Page 42 of Sleepless in Saunton
“Our situation is difficult, little one. Mrs. Gordon might help us.”
“But I like Jane. I want her to be my mother.”
Barclay braced himself. He could not have another woman in his care be broken by their association with him. Mrs. Gordon might help both Aurora and Tatiana overcome this … this … damned notoriety. He was not afraid of ruining the widow’s life with his situation because she was rusticating in the country and was willing to contend with the issues. They enjoyed a companionable relationship, but no deep feelings were engaged on either side. A marriage to her would be … safe … and he must do what was right for his family, no matter how much he might wish for something different.
“Jane is a young girl. You need a proper mother. One who can help you grow up to be a great lady one day.”
“Mrs. Gordon does not like children.”
Barclay stiffened. “How can you know that? Did she say something to you?”
“No, but I can tell. And I know Jane makes you happy. You smile when you are with her. Please do not do this. You like her, too. I know it. It is not too late. I left Jane in the library, and we can go join her there.”
Barclay relaxed at the news that Mrs. Gordon had not acted in an untoward manner to his child. Reaching out his hand, he clasped his daughter’s gently. “You must trust me, Tatiana. I am doing this for you. One day you will understand.”
His daughter started sobbing in earnest, and for the second time that day, Barclay tried to comfort one of the females he was honor bound to protect while they wept. He tried to embrace her, but Tatiana pulled away from him to stand. There she stood glaring at him, her arms akimbo and her face set in anger like a little warrior princess.
“You know nothing.” Her face was red with pent-up emotion. “I know Jane is the one, but you will not listen!”
With that, she ran away, Barclay watching as she disappeared.
He needed to set this right, and this was the only way he knew how. Tatiana would be upset at first, but he was sure it would all work out in the end because it had to. He could not be the cause of any more disappointment for their little family because it was breaking him in two. Tatiana would be disappointed for a little while, but she would eventually forget the young woman.Theywould forget her … in time.
He should never have encouraged Jane or Tatiana with foolish hopes.
* * *
Jane spentthe afternoon searching for Tatiana and Barclay, but they were nowhere to be found. Eventually she had played chess with her cousin Ethan, before returning to her bedroom to prepare for dinner. Eagerly, she had ventured to where the guests were gathering, but Barclay was not to be seen.
At last he walked in, dressed in black trousers, black tailcoat, and snowy white linen, which fairly took Jane’s breath away as it did each evening. Barclay was especially fine in evening finery. Caught in a conversation with Mr. Dunsford, she could not help staring across the room at his tall form making his way over to his brother. Before she could make her excuses to leave Mr. Dunsford’s side, dinner was called, and she saw Barclay hold out an arm to the widow, Mrs. Gordon, to escort her to the dining room.
Once entering the lavish dining area, where crystal, silver, and fine china glinted in the candlelight and austere Balfour ancestors observed them from ornate gilt frames, Barclay took his seat with the widow while Jane was stuck with Mr. Dunsford. The gentleman was solicitous and charming in his self-deprecating manner, but Jane wanted to spend time with Barclay. Who had made these seating arrangements? She was customarily seated with the family at the other end of the table, near Barclay and Aurora, but not tonight. Tonight, Mrs. Gordon had somehow claimed her usual seat.
Jane focused on her soup, and on engaging in conversation with Mr. Dunsford, but she did not know what she was saying or what topics they discussed. Her mouth met her social commitments while her mind raced about this new seating.
I will ask Barclay about it when he comes to visit me in the library!
Feeling much better, Jane relaxed enough to notice that Mr. Dunsford could not take his eyes off of her. This stirred worry in the region of her belly. She was not attempting to lead the gentleman on, and she hoped he would not make an attempt at courtship. Her hopes regarding the young man had been before. Before the visit to the grotto. Before the kiss in the library. Just … before.
She could not possibly consider accepting his courtship now. Her affections were engaged with the darkly handsome man sitting near the earl. Who even now was leaning over to say something to Mrs. Gordon, who laughed in response, her face lovely and golden hair shimmering in the candlelight.
He would never pursue the widow. You promised him time to reconcile his grief with the idea of courting you.
Assuring herself of this helped, but she still longed for dinner to end and the midnight hour to arrive when Barclay would visit her once more.
After dinner, she laughed and talked with the countess and Aurora in the drawing room over tea, but her eyes kept searching out the ormolu clock on the mantelpiece. Time seemed to tick by so slowly, it was practically a crawl.
Playing parlor games with Mr. Dunsford at her side a short while later was fun, and made time pass more quickly, but her eyes still wandered over to the clock at regular intervals while noting Barclay’s continued absence.
It was with some haste that she undressed later that night to don her night rail and tie on her wrap. Picking up her journal and quill, she quietly opened and closed her door, then strode down the family hall to the main manor.
Entering the library, she took up her usual seat and found the inkstand that was stored there.
Checking the clock on the wall, she lowered her head, as the midnight hour began, to write the verses she had been composing mentally.
Thirty minutes later, she checked the time again. He always came near the end of the hour, so she had time to finish the verses that he had inspired.
Sharpening her quill to dip it in ink, she lowered her head once more to continue writing on the page. She imagined reading the lines to Barclay, excited to hear what he might say. It had been mortifying to reveal her inner thoughts when she had recited her poetry, but Barclay had listened with such aplomb. Her confidence in her poetry had been growing ever since he had assured her that she had something of import to impart.
