Page 53 of Sleepless in Saunton
She winced. The grotto was quickly becoming a painful memory, rather than the sheer joy it had been at the time. Picking up her shawl, she pulled it over her arms, jerky in her impatience to leave the library. Her fingers trembled as she hastily prepared the board for play, putting all the pieces in their place. She needed a moment to collect her wits and consider the best method to leave the library without revealing too much of her angst. One had to have some pride after such a rejection.
Jane had no ideas of how to feign any social graces in this moment. All she could think of was the need to escape as quickly as possible. If she was not battling with this coffee issue, she would collect herself and deal with all of … this. But she was dealing with the coffee issue, and it was incredibly uncomfortable. Her only solace was that Aurora said it would be over within a few days. Two had passed thus far.
Determinedly, she put the pieces back, but her fingers hesitated as she recalled the magic of being in Barclay’s arms.
Truly, she needed to get away from the Balfour homes. She was certain to see the architect regularly unless she married and moved on. Even if she returned home to Rose Ash Manor, her family would visit Ethan and she would have no excuses to not attend with them, and Barclay might attend, too.
She might be forced to attend his wedding to another woman, to watch his family grow, to remember her one kiss with him here in the library of Saunton Park when she thought that anything was possible. That love was possible.
Squaring her shoulders, she made for the door. When she reached the Thompsons, she paused for the briefest instant to acknowledge them for the sake of the children present. “Barclay. Tatiana.” She bobbed, then quickly exited before the disappointment in the little girl’s face could register on her already fragile state.
She knew not if Barclay had acknowledged her presence as she strode away as fast as her fatigued legs could carry her. Returning Ethan to his nanny was something she should do, but the gentleman was more than capable of doing so. She needed to get away.
* * *
Jane had appeared dejectedwhen she had brushed past them. Not only that, she was pale and drawn. Ethan had been talking to her about a headache. And Tatiana had mentioned Jane having a headache earlier that morning. Evidently it had not improved. Perhaps that was the reason she was disconsolate. That notion assuaged his conscience over disappointing the young woman.
Realizing that he now had possession of Ethan, he asked the boy where he was meant to be. Ethan told them he needed to be returned to the nursery, which was on the upper floor of the family wing. So Barclay and Tatiana accompanied him back.
When they came upon the nursery, Barclay was impressed. It was light and airy, unlike many noble houses. There was evidence of recent work. The drapes looked new, the walls were clad in rich colors, and the schoolroom was well stocked with toys and children’s books.
Richard had only discovered his son’s existence earlier that year, so he must have immediately ordered the changes in the nursery to have had them ready in time for this house party. Barclay now understood his brother’s dismay when Barclay had expressed his feeling of insult that the butler had presumed to take Tatiana to the nursery on their arrival at Saunton Park.
He had pictured something … gloomier.
Tatiana and he returned to the library in silence to play their game. His daughter was obsessed with learning the game so she might beat her little cousin, and Barclay was amused at this hitherto unknown spirit of competition in her that had surfaced. With each year that passed, facets of his daughter’s personality made themselves known, and he wished her mother could be present to witness her transformation.
Once they were alone in the room of shelves and books, Tatiana sat in her seat across the table with the chessboard between them, but she did not begin playing. Instead, she watched him for long moments, causing Barclay to want to squirm in his own chair like an errant child caught in the act of some wrongdoing.
He knew what she was thinking about. He had been trying to not think about the same issue—a struggle the entire walk to and from the nursery. She was thinking about how Jane had hurried from the room. As was he.
When she failed to say something, he got up his nerve. “What is it, little one?”
Tatiana sighed and turned her head to stare out the window, a disappointed look on her face. “I always thought you were brave. I am sad to know … that you are not.”
Startled, he straightened in his chair. “What do you mean?”
“I saw how you were with Jane and that is when I realized … that you were afraid. Afraid of her. Afraid to love. Because of what happened to Mama.”
“Tatiana, it is not that. There are things you do not understand. Adult … things.”
She shook her head. “I think that is why I have been losing these games with Ethan. I am afraid to take a risk. Then he swoops in and beats me. If I am to win, I shall have to … be brave.” With that, she leaned forward and moved a pawn. Startled by her perception of the weakness in her chess, Barclay did not know what to make of what she had said. Instead, he studied the board and made his own move, allowing her to drop the subject.
Tatiana stuck to her newfound conviction, attempting offensive moves on the board that earned Barclay’s respect. He still won, but she had done much better and there was a possibility she might corner Ethan the next time they played.
After their match was over, Tatiana joined her grandmother, and Barclay entered the billiard room.
He was to have a reprieve from thought, from debate, from feeling guilty for not being enough. Not doing enough to bring happiness to the women in his life.
And he would play a game that required skill.
Thankfully, there were no women in sight in this masculine retreat of mahogany and green baize. Inspecting the billiard table, he ran his fingertips over the intricately carved strapwork and eyed the well-formed legs. It was such a fine piece, Thomas Chippendale himself could have carved it.
Nodding to the assembled gentlemen in the room, he stretched his neck. Tension eased from his shoulders as he walked over to find a cue.
Mr. Ridley was at the table, setting the balls in place, while Lord Trafford and Mr. Dunsford selected their own cues. They were engaged in a discussion, which Barclay barely noted until their words caught his attention.
“So you plan to propose to the Davis girl, Dunsford?”
