marrying you was a choice I made--and I have not regretted it yet, and I never shall--unless you take your love away from me."

"Never!" he said hotly, seizing both her hands and squeezing them tightly. "How can you even think this is beyond me, Stella!"

"Very well," she whispered, smiling at him. "It is decided, then--we are to love each other, forever, with all our hearts."

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

*Both songs Stella sings are old Sephardic songs, most recently sung by Judy Frankel.

© 2002 Copyright held by the author.

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