Page 14 of Miss Davis and the Architect (Dazzling Debutantes #4)

Chapter Twelve

"We live at home, quiet, confined, and our feelings prey upon us."

Jane Austen

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T he following morning, Jane sat alone in the library with her cup in hand, gazing out the tall windows to where clouds were banked heavily in the sky. They sprawled across the horizon like billowing waves of smoke, casting a gray pall over the grounds below. It was a perfect reflection of her current mood. Dark. Melancholy. Silent.

She had never needed her coffee as much as she did this morning. Its warmth seeped through the delicate porcelain into her palms, offering the only comfort she had found since Barclay had failed to appear the night before. Fortunately, the tray beside her held a full pot, its silver lid gleaming softly in the morning light, ready to keep her company until she could rouse herself to leave the library.

After tossing and turning all night, sleep had remained stubbornly out of reach, leaving her mind tangled with restless thoughts and her body aching from fatigue. She had not yet eaten; her appetite had failed her entirely, shriveled by disappointment and a heavy sense of longing she could not quite shake.

No book had brought any solace. She had tried to read—to lose herself in stories of adventure or romance—but the words had swum before her eyes, refusing to arrange themselves into anything meaningful. Even the dawn had failed to bring the drowsiness she usually felt after a sleepless night. She was restless, heartsick, and thoroughly exhausted.

Perhaps I should return to Rose Ash? she wondered, her gaze still fixed on the dreary landscape beyond the window. I slept fine there.

The thought was a bitter one. She had come to Saunton Park full of dreams and ambitions, determined to begin the next chapter of her life. Now she contemplated returning to the comfort of home, retreating with her tail between her legs. Perhaps she was too young to know her own mind. Perhaps she had rushed into the idea of a Season, believing herself prepared for the rigors of society when, in truth, she was still just a girl with romantic ideals.

Perhaps I should speak to the earl about returning for a Season next year and take some time to mature a little more, she mused, brushing her fingertips over the rim of her cup. Emma had returned home, and things had worked out beautifully for her.

But even as she entertained the notion, she knew it was different. Emma had gone home to Rose Ash, and Perry had followed her there. Would Barclay follow me if I left? But no. He would not. Barclay was not Perry, and she was not Emma.

Returning home would simply be a temporary retreat so she might lick her wounds, think about what she wanted from her future, and then return to the Balfour household for another attempt.

Lud, it all sounds like such an effort, she thought, stifling a weary sigh as she took another sip of her coffee, the bitterness a welcome distraction from the ache in her chest.

She sipped her coffee again. If she could just get a full night’s sleep, perhaps she could reach a decision about how she wanted to proceed. Trying to make a life decision when she had not slept a wink was probably ill-advised, she mused, pressing her lips together in thought.

Perhaps it is time to visit a herbalist and tackle this insomnia. She had been convinced it was merely the excitement of the unexpected Season that had ruined her sleep, but last night had been the worst yet—and she certainly could not blame that on excitement. She had never felt less enthusiasm than she had in the past twelve hours.

Jane finished her coffee, the last drop pooling in the bottom of her cup. She reached for the pot to pour another, her hand pausing mid-air as she flinched in surprise. Tatiana had taken a seat in the chair across the table without her noticing. How long had the little girl been sitting there, so silent and still? Seeing her was a comfort despite the ache in Jane’s heart. At least one Thompson was not avoiding her.

The child was staring down at her slippers, her shoulders slumped, and the usual bright light in her eyes dimmed.

“Tatiana, are you all right?” Jane asked gently, setting the coffee pot down with careful precision.

“I came to tell you I am sorry.”

Jane tilted her head, dismayed. “Whatever are you sorry for?”

“I am sorry that Papa is courting Mrs. Gordon.”

The words struck like a blow, a sharp and unexpected pang that tightened Jane’s throat. It was true, then. Barclay had reached a decision regarding her. She had told herself it was merely his grief that held him back, that he simply needed time to make peace with the idea of a future. But it would seem he had decided she was not the right woman for him.

Jane’s hands trembled as she poured her coffee, the liquid swirling into the cup with a soft, delicate splash. She took a steadying breath, forcing her voice to remain calm. “I did tell you that your papa had to find his own wife. He is a good man, and whatever he decides, I am certain that you are an important part of his decision.”

Tatiana’s face crumpled with sorrow as she continued to study her slippers, her little hands twisting in her lap. “It is not right. I do not like that woman. I like you.”

Jane’s heart squeezed painfully at the girl’s sincerity. She reached across the table to take Tatiana’s hand, her fingers warm and soft in her own. “Oh, sweet girl. I like you, too. Whatever happens in the future, we shall remain friends.”

Tatiana turned her gaze to Jane, her deep blue eyes brimming with emotion that was far too raw for someone so young. “The afternoon at the grotto, I thought …” She shook her head, her little face twisting with the effort of holding back tears. “I was so … sure.”

Jane fought back her own tears, determined to be strong for the little girl who had known far too much pain in her short life. Her smile trembled but held firm. “Every moment with you has been a gift. I am certain that everything will work out for the best for you. Your papa loves you—” She paused, swallowing hard to steady her voice before continuing, “—and he will do what is best for you. I know it. Please do not worry about me. You should put your attention on getting to know Mrs. Gordon if Bar—your papa is courting her.”

Tatiana’s eyes searched Jane’s face, her expression earnest and unguarded. “Would you have courted him? If he had asked?”

Jane bit her lip, her mind racing to find the right words that would neither betray her own emotions nor sound critical of Barclay’s choice. At last, she replied gently, “It would be a great honor to be considered for the position of your new mother. I considered it a great honor the first time you asked me, and nothing will ever change how I feel about you.”

Tatiana’s eyes grew wide and bright with emotion before she flung herself off the chair and into Jane’s arms. Jane barely had time to set her cup down before she caught the little girl, Tatiana’s small arms wrapping tightly around her neck. Jane’s heart clenched with tenderness as she hugged the child back, squeezing her to her bosom and breathing in the sweet scent of lavender and innocence. She held her there for a long moment, allowing herself to imagine what it might be like to truly be Tatiana’s mother, if only for this brief, stolen instant.

“We are part of the same family now, Tatiana. We shall see each other often, and I can read you Aladdin anytime you like.” Jane’s voice was soft with the promise, but then she hesitated, wincing slightly over the girl’s shoulder. Had she overstepped? Would Barclay disapprove of her making such an offer? She swallowed and quickly amended, “Although I am sure that Mrs. Gordon has read stories to her husband’s parish and will make a fine storyteller in my place.”

Tatiana pulled back, her little face full of sincerity as she looked up into Jane’s eyes. “Thank you, Jane.”

“You are, and always will be, very welcome, Tatiana.” Jane stroked the girl’s hair, her heart aching with love and loss all at once.

After their embrace, Tatiana dashed off before Jane could even suggest a game of chess. She watched the girl go, feeling slightly cheered to know that, at the very least, Tatiana did not reject her. The child’s acceptance, small though it was, soothed the edges of her wounded pride and heartache.

Realizing she had not yet eaten, Jane went to find some food to break her fast. To her own surprise, her appetite had returned. Perhaps the child’s acceptance had been enough to ease her melancholy.

Entering the breakfast room reserved for the Balfour family, she found Aurora seated at the table, reading over a plate of eggs and fruit. The morning light streamed through the tall windows, casting soft rays upon the polished mahogany and silver platters that adorned the sideboard. Jane quietly filled her own plate, selecting fruit and a delicate slice of toast before seating herself across from Barclay’s mother.

“How are you this morning, Aurora?”

Aurora looked up from her reading, her smile warm and inviting. “I am quite enjoying this visit. It has been a long time since Barclay has taken any time for himself. He appears happier since we arrived, and I must admit that, as a mother, it gladdens my heart to see my boy smiling again.”

Jane paused, her fork suspended in midair as she absorbed this unexpected news. “I am … happy to hear that. He seems a good man.”

Aurora’s eyes softened with motherly pride, her expression serene and wistful. “The very best of men.”

Yearning pierced Jane's chest like a dagger. She struggled to control her breathing as she looked away. “Indeed,” she mumbled, her voice barely above a whisper. Her appetite deserted her once more, leaving her with only a hollow ache that no amount of fine breakfast fare could fill. Perhaps she was nothing more than a silly young chit who did not yet understand enough about life to make a suitable wife for a man like him. Barclay seemed to think that the widow was a far more qualified choice, and he was an intelligent, professional man. Certainly, he must have insight into matters such as marriage. Who was she to think she knew better?

With a sigh of resignation, Jane pushed her plate aside and rose to fetch a pot of coffee from the sideboard. The silver gleamed in the morning light, polished to perfection, and the rich aroma of the brew teased her senses with the promise of comfort. Returning to her seat, Jane poured a cup with unrestrained relish. She added cream and a spoonful of sugar, stirring slowly as she watched the swirl of white soften the dark liquid.

Food be damned today. She would drink coffee until Barclay faded from her thoughts. It was the only thing that seemed to lift her spirits these days, and she cradled the cup in both hands as if it were a lifeline.

Jane raised the cup to her lips, taking a fortifying sip, but as she glanced across the table, she noticed Aurora’s eyes fixed upon the cup, her expression pinched with concern.

Blazes. Was the woman going to judge her for drinking the gentlemen’s beverage? Jane steeled herself, already bracing for a lecture on decorum, reluctant to complete her list of inadequacies for the day.

“Jane, I know it is not my place …” Aurora’s voice was gentle, her eyes scanning the room to confirm that there were no footmen lingering nearby.

Here it comes. Jane forced a smile, keeping her fingers steady around the delicate handle of the cup.

“But I feel I must inform you of the troubles associated with drinking coffee.”

Jane took another sip to fortify herself, then set the cup down, forcing her smile to remain fixed. “You refer to the fact that it is a gentlemen’s beverage and not considered acceptable in social circles for a woman to drink it?”

“Well … no. That is too fine a point of etiquette for me to comment on with any knowledge. I was referring to the other issues.”

Jane frowned, her eyes narrowing as she tried to make sense of Aurora’s words.

Aurora sighed, setting her fork down with a soft clink against the china. “It is just that Tatiana mentioned you have trouble sleeping at night.”

Jane blinked, surprise flickering across her features. “That is correct.”

“Did the trouble start around the same time as …” Aurora gestured delicately to the cup on the table. “Perhaps when you began to drink coffee?”

Jane folded her arms, leaning back in her chair as she contemplated the timeline. “I arrived in London. Then I tried coffee the following morning for the first time.” She narrowed her eyes, tracing her memories with weary difficulty. “Yes. That was the first night I could not sleep. Why?”

Aurora leaned forward slightly, her expression turning wistful. “When Barclay was a young man doing his studies, there would be nights he needed to … not sleep. To stay awake to study or complete a design overnight. When that happened, he would drink coffee. Pots of it.” She smiled gently. “He told me that the coffee kept his mind and body alert and allowed him to work through the night.”

Jane glared down at the cup, her thoughts racing as she pieced together the chain of events. She recalled when the trouble had begun—how she had started having difficulty sleeping, waking restless and unrefreshed. Then came the habit of drinking coffee in the afternoon to lift her spirits and stave off the weariness. That small comfort soon transformed into an evening ritual, the dark brew her salvation when her eyelids threatened to seal shut of their own accord during dinner.

“Blast!” The word burst from her lips before she could catch it. Jane gasped, clapping a hand over her mouth, her cheeks flushing with embarrassment. Her twin brothers, Oliver and Max, were little terrors with a colorful vocabulary of uncouth words they liked to parade about when their parents were safely out of earshot. Jane knew all manner of expressions that were unfit for polite company, but she rarely used them. It seemed her lack of sleep had chipped away at her restraint.

Aurora’s eyes danced with amusement, and she waved a hand in dismissal. “It is all right, my dear. We are all family here.”

Jane expelled a breath she had not realized she had been holding. “I think you are right! The coffee is causing me to stay awake. I have never had trouble sleeping before. In fact, my family always expressed their envy that I could sleep anytime and anywhere!”

“What do you plan to do?” Aurora asked, arching one elegant brow as she sipped her tea.

Jane hesitated, then looked earnestly at the older woman. “What would you suggest?” she asked, genuinely eager for her input. How she missed having Emma or her mother to confide in. Aurora made her feel at ease—a steadying presence amidst the chaos of emotions she had been battling. More than that, she admired Aurora’s forbearance in weathering years of censure to protect her family. How many women in her position would have simply handed their child over to strangers for the sake of reputation? Jane respected her deeply for it.

Aurora set her teacup down with a soft clink of china. “I would recommend you stop drinking it if your sleep is so poor.”

Jane bit her lip. Of course, it was the most sensible course of action. How else was she to confirm that coffee was the culprit unless she abandoned it entirely? The very thought filled her with dread—her beloved brew had been the only comfort she had found this gloomy day. But she nodded resolutely. “I shall do that, then. I thank you for advising me.”

Aurora’s expression softened with understanding. “I must warn you, when Barclay stopped drinking coffee, there was some trouble.”

Jane’s eyes widened. “What kind of trouble?” she asked, already feeling a flutter of anxiety at the idea. Her hand reflexively tightened around the handle of her cup, as if it might disappear at any moment. Giving up coffee was already a daunting prospect—must there be more to endure? She shivered slightly, the unease settling in her bones.

“Barclay complained of experiencing the most dreadful cravings when he stopped drinking it,” Aurora confessed, her eyes softening with the memory. “He also suffered headaches for several days, which only improved with a small amount of coffee. To hear him speak of it … it put me in mind of the troubles some people have with laudanum—though, of course, to a much lesser degree. I felt it worth mentioning, in case you notice any effects.”

Jane dropped her head into her hands, groaning softly. “What have I done?”

Aurora reached out to pat her hand. “Do not trouble yourself. My mother was from Florence, and she told me it was commonplace for young men there to become reliant on coffee. It is a potent brew, after all.”

Jane raised her head, eyes wide. “How long will it take to recover?”

Aurora considered this, her gaze thoughtful. “Only a few days after you stop drinking it. But do expect some headaches and perhaps a touch of ill-temper as a result.”

Jane’s shoulders slumped in resignation. “Thank you for telling me.”

“It is nothing. I felt you ought to know,” Aurora said gently.

Looking down at her cup, Jane steeled her nerves and pushed it away, the porcelain scraping slightly against the table. Then, she pulled her plate back toward her with determination and forced herself to take a bite of the eggs that had grown cold in her distraction.

“How have you been enjoying your stay so far?” Jane asked, eager to shift the conversation to less troubling topics.

Aurora’s face brightened, her features softening with genuine pleasure. “Excellently! The earl and the countess are so gracious. It has been wonderful to enjoy such exalted company.”

“I am so happy to hear that.” Jane hesitated, her hands nervously smoothing over her napkin. “I do not wish to be indelicate, but I think it is quite unfair for a lovely lady such as yourself to …” She paused, struggling to find the right words.

Aurora’s expression remained gentle. “To be cast out of good society because of a mistake I made as a child?”

“Um … yes. I apologize. It is just that my cousin Kitty—Ethan’s mother—was in your position. There are barely any consequences for the father, yet the mother is never allowed to forget she erred.”

Aurora sighed, the sound weary yet resolute. “I am fortunate that my family supported me, just as your family supported Ethan and his mother. It is difficult for me, but it is Barclay who has had to live under that cloud of shame his entire life. He is blameless, yet it still affects him—and Tatiana. He has struggled with it, and I would do anything to ease his burden.”

Jane leaned forward, her brow creased in concern. “He has struggled?”

“Very much so,” Aurora continued, her voice softening with maternal pride. “He blames himself for so much that was never his fault. I was overjoyed when the earl came to find him to acknowledge him as his brother. It will balance out over time—that he is a brother of a powerful earl cannot be ignored. My father is very pleased about the improvement in Barclay’s situation.”

Jane forced a smile, nodding along. “I am so happy to hear that.”

“More than that, I want to see Barclay make a suitable match.” Aurora leaned back in her chair, her gaze distant with memory. “My son relied on his late wife more than he cares to admit. It has been difficult for him, and this new connection to the earl will open up new possibilities for courtship.”

Jane’s hand faltered around her fork. The thought of Barclay with a new wife sent a pang through her chest that was sharper than she anticipated. She swallowed back the ache and speared a piece of egg, chewing mechanically while she tried to imagine Barclay with another woman. Of course, she had always known he would marry again, but she had not imagined it would happen so swiftly. Nor had she considered that, once he made his match, she would continue to see him with the new Mrs. Thompson because they were relations now.

When she found her voice, she responded with as much composure as she could muster. “He is a good man … and he deserves any happiness he can find.” Her voice only wavered a touch, but she despised herself for it.

Aurora regarded her with a tilted head, a glimmer of curiosity crossing her face. Jane's cheeks warmed, and she dropped her gaze to her plate, determined not to reveal her emotions. Heaven help her if she let Barclay’s mother become privy to her unrequited affections. Was it not mortifying enough that both Barclay and Tatiana were already aware of his rejection? Now she was about to alert his mother to her feelings, which she had been so desperately trying to suppress.

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 of his situation, the sting of his absence lingered.

Jane quickly finished her breakfast, her resolve hardening with each bite. She set her napkin aside, forcing a cheerful expression. “If you will excuse me, I think I shall go find Mr. Dunsford and see if he is available for a game. I have not played lawn bowls in some time.”

Aurora’s smile was warm but laced with something Jane could not quite place. “Of course, my dear. Enjoy your game.”

With a polite nod, Jane rose from her seat, her hands trembling ever so slightly as she smoothed her skirts. Anything—anything—to stop thinking about Barclay and remind herself that 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.

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