Page 27 of Sleepless in Saunton
When the widow had eventually lamented the strength of the sun, Barclay had quickly suggested that they sit and converse in the shade of a nearby tree, assuring her he would not mind with barely disguised relief. They had ended their game to take a seat on the bench that curved around the base of the majestic oak.
Barclay had smoothed his hands over his buckskins and regretted he had not brought any tailcoats of a different hue. With his decision to come out of mourning, he had realized that very morning that he could not continue to wear the black tailcoats, which had become something of a uniform.
If he were on a work site, he might loosen his cravat to breathe easier, but it would be scandalous among the houseguests to do so, which meant he had to suffer through the rigid dress standards throughout the day and night while he engaged in trivial pastimes.
Nevertheless, he was to try to find a new wife and a mother for Tatiana, so inhaling, he told himself he would need to prevail. How simple his courtship with Natalya had been as a young man. When had life become so complicated?
For the next half hour, he made small talk with the woman, fetching lemonade and biscuits from a nearby table the earl’s staff had set up for the guests.
Eventually, Mrs. Gordon sighed. “Would you mind terribly if we no longer partook in small talk? Perhaps we could share more entertaining tales if we relax the proprieties a little?”
Barclay straightened in his eagerness. He needed to learn about the attractive woman at his side, and polite chitchat revealed little of a person’s character. “Indeed. It can become dull. Did you have a subject in mind?”
“Tell me, Mr. Thompson, do you ever have difficulty with a client? Does anyone refuse their plans, or whatnot?”
Barclay laughed. “It is the constant dread of an architect when an important client changes their mind midway. Just recently I planned a Neo-classical folly for a client up north. Building had begun, and I traveled to visit the building site, where he met with me. The foundations were already dug and construction had begun, which we inspected together.”
Mrs. Gordon leaned forward. “What did he do?”
“The client mentioned he had recently visited Stourhead near to here in Wiltshire, and could we adjust the foundations to make the building round, such as the Temple of Apollo at that grand home designed by Colen Campbell.”
Mrs. Gordon giggled. “My word! How far along were the foundations?”
“We had already constructed them and had begun on the first level.”
“That is a ridiculous request to have made! What did the gentleman think you were to do?”
“He asked me if we could simply leave what we had constructed, but knock out the corners of the square to form a circle.”
The widow broke out laughing, holding up her hands to cover her mouth in her mirth. Barclay could not deny that her absorption in his story, not to mention her response, was flattering. It had been some time since he had enjoyed the company of a woman in a leisurely manner, and Mrs. Gordon evidently found him amusing. Gasping for breath, she responded, “How did you address his request?”
“I told him, certainly we could do precisely as he requested. I would simply prepare an estimate for the change in specifications and bring it to him that evening.”
“And did you do so?”
“I did. When he saw the cost, he appeared to be in the grip of an apoplexy. I asked him if I could commence work on the changes, and he sputtered he would sleep on it and inform me in the morning.”
Mrs. Gordon’s shoulders shook with glee as she laughed even harder. “And then?”
“Come morning, the gentleman had left me a note that he was needed elsewhere, and that he had decided that the Hoares of Stourhead were pretentious tradesmen who knew not their place, and that Colen Campbell was naught but an upstart fromlouse land. My master builder informed me that the contemptible denigration referred to Scotland, being himself a Scot from Edinburgh. The note directed that I was to proceed with the original design of taste and distinguishment thathehad designed.”
Mrs. Gordon clutched her stomach, practically doubling over in her mirth. “What a rude man!” She gasped for breath. “Well played, Mr. Thompson.”
He grinned back at her. “One does not get far as an architect if one does not learn how to manage one’s clients.”
She leaned forward and asked in a conspiratorial whisper, “Who was the gentleman in question? Was it someone I would have heard of?”
Chuckling, Barclay shook his head. “I am afraid I cannot speak out of turn. Suffice it to say that he was not as distinguished as he claimed.”
The afternoon had become unexpectedly entertaining, and Barclay was pleased to find the widow was more fun than he had initially thought. Perhaps they could form a comfortable companionship? She was attractive, amiable company, and she had a sense of humor.
Not to mention that she is of an appropriate age.
Barclay exhaled in contentment. This might actually lead to something. He had to admit he was enjoying himself for the first time since Natalya had died. It was as if he had been asleep these past two years and this visit to Saunton Park had suddenly awoken him from his slumber. He still did not sleep at night, but mayhap once he had a wife in his bed once more, he would recover his ability to relax.
Certainly, he felt relaxed at this moment.
He had not realized how much tension he had had coiled throughout his body until this week. Since arriving here, it had been releasing in tiny increments. Perhaps by the time he left for London, he might be engaged in a serious courtship with the handsome widow.
