Page 23 of Sleepless in Saunton
“Truly, Miss Davis. You should share your verses more often. I think you could write a volume and seek a publisher.”
She gasped in reaction. “What? Why would the poems of a country lass be worth publishing? You are funning me!”
“Women are the jewels of our civilization. She is grace and kindness. She is the beauty of our world. Without her, men would be mere barbarians in the mud. We could all dare to hear more from the feminine perspective.”
“My sister is the one with something to declare. I am not.”
“I beg to differ. Your words contain profound insight.”
She glanced at him. “I observe people. Most of my verses are regarding what I think I see.”
Barclay swallowed. “You see much, if that verse is anything to judge by.”
“You are most encouraging.”
He shrugged nonchalantly, but internally, he was still recovering from the words she had read aloud. “There are plenty of people who could criticize you for your effort. I prefer to be a man who encourages worthy individuals to pursue their dreams. I owe my grandfather for taking a chance on me, so I feel obligated to create opportunities for others. In that vein, I have publisher acquaintances if you ever wish to submit your work for consideration.”
Jane sat back in her chair and stared at him intently across the width of the room. “You are an unusual man, Barclay Thompson.”
Barclay drowned in the ice-blue depths of her gaze, his breath quickening along with his pulse. He imagined lifting her in his arms, without breaking that intent gaze, and walking her down the hall to place her in his bed. To lower his mouth and taste her creamy skin. To sip the gentle grace of her soul. To hold her in his arms while he brought her to the heights of new passion. To fall asleep with her cradled in his arms and wake in the morning to begin his day with her. All the while, comforted by the knowledge that she was young and strong. That her days were not numbered, and that she could stay at his side long into the future. That they could grow old together, and he would not know the forbidding shadow of imminent loss as he had done with Natalya every day of their lives together.
He blinked, and that idyllic future disappeared as the room came back into focus.
She is not for you, Barclay.
But he wished she was. His entire being yearned to spend more time with the graceful woman who treated his child with such kindness and allowed him to forget the pain of loss for the first time.
They spoke for a little while, discovering a mutual love of Shakespeare and Wordsworth, and he was impressed with the quickness of her mind and the depth of her understanding regarding their verses. Eventually, Barclay returned to the family wing. He walked along the dark hall, musing over the interlude with Jane, who had remained in the library.
The corridor was dark, the fog blocking all moonlight from weaving its way in. Barclay could barely see his way because the sconces cast little light. He assumed that the large sash windows allowed plenty of moonlight in and that the sconces were sufficient under most circumstances, but the fog had been unexpected so the servants had not taken pains to increase the light for the gloomy conditions.
Just then, a flash of lightning lit the hall. A clap of thunder masked Barclay’s yelp of surprise when a small ghostly figure was revealed several feet in front of him.
“Papa?”
Barclay caught his breath, realizing that it was Tatiana who had startled him out of his wits. “What are you doing out of bed, little one?”
“I miss Mama.” She broke into tears when she responded, causing Barclay to hurry over to her side.
Dropping to his haunches, he folded her into his arms. “Oh, Tatiana. I promise wherever your mama is right now, she misses you dreadfully, too.”
Tatiana’s little shoulders shook as she cried into his shoulder, breaking Barclay’s heart as he swept her up against him and carried her to his room. Walking over to a sofa by the fireplace, he settled her down next to him. “What is it?”
“I woke from a dream. Mama was in my dream, but I couldn’t see her face. When I awoke, I realized I have forgotten what she looked like.” Barclay’s heart fractured as he stared down at the tear-streaked face of his little girl and thought about what he should say.
He reached out a finger to wipe away her tears. “That is ridiculous, little one. Of course you remember how she looks. Why, you look just like her!”
Tatiana’s tears stopped. “I do?”
“All you need to do is look in the mirror. Come, see here.”
Barclay ushered his daughter over to a mirror on the wall. Holding her up with one arm, he raised his hand to finger her hair. “She had silken hair woven from moonbeams …”
“Like mine?”
“That is correct. And, see, she had eyes as blue as the Baltic Sea.”
Tatiana gazed at her reflection. “Like mine?”
