Page 56 of Sleepless in Saunton
Jane was to be happy, and his admonition would be poorly received after his callous handling of her the past few days. If only he could explain that he was doing it to protect her from himself. Reaching the corridor leading to the family wing, he hesitated to compose himself before entering.
* * *
Jane’s sleephad improved a little, but she was afraid that it was mostly due to sheer exhaustion. She had been struggling with headaches and fatigue since … She tried to recall. Since a few hours after her last cup of coffee.
She cursed Perry for not warning her of the effects of drinking the devil’s brew, which she likened to a marsh now that she was aware of what it did. Drawn in by the pretty scenery, only to find herself sinking into the swamp-water, unable to extricate herself from the pull of the mud. She could happily raise her head to howl like a trapped beast—her head ached so much, she felt like a wounded animal herself.
What a fool she had been to muddle with the so-called gentlemen’s drink. Her only consolation was that Barclay had been through a similar suffering, so it was not her gender that was the basis of her problem.
Rubbing her temples, Jane attempted to think. Which set off a series of thudding echoes in her skull. She had woken with a headache, and it had only been intensifying through the past hour. Somewhere in the quagmire of pain and regrets, she recollected that Aurora had said something about relieving the symptoms.
There had been something she could do to reduce the intensity.
What had it been?
Hazily, the answer came to her. Aurora had mentioned a small amount of coffee could ease the transition. Jane rose. Resolutely, she made for the library, where there should be a pot of coffee waiting for her. She had yet to cancel the request.
Making her way slowly down the hall of arching sash windows, she headed for the main house. As she reached the end of the corridor, she nearly jumped out of her skin when Barclay suddenly appeared in front of her. She considered turning around and heading back to her room, but she could not see if anyone accompanied him to witness her cowardice, so, squaring her shoulders in frustration, she defiantly forged ahead, intending to brush past him.
“Jane?”
She halted. This was not the time to engage her in conversation. She was in no mood to hear anything he had to say. Between contending with the coffee issues, and coping with her feeling of loss over the burgeoning relationship he had severed so abruptly, Jane had no patience for a discussion. She needed to reach that coffeepot.
With determination, she resumed her trajectory. If the gentleman was to force a conversation on her, he would do so while she continued on her quest to alleviate her suffering. Reaching Barclay, she sidestepped him and marched on toward the library.
Behind her, he sighed heavily before turning to fall in step with her.
“Jane, have you seen Tatiana?”
“I have not.” Her head hurt too much for pleasantries. That he had not sought her out to apologize for his behavior was disappointing, but she only had thoughts for the coffeepot, so she kept walking.
“Did she attempt to visit you this morning?”
Jane carefully shook her head, noting that she was only steps away.
“Not at all? It is just … She is missing, and Aurora thought she might have …” Barclay trailed off as Jane strode into and across the room. To her great relief, the tray with the coffee was waiting in the usual spot on the table near the chessboard.
“Mr. Thompson, I have not seen your daughter since yesterday. Now, if you do not mind, I wish to be alone.”
Barclay had followed her, surprising her when he spoke behind her shoulder. “Jane, I know it is not what you wish to hear, but I assure you I am doing what is best.”
“Best for whom, Mr. Thompson?” She could not help herself. Her frustration came rushing out in a tight, angry demand.
The architect blinked before responding. “For you.”
“Am I not the best judge of what is best for me?”
“You are so …”
“Young?”
He nodded, devoid of words to say.
“Too young to know my own mind?”
Barclay bit his lip, visibly uncomfortable at the question.
“Tell me, Mr. Thompson, when you were my age—what were you doing?”
