Page 33 of Sleepless in Saunton
It was a revelation of design, but it did not escape Barclay’s notice that his … sire … had commissioned the underworld—a strange choice unless one took the dead man’s hedonistic ways into account. Of course, the Earl of Satan had bonded with this chapter of classic mythology. How fitting a subject for such a cruel and lecherous man. But today was for learning more about the woman who had been captivating Barclay since the first moment he had met her, and assessing their compatibility together with Tatiana, so he brushed his bitter thoughts aside.
Entering, Jane froze at the sight of the second statue. A hole had been cut through the roof above to highlight the installation with dappled light. Ethan and Tatiana gasped in amazement, and Barclay had to admit that his grandfather had orchestrated such drama that it fairly took one’s breath away.
Hades himself towered above them, much larger than Persephone, with his long bident in one hand and the other gripping a leash which tethered the ferocious Cerberus, his three-headed guard dog. On Hades’ head rested his helm, and his face was turned toward the first statue, hidden from view, with the same sense of longing. But this god longed for his wife rather than the above world, which Barclay could commiserate with.
Except, for the first time since Natalya had departed, she was not foremost on his mind this afternoon.
“Who is it?” Ethan breathed, his small face reflecting his awe as he stood at the base and gazed up at the dog. Cerberus stood taller than the boy, and Barclay had to confess his own awe at the scope and perfection of the statue. One could practically smell the fetid breath of the hellhound.
“It is Hades, the king of the underworld.” He pointed up at the helm. “That is his cap of invisibility. It allows him to travel undetected by other gods, similar to a cloud of mist.”
Jane walked around the massive statue, viewing it from every angle.
“The detail is so intricate. See his sandals?” She pointed at the feet, which were clasped in leather straps with every nuance depicted. Hades looked like he might step off his pedestal at any moment to search for Persephone.
Tatiana leaned in to inspect Cerberus, squinting at the sharp teeth jutting from his snarling mouths. “It is … magical,” she sighed. “Like Ladin in his cave of treasures!”
Barclay beamed. He could not remember the last time he had enjoyed such a moment of union. Four special people together in this moment when he laid eyes on one of his grandfather’s greatest works. A moment of pure and utter joy.
Eventually, they began their journey back to the manor. Tatiana and Ethan clamored along ahead of them on the path. Noting their distraction, Barclay discreetly reached out his hand to clasp Jane’s. Her eyes remained on the path, but he did not miss the smile of bliss that crossed her face and he sighed his own pleasure at a perfect afternoon of happiness.
Soon they would return to reality, when they crossed the edge of the woods back into the garden, but no matter what happened after this walk, the wondrous visit to the grotto with Jane and the children would forever remain in his heart.
CHAPTER9
As they approached the manor, Barclay reluctantly let go to walk ahead and take Tatiana’s hand. Jane came up behind him to walk with Ethan, and he sighed. Their glorious jaunt was over, guests coming into view on the terrace, and he longed to turn back to the woods where things had seemed so simple in the solitude of the grotto.
Climbing the sloping steps, Jane discreetly ventured over to where the countess, the Duchess of Halmesbury, and his mother sat drinking tea around a table. Barclay watched her departure with regret, not wanting their afternoon to end. On the other hand, he wanted to explore the unexpected unison he felt with the young lady without potentially censorious interjections from inquisitive onlookers.
The children hurried over to the refreshments nearby, Ethan clamoring to know what was on the tabletop, which he could not see from his diminutive height.
His reverie was interrupted when Mrs. Gordon appeared at his side, placing a hand on his forearm, and his heart sank. The widow was a lovely woman, and he had no wish to disappoint her. He tried to think if he had indicated he might pursue her. It would be uncomfortable to explore future possibilities with Jane while engaging in a flirtation with the widow.
“Mr. Thompson, I have missed you this afternoon. Were you taking a walk with the children?” The widow gestured to Jane with an arch of an elegant blonde eyebrow, causing a stirring of anxiety in his gut. Was that how people would view them? That he was courting a child?
“Miss Davis and I took Ethan and my daughter to visit the grotto.” Barclay was aware his timbre was roughened a little from his disquiet.
“Oh! I have heard from the countess that it is wondrous. I was hoping to see it, but I have never learned the route to reach it. I am hopeless with directions.” Mrs. Gordon gazed at him expectantly, and he realized she was prompting him to take her there. The thought of sharing it—their special place—with anyone but Jane made him clench his hands in agitation. No matter what happened in the future, whether Jane and he overcame their obstacles, he would always treasure introducing her to the magical caves. He could not impose on that memory by taking another to see it. Especially not the same afternoon.
“Perhaps one of the guests will accompany you. Mr. Ridley, I believe, is familiar with the way.” Her face fell in disappointment, and Barclay felt guilt, but not enough guilt to intrude on his magical memory with Jane. “Shall we take a turn around the gardens?”
It was the least he could do after sidestepping her hints to visit the woods.
“That would be lovely.” She looked about before lowering her voice. “I had a matter I would like to discuss in private.”
He hesitated, then held out his arm and Mrs. Gordon took hold of it, grasping him a little more tightly than was comfortable. Heading down the steps, they took the gravel walkway toward the formal gardens which could be overseen from the terrace, and he admitted he was curious what the widow would have to say.
“Mr. Thompson, I do not wish to be forward.” She spoke as soon as they were out of earshot of the other guests. “I would like to make my feelings clear.”
“On what subject, Mrs. Gordon?”
“May I be frank, sir?”
He inclined his head in agreement, worry descending on him. What was this about? He was concerned he might have created expectations with the widow and this conversation implied he might have overstepped.
“I am aware of your family circumstances … of your mother and the late Earl of Saunton.”
Barclay halted to look down at the petite widow. She was several inches shorter than the willowy Jane. When he had kissed Jane in the library, it had been surprisingly easy to lean over and taste her skin, where the constellation of mischievous freckles marred her otherwise perfect flesh in the most delightful manner. He blinked to clear his thoughts, remembering that the widow had just raised the question of his bastardy, which was quite inappropriate.
