Page 46 of Sleepless in Saunton
Jane hesitated, repressing a sigh at the thought of Barclay with his new wife, then took a bite from her fork. She had not considered that once he made his match, she would continue to see him with the new Mrs. Thompson because they were relations now.
After swallowing, she responded, “He is a good man … and he deserves any happiness he can find.” She could hardly blame him for his disaffection. The gentleman had many responsibilities to oversee, and he had simply concluded that Jane was an inappropriate partner. Only, it would have been less embarrassing if he had explained his decision instead of leaving her waiting like a fool.
I suppose it should flatter me that he thought I would work it out for myself.
But she was not flattered. She was hurt, despite her best efforts to be understanding about his situation.
“Yes … he is.” Aurora tilted her head when she replied, a look of bemusement crossing her face. Jane hoped she had not given herself away to Barclay’s mother. Was it not mortifying enough that both he and Tatiana were aware of his rejection? Now she was about to alert his mother to her unrequited feelings.
Jane quickly finished her breakfast, determined to find Mr. Dunsford so she might play a game of some sort with him. Anything to stop thinking about Barclay and remind herself there were other men. Other possibilities.
She might be young, but Mr. Dunsford seemed to appreciate her youth, so it was time to stop ruminating over her infatuation with an unattainable widower and explore her other options.
Perhaps it would ease this relentless ache in her chest.
* * *
Barclay had just returnedto the manor from the stables. He did not frequently have the pleasure of riding, so before he could be recruited into another game of nine-pins, or shuttlecock, or any other of the inane games favored by many of the female guests, he had taken the opportunity to ride with the earl. Jane was never to be seen at those frivolous games, and his prior observations suggested she was involved in more worthwhile activities, such as chess. Perhaps she had played bowls that day he had tried to persuade Mrs. Gordon to play. She certainly had not shown up for nine-pins.
He and his brother had toured the park, an impressive estate, and Barclay had had the opportunity to appreciate Tsar’s brilliance in selecting the location of the manor. Of course, the then-lord of the manor, the late Earl of Saunton, would have agreed to the advice from his architect, but he knew Tsar was excellent at persuasion, so would have steered and cajoled the earl into making the right decision.
After the brisk ride, Barclay’s inner thighs ached in the pleasurable manner of a man who had exerted himself. Days of idle revelry at a nobleman’s house party were too far out of his usual daily activities, so it had indeed been an escape to enjoy the pleasures of riding with a powerful beast beneath him and a skilled rider ahead of him.
As he entered the hall, Jane appeared in the doorway of the family breakfast room. He could not help himself. His hungry eyes scoured her form. Barclay was laboring to do what was right for his daughter. For his mother. And for Jane herself. But not for him, for if he were to be selfish, then at this moment he would stride up to the lovely young woman and sweep her into an embrace before lowering his head to capture her mouth.
Jane’s eyes brightened with joy at the sight of him, but a moment later, it was as if a heavy cloud passed before the sun to block its light from the earth beneath. Her eyes dulled, and she averted her face to walk down the hall away from him. He watched her go, every fiber of his being urging him to chase her. Talk to her. Explain.
But if he was alone with her, then all his best intentions to do right by her would fly out the window like birds escaping a cage and making their desperate dash for freedom. He could not be in the same room alone with her without hauling her into his arms to sip on her strawberry lips.
When she turned a corner in the corridor, his fascination abated. He blinked slowly, before realizing that Aurora had taken Jane’s place in the doorway. She was studying him, her forehead creased in inquisitive concern. Squaring his shoulders, he hoped his mother had not seen him mooning over Jane. “Mother.”
“Barclay,” she acknowledged, but her curious expression did not fade and Barclay was afraid he had given himself away.
He quickly strode away to find Mrs. Gordon before his mother could press any questions to him. It was time to play shuttlecock, or battledore, orjeu de volant, or whatever the silly game was called with the ball and the feathers designed to lure a hawk.
Zounds, it would be ever so much more entertaining if they were to take part in actual falconry with the strange device rather than the ridiculous game with the rackets, where one simply kept the ball in the air. It was a child’s game at best.
As predicted, the day passed slowly once he found Mrs. Gordon. The ladies she played with chattered ceaselessly as they hit the ball into the air, tittering every time it fell to the ground. Once again, Lord Trafford was there pretending the dreary game was delightful, but Barclay could see he tired of it, too.
Lord Trafford would evidently go to some lengths to woo a widow, which appeared to be why he was enduring these mindless games. As was Barclay. The widow Trafford was pursuing was quite a bit older than the young lord, but Barclay assumed it was not courtship Trafford had in mind but rather … other more lurid activities.
The day continued to drag on, and then it was dinnertime. He once again sat with Mrs. Gordon, which he had asked his brother to arrange, feeling a tug of conscience that the new seating arrangement had pushed Jane farther down the table. Thankfully, she appeared to be enjoying herself with Mr. Dunsford because she laughed and talked with him throughout the meal.
At least, Barclay told himself, he was pleased she had found a man more equitable in age. The coiling jealousy in his gut whenever the young buck’s eyes dropped to her bosom was—it just was not his place to be jealous. If he would not pursue her, the young woman had the right to find a new suitor.
Had she forgotten him so quickly?
When he eventually reached his bedroom, Barclay sat on the ledge of the window and sightlessly contemplated the night. Natalya would no longer visit. He could no longer run off to the library to visit Jane. The night was infinite in that he could not sleep once again.
He had been so hopeful that his ability to rest had returned the last few nights, but since he had paced his room the evening before until the early hours, he knew that yearning to join Jane in the library would bar him from falling into a slumber for a while yet.
When the first light appeared, long before the sun showed itself on the horizon, Barclay went to his bed. Staring at the cornices in his agitation, sleep took him as the bedroom faded into darkness.
He was in the library, but he did not know how he had arrived here. This was not to be! He was meant to stay in his bedroom, no matter how tempting it was to walk the corridor to the main manor to find Jane.
Before him, he saw the figure of a woman sitting at the table, writing on a page. She did not stir as he approached, despite him almost panting in his desire to reach her side. As he drew closer, he was able to confirm it was Jane, her ebony curls loose down her back. Reaching out, he took a silky lock between his fingers. Raising it, he breathed in the scent of strawberries and almonds.
Jane turned in her chair, her face lighting up when she saw it was him. “You came!” she exclaimed in a sultry voice.
