Page 8 of Sleepless in Saunton
“You treat me like a person.”
“Thank you. I have several younger brothers and a sister who just went home, so it is pleasant to talk with you in their stead.”
“Will you marry my papa?”
Jane sputtered, turning her head to cough into her hand in her surprise. After several moments, she responded in a dry, hoarse voice, “Does your papa not have a wife?”
“No.” Tatiana leaned closer so her face was just inches away from Jane’s. “Mama died. I am sad, but I think it is worse for him. Papa is very lonely, and he does not smile like he did before. I think he needs a new wife.”
“Well … that is a choice your father must make.”
Tatiana’s cherubic face fell in disappointment, her little lip quivering as she bit it. “You will not marry him?”
“Your father must decide when he is ready. And he must choose his own wife.”
The little girl turned and walked away, standing in the shadows with her back turned. “I am worried about him.”
Jane felt her eyes prickle with threatening tears. The child was so sweet, and her heart went out to the little one who had lost her mother so young. “How long has it been?”
The blonde hair bobbed as she inclined her head. Jane thought she might be counting on her fingers. “It is two years.”
“That is a long time to be without a mama.”
“I miss her.”
Jane could not help it. A tear of sympathy escaped the corner of her eye at the little girl’s plight. Reaching up, she brushed it away, and when she was ready, she spoke in a steady voice. “I am sorry, Tatiana. I cannot imagine how that must be.”
“I miss Papa, too. We used to go with him to see his buildings, but since Mama died, he leaves me at home with Grandmama. I want to go with him, and have a mother to read me stories at night … and I want … I want to see him smile.” The little girl’s voice was thick as she stated the last. Jane hurried across the room. Dropping to her haunches, she embraced the little girl, burying her face in her sweet-smelling silver hair.
“I am sure when he is ready, your papa will find a wife.”
Tatiana hugged her back. “I hope so.”
They spoke for several more minutes before Jane escorted the girl back to her room down the hall. Knocking on the door quietly, she waited hand in hand with Tatiana until the door opened to reveal the black-haired beauty she had observed earlier that day. “Miss Thompson? I believe I have something of yours.”
The woman was lively, and although she must have been close to fifty to have a nine-year-old granddaughter, her olive face was barely lined. Her high cheekbones and flawless skin spoke to a Mediterranean heritage, while her thick black hair fell to her waist in a gleaming plait. She had risen from bed, her brown eyes bleary and unfocused until she caught sight of her granddaughter peeking from behind the skirts of Jane’s wrap. She looked back in the room to the cot near the bed, as if expecting to see a replica of the girl lying there. Turning back, she wailed, “Tatiana! What are you doing out of bed?”
Jane noted a slight Mediterranean lilt to the older woman’s voice. “She came to find me in my room.”
Over the next few moments, they made their introductions. Jane led the child into the room, and then, with a nod of her head, gestured that she needed to speak out in the hall with the grandmother.
Miss Thompson understood her. After tucking Tatiana back into the cot, she followed Jane from the room and closed the door behind her. Jane told her of the conversation that they had had. When they parted ways, the grandmother had a look of worry on her face, but Jane felt better for meeting the woman, who appeared genuinely concerned about Tatiana’s request. She was certain that the woman would address the matter.
Walking away as the door clicked shut behind her, Jane visited the library in search of a new book. She was wide awake in the middle of the night, and recent evenings had taught her it would be some hours before she fell asleep once more. With no sister left in residence, a good book was needed to keep her company.
* * *
Barclay saton the ledge of his bedroom window, staring up at the moon which cast a silver light across the landscape. He pondered what Natalya would say about this recent turn of events.
They had acquired a whole new family. An important earl, his various relations, and tonight, at dinner, he had met the Duke of Halmesbury and his duchess. The man had been imposing in stature, several inches taller than Barclay, who was himself six feet. But the big, blond Viking had a steady manner and calm gray eyes, and appeared genuinely honored to meet him.
After dinner, the earl and the duke had met with him in the study to converse—the younger brother with the smooth manners and even smoother tongue had departed earlier in the day with his new bride.
Once in the study, the duke had taken the time to explain their connection. The late earl, whom no one seemed to remember with any relish, was the younger brother of the duke’s late mother. As Richard had stated, Barclay was indeed a first cousin to the duke, which was still a fact he was having difficulty assimilating.
If Natalya had been by his side tonight, she would have been so pleased on his behalf. His late wife had never been tolerant of anyone who socially snubbed the Thompsons because of Barclay’s parentage and would have heartily approved of the earl’s decision to find him and acknowledge him as kin. With that thought, his memories turned to his young wife.
When Barclay had been a much younger man, Tsar had sent him to negotiate new contracts with suppliers in St. Petersburg. He had stayed in one of the merchant’s homes, an old friend of his grandfather, where he had met the merchant’s youngest daughter, recently returned home from completing her schooling.
