Page 10 of Miss Davis and the Architect (Dazzling Debutantes #4)

Chapter Eight

"There could have been no two hearts so open, no tastes so similar, no feelings so in unison, no countenances so beloved."

Jane Austen

* * *

T he clock announced the last few minutes of the midnight hour, its rhythmic ticking echoing through the stillness of the library. Jane’s quill hovered over the page of her journal, the nib poised above the parchment, but no words came. All she could think was that the midnight hour was ending. Their time.

Would he make an appearance?

She had barely caught a glimpse of him all day, a mere shadow passing in the hall or a flicker of movement in the distance. But now, the manor was sleeping, its grand corridors silent and shrouded in darkness. Last night, he had startled her when he appeared. Then, he had encouraged her to speak her thoughts freely, to share her ideas in a way no man had ever done before.

Barclay appreciated her mind, and it was invigorating. No one had ever heard her verses before—those secret lines of poetry she scribbled in her quiet moments. But she knew, instinctively, that he had been the right person to share them with. He did not laugh or dismiss her efforts; he listened. He saw her.

And he had been right. She needed to take bigger risks. Even if Barclay was not interested in her, and even if she had to pursue a courtship elsewhere, she would steal this interlude for herself. She would use it to build her confidence, to embrace the idea that she was a woman with a mind of her own—one who had something to contribute to the world beyond needlework and polite conversation.

It was such a pity their courtship was not meant to be, for she was very much afraid she had found the man Emma had spoken of—the one with whom she shared a true meeting of minds. If only he could look at her as a woman. As a potential wife.

Her mind had connected with the wrong gentleman, and she feared she would never meet another like Barclay Thompson.

The hands of the clock crept forward, marking the passing of time with merciless precision. Midnight slipped away, and still, he did not come. Her heart sank with each tick of the longcase clock, disappointment settling like a stone in her stomach. She set her quill down with a soft clatter, staring at the empty page in front of her. Tonight, she had no muse. No lines to write.

Pushing back her chair, she gathered her things, smoothing her skirts and closing her journal. A book waited for her in her room—a poor substitute for conversation, but it would have to do. She would let its pages keep her company through her sleepless hours.

Turning toward the library door, she nearly jumped out of her skin.

“Barclay!” she gasped, her hand flying to her chest. He stood there, leaning against the doorframe, his gaze fixed upon her with the strangest expression. Candlelight flickered in the hallway behind him, casting long shadows over his white linen shirt, which hung loosely at the neck, revealing the strong column of his sun-bronzed throat. His hair was slightly tousled, as though he had run his hands through it in frustration.

“I knew you would be here,” he murmured, his voice low and rough-edged.

Jane’s heart thudded in her chest. “I hoped you might join me.”

Silence stretched between them, heavy and charged.

“I tried to stay away,” he admitted at last, his voice gruffer than she remembered. His hand flexed against the doorframe as if to steady himself.

“Why?”

“Because this does not make sense.” Barclay waved a hand between them.

Jane blinked, her brow furrowing. “What does not make sense?”

His gaze locked with hers, his eyes darkening with something she could not quite name. “This attraction.”

Jane’s breath caught. He was admitting he felt it, too? Her pulse quickened, and a delightful shiver raced across her skin, as if she had caught a sudden chill. She turned back to the desk, placing her things down while she tried to gather her thoughts. She must have taken too long, for the next thing she knew, Barclay had come up behind her. The warmth of his presence radiated against her back, a solid reassurance that he was indeed real.

“Since I met you, it is as if I awoke from a deep slumber. The slumber of mourning. And you were the first face I saw when I finally opened my eyes.”

Her breath came quicker, her heart thudding in her chest, barely daring to move in case she shattered the fragile magic of the moment—or woke to find herself in her own bed, with only the memory of yearning to keep her company.

Barclay waited in silence, as if studying her reaction. Jane did not move, frozen with wonder, while her heart fluttered with anticipation. He stepped closer, and she felt the warmth of his breath brush against her nape, teasing the delicate tendrils of her hair. His nearness sent a thrill down her spine, and she closed her eyes as he inhaled deeply near her ear. “You smell of strawberries and almonds again.”

Her eyes drifted shut, and she held her breath. Gently, he leaned down and pressed his lips softly where her neck met her shoulder. A wave of warmth flooded through her, melting any lingering reservations. She tilted her head back, offering him silent permission, and his lips brushed against hers, feather-light and unhurried.

For the first time in her life, she felt the stirring of passion—tender, slow, and all-consuming. His long, muscular arms came up to encircle her waist, turning her to face him with gentle insistence.

Jane looked up at him, her eyes wide with wonder. He gazed back, the emotion in his brown eyes unguarded and genuine. Tentatively, she raised her hand and smoothed back the long strands of hair from his face, her fingertips grazing his cheek with delicate tenderness.

“Jane—” His voice was rough, threaded with longing. He dipped his head, capturing her mouth with his once more. His lips moved gently against hers, exploring, savoring. The rasp of his beard brushed her delicate skin, but she only pressed closer, her heart fluttering wildly in her chest.

The kiss was slow and reverent, a gentle exploration rather than a devouring. There was no rush—only the sweetness of discovery, the warmth of connection. When her lips parted slightly, he deepened the kiss just a fraction, his breath mingling with hers. She clung to him, her hands coming to rest on his shoulders, feeling the strength of him beneath her fingertips. He held her with care, his hands lightly resting on her back as if she were something precious.

After a long, lingering moment, he pulled back, resting his forehead against hers. His hands remained on her shoulders, but he took a steadying breath, his eyes closing briefly.

“You are temptation itself,” he murmured, his voice laced with regret. He straightened, his hands dropping to his sides as he took a step back. “I must step away before I forget myself.”

Their eyes met, a mixture of longing and restraint shimmering between them. “Jane, it is not my place to pursue this … us. You are young, with a promising future. And I … I am illegitimate. Too old for you.”

Jane’s brow furrowed as she processed his words, confusion evident in her eyes. “Are you saying you cannot pursue this because you are illegitimate? Or because of the age difference?”

Barclay released a half-chuckle, shaking his head. “Both, I suppose. But mostly the first. You do not know the repercussions, Jane. You are too young to understand.”

Jane lifted her chin, her gaze steady. “I am willing to find out.”

His expression softened with disbelief and something else—hope, perhaps. “What if I am not willing to put you through that?”

“It is your decision,” she replied quietly, “but know that I am … that is … I would … like to try.”

Barclay lifted one of his large hands, the hands she had imagined countless times in her dreams, and ran his calloused fingertips gently down her cheek, as if she were made of the finest porcelain. “I must leave you now before I do something I will regret.”

Barclay stepped back, his expression taut with restraint, and then turned to leave the room. Jane stood still, the warmth of his touch still lingering on her skin, her heart pounding in her chest as she tried to catch her breath. She stared after him long after he disappeared, her fingers touching her lips as if to hold the memory in place, wondering what would happen next.

* * *

Barclay woke, surprised at how well he had slept after the interlude in the library. He blinked up at the ceiling, its ornate moldings softened by the pale light of dawn filtering through the heavy curtains. Memories of last night drifted back with startling clarity. Her scent still seemed to cling to him, light and fresh, mingled with the memory of strawberries and almonds.

He closed his eyes, recalling the delicate constellation of freckles where her neck sloped down to meet her shoulder—each mark a tiny blessing on her pale skin. Their kiss had revealed the delight that her very essence was infused with a trace of strawberries. It was as if summer itself had caressed her and left its fragrance behind.

Barclay exhaled, running a hand over his face. He was still uncertain what was right, but he could not shake the compelling need to see her again. To feel that rush of vitality, that spark of joy that had been missing since Natalya’s departure. It was as if Jane had unlocked something within him—something that had long been dormant. Perhaps his desire to spend time in her company was overriding his good sense, but he could not think of a single reason why he should not seek her out.

What harm could it possibly do?

Inhaling deeply, he assured himself that he was not too old for her—not by society’s standards, at least. And they seemed well-matched intellectually, with shared interests and pursuits that set her apart from the ladies of the ton with their simpering smiles and empty conversations. Jane was different. She thought , she reasoned , and she expressed herself with a candor that was both refreshing and disarming.

And now that the Earl of Saunton had acknowledged him, surely the Thompsons’ standing would be improved once society learned of it? Saunton had even suggested hosting a dinner to introduce Aurora and Barclay to well-placed members of society, pledging his support to the endeavor. The duke’s endorsement would lend weight, smoothing the path for his family to enter circles they might have otherwise found closed. A rise in status might mean no diminishing of Jane’s own in the event that their relationship progressed to its natural outcome.

The notion stirred something within him—an unfamiliar flicker of hope. Perhaps …

He pondered the idea of spending time with Jane today, imagining the possibility of discovering more of what lay beneath her poised exterior. She had already expressed an openness to courtship, so why should he not explore it? He could not be expected to make such a decision without properly understanding her character, could he? It seemed only logical that they should come to know each other better—to test the boundaries of compatibility.

Barclay stretched, the tension in his muscles easing as he rose from the bed. Sunlight streamed through the crack in the drapes, casting warm streaks of light across the polished wood floor. He thought of how he might discreetly arrange to be with her—some opportunity for conversation and connection without revealing their mutual attraction. He longed for an activity that would not lead to firm expectations but would allow them to learn more about each other, to discover if theirs might be an advisable partnership.

He knew he did not wish to participate in the typical activities arranged for guests, which seemed a bit too public for his liking. No, he would need to find something away from prying eyes, away from the gossip and inquisitiveness of those with too much interest and too little discretion.

A thought flitted through his mind. Would Tatiana be sufficient as a chaperone? They were vaguely related, after all, and these matters tended to be more relaxed in the country. His lips quirked in a half-smile. How fortunate it would be if Tatiana's presence smoothed the way for his time with Jane. But he would need to be certain. Whom could he ask without revealing the true motivation for his question?

His mind wandered to Lady Saunton. Would she find the inquiry odd? Or would her sharp eyes perceive the truth? He needed to tread carefully. The countryside had ears—whispers carried faster than a winter chill, and any misstep could place Jane in a compromising light. He would find a way. He must.

* * *

Jane woke at her usual hour, sunlight just beginning to creep through the lace curtains of her bedchamber. The kiss she had shared with Barclay had done nothing to restore her former ability to rest peacefully. She had lain awake until dawn, her mind replaying the touch of his lips on hers, the warmth of his breath, and the feel of his strong body pressed against hers. Each memory was vivid, imprinted on her senses as if it had only just happened.

She sighed deeply, her gaze drifting to the window where the first blush of morning light touched the horizon. What would happen now that he had revealed his esteem? Would he pretend it had not happened when she saw him next? Retreat from the unmistakable spark between them? Or would he acknowledge their growing affinity, even in the light of day?

It was unclear, based on his final words before departing the library. His expression had been conflicted, as if he were holding back a tide of emotion.

Groaning softly, she rolled out of bed, her feet touching the cool surface of the floorboards. Best to dress quickly, she thought. The sooner she readied herself, the sooner she could find her tray of coffee waiting for her in the library—a small comfort in the chaos of her thoughts.

An hour later, she took her usual seat in the library, the scent of freshly brewed coffee wafting through the room as she poured herself a cup. Sunlight streamed through the tall windows, casting warm patterns on the polished wood floor. In the corner, Ethan and Richard were engaged in an early game of chess. The earl’s green eyes glinted with concentration, mirroring his son’s own emerald gaze as they both bent over the board, studying each move with fierce determination.

“Checkmate.”

“No, Papa! How did you do it?”

Richard grinned, leaning back with evident satisfaction. “I retreated to draw you in, and you followed, thinking I was defending myself.”

Ethan frowned at the pieces, his eyes narrowing in thought. His hand drifted to his collar, tugging at it absently—a perfect imitation of what Jane had often seen the earl do during moments of stress. Richard, his expression bright with the thrill of victory, began to move the pieces back, demonstrating the final sequence of moves.

“Papa, Daisy told me we have a gra-ta in the woods?”

Ethan blinked, his brows lifting. “You mean the grotto?”

“Yes. She said she heard it was very boo-tee-fill , but she does not know where it is. Could you take me there?”

The earl’s face softened, then fell with regret. “I wish I could, but I have meetings with my steward and tenants today.”

Before Richard could voice his disappointment, a familiar voice resonated from the doorway, low and husky. “I could take him.”

Jane’s breath caught, her hands stilling over her coffee cup. She had not noticed Barclay’s entry, but there he stood, framed in the doorway, dressed in his customary black coat and buckskins. His posture was confident, his expression calm, and Tatiana stood beside him, her small hand clasped in his.

Richard’s eyes lit up with hope. “Do you know where it is?”

“Of course. I have studied the plans for Saunton Park many times over the years. It was the project that made Tsar’s reputation.”

The earl nodded appreciatively. “Then I would be grateful if you would accompany my boy to the grotto. Jane, would you like to join them? Tsar outdid himself when he designed it, and it is especially lovely in the summer.”

Jane could not help herself—she beamed. “I would be delighted to escort Ethan there.” And his uncle! The thought of spending time with Barclay in such a secluded, beautiful spot sent a thrill through her.

Barclay approached, his long stride unhurried as he took a seat nearby while Tatiana and Ethan chattered at the chessboard. He settled into the chair with ease, his dark eyes resting on Jane. “Please, Jane. Take your time.” He gestured to the cup in her hand, his gaze warm and steady as he studied her with undisguised interest.

Jane returned his look with a shy smile, her cheeks tinged with color. She noted the earl excusing himself with a nod, leaving the four of them alone. Spending time with Barclay was precisely what she wanted to do today. Had he made up his mind about the possibility of a courtship? His manner seemed more than amenable to her joining him. Hope flared within her chest, and she quickly turned her attention back to her coffee, sipping hurriedly.

The last thing she wanted was for any of the other guests to stumble upon them and insist on joining their party to the grotto. She could easily imagine Mr. Dunsford or Mrs. Gordon attaching themselves to the excursion, and she would not allow that if she could help it. Clinking her cup down on the tray with a bit more force than she intended, she stood briskly. “Shall we?”

Ethan grinned up at her as she took his hand, his small fingers curling around hers with the trust only children could muster. She led him toward the entrance hall, her stride purposeful, and glanced back over her shoulder to see Barclay following behind with Tatiana, the girl chattering happily as she skipped alongside him. A spark of happiness bloomed in Jane’s heart—time alone with people she truly liked, away from the pressures of the house party.

Ethan chattered beside her, his small voice animated as he spoke of the grotto, of what he imagined it might look like, and of the tales he had heard from Daisy. Jane responded with appropriate nods and smiles, but her heart was light, and her mind was elsewhere—on the gentleman trailing just behind her.

They exited the manor, stepping out onto the gravel path that wound through the gardens. Manicured hedges flanked their walk, the scent of roses and freshly cut grass heavy in the summer air. Jane kept her pace brisk, eager to reach the shelter of the trees where prying eyes would be left behind.

“Jane, I cannot keep up with you!” Ethan complained suddenly, his little legs working double-time to match her stride. Jane stopped abruptly, turning to look down at him. His cheeks were flushed, and he panted slightly, his small chest rising and falling. “You are or-ful-lee eager to see the gra-ta! ” he exclaimed, his brow furrowing with both curiosity and exhaustion.

Jane paused, blinking in surprise before glancing back at Barclay and Tatiana, who had stopped a few paces behind. She had not realized she had been moving so quickly. Her gaze swept the garden path, noting with satisfaction that they were well away from the manor now. The hedges had grown thicker, and the path had narrowed, winding toward the distant tree line. There should be no danger of Mr. Dunsford or Mrs. Gordon intruding on their privacy.

Barclay’s eyes sparkled with humor as he regarded her. “Perhaps Jane is simply eager to spend time with you,” he suggested, his voice rich with amusement.

Jane bit her lip, blushing as she accepted that Barclay was not fooled. He must have seen through her efforts to escape the other guests. But then she brightened, realizing that he must have had similar intentions if he knew what she was up to.

“Have you been to the grotto, Jane?” Tatiana asked, her eyes sparkling with unrestrained enthusiasm. Jane noted the child’s silver-blonde hair glimmering in the sunlight, bare to the elements. A ripple of surprise ran through her as she lifted a hand to her own head, realizing she had left the manor without her bonnet. Her cheeks flushed at the breach of propriety, but she could not find it within herself to regret it. In her eagerness to spend time with Barclay, she had forgotten entirely.

Barclay’s lips twitched as if he fought a smile, his gaze drifting to her uncovered hair. He, too, was bareheaded, his dark hair catching the sunlight in streaks of copper as they walked. “It seems we are all a bit unprepared for this outing,” he remarked with a grin.

“I have not,” Jane replied, returning Tatiana’s eager gaze.

“Do you know anything about the grotto? About what is there?” Barclay asked, his tone unusually light-hearted. He looked nothing like the somber widower who had arrived only days ago. His shoulders were relaxed, his expression open, and Jane found herself captivated by this change in him.

She shook her head. “It is the company that has me engrossed,” she admitted softly, her voice barely above a whisper.

Barclay’s expression softened. A smile played at the corners of his mouth, fleeting but warm. “It is a rather unusual folly. From all accounts, Tsar did magnificent work, and I am intrigued to see it for the first time.”

“What is it, exactly?” she asked, tilting her head with curiosity.

He only shrugged, his broad shoulders flexing beneath his linen shirt.

Remember to breathe, Jane! she chided herself silently, forcing her lingering gaze back to the path.

“You will all have to see it for yourselves,” Barclay said, his tone carrying a note of teasing. “I shall not ruin the surprise.”

* * *

Barclay was pleased with the current turn of events. He had desired time with Jane far from curious eyes, and here he was, entering the woods with only Tatiana and his nephew to witness their interlude. Lifting Ethan onto his shoulders, Barclay was well aware of what had enticed her to hurry so. He shared her enthusiasm to spend time together and anticipated the delight of both Jane and the children when they reached their destination.

Herding their little party along a path winding through the trees, Barclay led the way. The path, well-maintained and clear of obstacles, allowed for easy passage, and there was no danger of Ethan colliding with branches despite his exaggerated height perched on Barclay’s shoulders. The boy giggled with each step, his small hands clutching Barclay’s head for balance as they ambled along.

The sound of birdcalls echoed through the canopy, a melodic accompaniment to the gentle rustling of leaves stirred by the breeze. Barclay felt oddly at peace, the quiet serenity of the woods soothing his mind. When they reached a fork in the path, he veered left without hesitation. The woods grew cooler, the thick branches overhead weaving a protective canopy that shielded them from the midday sun. He noted with approval the relief on Jane’s face as the harsh rays were replaced with soft, dappled light. Her cheeks had been flushed from the heat, but now the color seemed to settle, blending prettily with her complexion. Tatiana, too, seemed relaxed, her curls bobbing as she chattered happily at Jane’s side.

Before long, they emerged into a clearing, and Ethan gasped with delight. “Look!” he cried, pointing across the water.

Jane’s gaze followed his outstretched finger. A pond stretched before them, its surface green and still, reflecting the pale light that trickled through the trees. And there, on the opposite bank, stood a statue of Persephone, gazing back at them from the entrance of a grand grotto.

Barclay led them carefully around the perimeter of the water, his hands steadying Tatiana as they navigated the narrow path. Moss and slippery green algae clung to the edges, and he kept a firm grip on her hand to ensure she did not stray too close. Ethan remained high on his shoulders, craning his neck to catch every glimpse of the statue as they approached.

They reached the base of the statue, and Barclay’s breath caught. It was an exquisite representation of the goddess of spring, far different from the customary depictions he had seen. Her marble features were turned longingly toward the entrance of the first cave, her expression wistful and full of longing. Rather than the typical sheaf of grain or regal scepter, this Persephone was scantily robed, her draped fabric so thin it seemed almost translucent, as though made of gossamer. She stood upon a bed of marble flowers, each petal lovingly carved to evoke the spring she brought forth each year upon reuniting with Demeter. The tilt of her head spoke of joy and yearning, as if the sculptor had captured her very soul in that fleeting moment of reunion.

Jane stood at the base, her jaw agape, eyes wide with wonder. Tatiana reached out a small hand, her fingertips grazing the smooth, cool surface of the marble. “It is beautiful,” she whispered in reverence, her voice hushed as if afraid to disturb the sanctity of the place.

Indeed, Tsar had outdone himself. The roof of the grotto, entirely man-made, reached out over the water, adding to the magic of the quiet space. The goddess stood forever reaching toward the entrance, as if yearning to return to the world above. Within the cavern, the sounds of the woods were muted, replaced by the gentle tinkling of water. A stream flowed gracefully from the bed of flowers at Persephone’s feet, winding its way through a carved channel before rejoining the pond outside. It was a water feature for which his grandfather had been exceedingly proud, evoking the melting of winter snow and the renewal of spring when Persephone returned to her mother.

“Grandpapa designed this?” Tatiana asked, her eyes wide with wonder as she gazed up at the statue, her small fingers still resting on its smooth marble surface.

Barclay smiled, surprised and pleased by her curiosity. Perhaps the architectural blood that ran through their veins had just awakened in her. For a brief moment, he imagined her growing up to be a great artist or even working alongside the elder Thompsons in their business. He instinctively knew that such a path would not offend Jane if she were to join their family. It was one of the many things that set her apart from the other ladies of society.

“There is more,” Barclay announced as he lowered Ethan to the ground. The roof dipped down as the path wound deeper, and it was no longer safe for the boy to ride so high on his shoulders. Taking the lead, he herded their little party farther along the stone path. Shadows deepened as they moved, the light filtering through with a dim, otherworldly glow.

Barclay led them to the back of the cavern, where a wall extended halfway, concealing a narrow entrance to the second cave. He guided them through, the coolness of the stone walls brushing against their fingertips as they walked. The surface was engraved with a frieze depicting the underworld—chiseled with such skill that the shadows seemed to move and dance across the carved figures.

It was a revelation of design, the stone shaped to mimic the folds of rock, the carvings so intricate they seemed almost lifelike. Yet, it did not escape Barclay’s notice that his … sire … had chosen to commission an underworld theme—a peculiar choice unless one took the dead man’s tendencies into account. Of course, the Earl of Satan had bonded with this harsh chapter of classic mythology. How fitting a subject for such a cruel and lecherous man.

But today was not for pondering the failings of his lineage. Today was for learning more about the woman who had captivated him from the first moment they met, and for assessing their compatibility, with Tatiana by their side. He brushed aside his bitter thoughts, unwilling to allow the specter of his father to taint this experience.

The path widened, leading them into a cavernous space where Jane suddenly stopped, her breath catching in her throat. Ethan and Tatiana gasped beside her, their eyes wide with wonder. A circular hole had been cut into the roof above, allowing sunlight to pour down in a concentrated beam that illuminated the statue before them. Barclay had to admit, his grandfather had orchestrated such drama that it fairly took one’s breath away.

Hades himself towered above them, carved from gleaming stone, much larger than Persephone. His long bident was clasped in one hand, while the other gripped a chain that tethered the ferocious Cerberus, the three-headed guard dog of the underworld. The beast was captured mid-snarl, each head snarling in a different direction, its muscles rippling with tension as if ready to lunge. On Hades’ head rested his helm, the smooth stone polished to a shine, and his gaze was fixed toward the first statue, hidden from view, yet with the same sense of longing.

But this god did not long for the world above. He longed for his wife. Barclay understood the sentiment all too well. He had once shared that same unyielding ache for Natalya. Yet, for the first time since she had departed, his thoughts did not settle upon her this afternoon. Instead, they lingered on Jane—on her bright eyes, her ready smile, and her unguarded wonder.

“Who is it?” Ethan breathed, his small face reflecting his awe as he stood at the base and gazed up at the towering dog. Cerberus stood taller than the boy, its marble teeth bared in a fearsome snarl. Barclay had to confess his own admiration for the scope and perfection of the statue. One could almost imagine the fetid breath of the beast as it guarded its master’s realm.

“It is Hades, the king of the underworld,” Barclay explained, his voice low and reverent. He pointed up at the statue’s helm, which gleamed in the dappled sunlight filtering through the carved opening above. “That is his cap of invisibility. It allows him to travel undetected by other gods, similar to a cloud of mist.”

Jane circled the massive statue, her footsteps light against the cool stone floor as she examined it from every angle. Her gaze traveled over the intricate carvings, lingering on the folds of Hades’ robes, which seemed to ripple with movement, and the fine etchings on his helm. “The detail is so intricate,” she murmured, awe threading through her voice. She paused by his feet, her eyes widening. “See his sandals?” She pointed at them, marveling at the leather straps depicted with such precision that the texture of the bindings seemed almost touchable. Hades looked as though he might step off his pedestal at any moment, striding forth to search for Persephone.

Tatiana leaned closer, inspecting Cerberus with wide, fascinated eyes. She squinted at the sharp teeth jutting from each of the creature’s snarling mouths, her small hands clasped behind her back as if to restrain herself from reaching out. “It is … magical,” she sighed dreamily. “Like Ladin in his cave of treasures!”

Barclay beamed, the warmth of it reaching his eyes. He could not remember the last time he had experienced such a moment of unfiltered joy—four special people together, united in wonder as they beheld one of his grandfather’s greatest works. His heart swelled with unexpected emotion, and he committed every detail to memory. The soft murmurs of admiration, the sunlight catching in Jane’s hair, the echo of Ethan’s footsteps as he circled the statue in fascination. It was, quite simply, perfect.

Eventually, they began their journey back to the manor, retracing their steps along the winding path. Tatiana and Ethan clamored ahead of them, their laughter ringing out like bells as they weaved through the trees. Their cheerful voices floated back, punctuated by giggles as they chased one another along the trail.

Barclay watched them for a moment before his gaze slid to Jane. Her eyes were fixed on the path, but her expression was serene, her lips curved in a soft smile. The sunlight filtered through the canopy, casting patterns of light and shadow across her features. Taking the opportunity, Barclay reached out discreetly, his hand closing over hers.

Her fingers curled against his palm, and though her gaze remained forward, he did not miss the smile of bliss that crossed her face. It was a small, secret smile, but it held more warmth than the afternoon sun. A sigh of contentment escaped his lips, a quiet exhalation of happiness. For the first time in longer than he could remember, he felt … whole.

They walked like that, hand in hand, their steps in perfect sync, the woods around them silent save for the rustling of leaves and the distant calls of birds. He knew that soon they would return to reality—the manor, the watchful eyes of the house party, the ever-present scrutiny of society. But here, hidden beneath the shade of towering oaks and dappled sunlight, there was only them.

No matter what happened after this walk, the wondrous visit to the grotto with Jane and the children would forever remain in his heart, etched there as one perfect afternoon of happiness.