Page 16 of Miss Davis and the Architect (Dazzling Debutantes #4)

Chapter Thirteen

"Selfishness must always be forgiven, you know, because there is no hope of a cure."

Jane Austen

* * *

B y the time Jane went to bed that night, she knew Aurora had been right about the coffee.

She had skipped her afternoon cup, then her customary cup before dinner. Now it was midnight, and she paced her room with restless energy, her mind fixated on the notion that she should find a servant and demand a pot of coffee be brought to her immediately. The urge clawed at her insides with a desperation that astonished her.

Aurora’s warning regarding the cravings had proved true, which could only mean that this truly was the cause of her insomnia.

Her body was utterly worn out, but she could not relax. She had thought about going to the library to write her poetry, but it was inconceivable. For one, she could not summon the patience to sharpen her quill and dip it in ink—the mere thought of the effort it would take was enough to make her want to scream in frustration. Secondly, the library would remind her of how Barclay had so cruelly snubbed her.

The mere thought of it sent a wave of melancholy washing over her. Was this the foul temperament Aurora had warned her about? She had expected irritability, but this … this hollow, aching sadness was entirely unexpected. Perhaps it was the combination of Barclay’s rejection and deprivation of the demon brew that was causing this newfound despair.

It was all she could do to drag herself to the bed and fall in, her limbs heavy as stone.

To her surprise, she drifted off almost instantly, only to jolt awake not long after. Checking the time, she estimated she had slept for barely half an hour. Groaning, she returned to her pillow, squeezing her eyes shut and willing sleep to come again.

Eventually, she dozed in that strange half-sleep, half-waking state, where feverish dreams blurred with reality. Images danced before her eyes—Barclay at the altar with Mrs. Gordon at his side, Jane sitting alone in the family pew as his sister-in-law, forced to pretend joy while carrying the weight of sorrow like lead in her chest.

Her eyes flew open, the image searing her mind. She stared up at the ceiling in the darkness, too afraid to close her eyes again for fear the vision would return. It felt so real, the agony of it sharp and vivid.

But eventually, the fatigue in her limbs became too heavy to bear, and sleep dragged her back under.

When she awoke next, it was to find that morning had arrived, sunlight creeping between the drapes and spilling onto the carpet in warm golden pools. Sitting up, she moaned in agony. Her head pounded so fiercely, she could swear there was an entire orchestra tuning its instruments inside her skull. The light seemed to stab her eyes with every flicker.

She took hold of the coverlet and threw herself back onto the bed, yanking the fabric over her head to block the light until the throbbing in her temples receded to a tolerable hum. Was this what men felt like when they imbibed too much brandy at their clubs? If so, she was inclined to pity them.

Weary, she decided that drinking some tea and eating breakfast might assuage her physical torment. Groaning, she rose from the bed.

Bah to the strawberry water! There was not an ounce of energy in her for beauty treatments. This morning, she would do the bare minimum. Walking to the door, she found the cart waiting in the hall and pulled it into her room with more effort than she thought should be necessary.

After sipping a small amount of tea and consuming a few bites of eggs and fruit, her headache abated to a tolerable level—tolerable in that she thought she might conduct a conversation without embarrassing herself. But when she heard a light tapping at the door, she realized she had overestimated her capabilities in this fragile state. She wanted to shriek at whomever stood behind it to simply go away and leave her in peace. Raising a trembling hand to her temple, she massaged in slow, steady circles to calm herself.

“Who is it?” she called, her voice just above a whisper.

“Tatiana. May I enter?”

Jane gritted her teeth, massaging her temples where the dull ache of her megrim persisted. The last thing she wanted this morning was a delicate negotiation with an inquisitive nine-year-old. Tatiana would require a measure of diplomacy, and Jane was not sure she had any to spare.

“Of course,” she replied, her voice carefully modulated.

The door creaked open, and Tatiana stepped quietly into the room. At least, Jane assumed she did, because her eyes remained squeezed shut as she continued to rub her temples, attempting to alleviate the relentless throbbing.

“Are you all right?” the little girl asked, her voice soft with concern.

“Yes, yes. I am suffering from a megrim, is all.”

“Oh.” There was a brief pause before Tatiana continued with cautious optimism, “I was wondering if I could ask you to join me and Papa for a walk?”

Jane stilled, her hands dropping to her lap as she stared at the child. A walk? With Barclay? After everything?

She clenched her jaw to prevent herself from groaning aloud. It would be mortifying. She was the silly young woman he had rejected, and worse, he was entirely aware of her feelings. Their last encounter in the hall had confirmed it, when she had greeted him with a beaming smile before recalling his abrupt decision and watching the joy drain from her own face like ink spilled in water.

No, a walk would be far too humiliating.

“Did your father agree to that?” she asked, striving to keep her tone neutral.

Tatiana hesitated, twisting the hem of her skirt between her fingers. “I have not asked him yet, but I am sure I could convince him.”

Jane’s stomach twisted. She did not wish to disappoint the child, but neither could she bear Barclay’s polite indifference—not today. Not when her heart was still tender, and her mind felt scattered from her restless sleep.

“I am sorry, Tatiana,” she replied gently, forcing her voice to remain steady. “I cannot. I already made plans for the day.”

It was not true, but she would find something to occupy her time, even if it meant wandering the gardens alone with her thoughts.

Tatiana’s little face fell, her lower lip quivering slightly. “Please, Jane. I … miss you. It felt like when Mama was alive and we would do things as a family. I want …”

Jane’s heart clenched painfully, but she forced herself to remain firm. “I am sorry. I cannot. I already promised my time to Mr. Dunsford, and I must hurry if I am to meet him.”

The child’s eyes shimmered, and Jane had to look away lest she be swayed by those imploring blue eyes.

“What about Ladin ? Could you read to me this evening?”

Jane closed her eyes, willing herself not to break. The memory of reading Aladdin to the girl and seeing her enchanted expression was enough to bring fresh tears to her eyes. But if she agreed to read to her this evening, Barclay might be present as he had been the first time, and Jane could not endure his cool civility—not when her emotions were still so raw. She needed time to recover from the coffee ordeal and this heartbreak before she could manage any pleasantries with Tatiana’s father.

“Perhaps in a couple of days. There is no telling if this headache will recede by this evening.”

Maybe by then her battered spirits would have time to mend. Perhaps she could muster the strength to sit in the same room with him without her heart shattering all over again.

Tatiana’s expression fell, her shoulders sagging in resignation. “I am sorry you do not feel well,” she murmured.

Jane managed a small smile. The child was so sweet and earnest, her belief unshaken despite the barriers that seemed insurmountable. It truly would have been an idyllic life—to spend her days with Tatiana, sharing books and adventures, while traveling at Barclay’s side as he designed magnificent buildings across England. Jane quickly squashed the errant musing, forcing herself to remember that it was not to be. She needed to focus on her health, particularly conquering this ordeal with the cursed coffee.

“Thank you,” she replied gently, her voice thick with emotion.

To her surprise, Tatiana stepped forward and threw her little arms around Jane’s neck, hugging her tightly. Jane instinctively wrapped her arms around the child, drawing comfort from the unexpected embrace.

“Please do not give up,” Tatiana whispered fiercely against Jane’s hair, her small voice trembling with conviction.

Jane pulled back slightly, her brows drawn in confusion. “Give up?”

“On Papa. Promise me you will not give up. We can be a family, I know it! I will make him see, I swear it.”

Jane’s mouth opened to respond, to offer some gentle, reasonable explanation of why such a dream was impossible—but before she could form the words, Tatiana released her and darted from the room, her skirts fluttering behind her like the wings of a determined little bird.

* * *

Barclay strode down the family hall, his boots tapping against the polished wood as he made his way to meet the earl for a spot of fishing. He was just passing Jane’s door when it opened unexpectedly, and Tatiana stepped out, shutting it quietly behind her.

Drawing to a halt, Barclay rubbed his temples, a nagging sense of unease settling in his mind. Why did this not sit right? He realized with a pang that he needed to gently dissuade the connection between his daughter and the young woman before Tatiana’s hopes grew even more entrenched. The thought of it left a sour taste in his mouth, but it was necessary. He could not allow her to build dreams upon a foundation that would never come to be.

Dropping his hand, he straightened up, his expression hardening as he fixed his gaze on his daughter. But Tatiana, unyielding and unafraid, narrowed her eyes and glared right back.

“Tatiana, are you bothering Miss Davis?”

Tatiana’s little chin lifted with defiance. “Miss Davis? I thought you called her by her given name?”

Barclay’s jaw clenched. “That was before.”

“Before what?”

“Before I started spending time with Mrs. Gordon.” His voice was firm, but his heart twinged with regret.

Tatiana shook her head, her silver-blonde curls bouncing with the motion. “No. That is not true. You spent time with Mrs. Gordon playing ninepins. Then we all went to the grotto, and you called her Jane several times. Jane is family, and she invited us to call her … Jane.”

Barclay’s frown deepened as he gazed down at his daughter from his not inconsiderable height. But Tatiana, resolute as a tiny warrior, folded her arms and glowered right back up at him, her eyes blazing with fierce determination. If he did not feel so deeply conflicted, he might have even been proud of her audacity. She would go far in life if she maintained that inner fire.

But not on this subject. Barclay exhaled slowly and reached out to clasp her small arm gently. “Come, Tatiana.”

He guided her down the hall toward Aurora’s chambers. They needed privacy for this conversation—somewhere quiet where the walls did not have ears and there would be no interruption. Tatiana walked beside him, stiff with defiance, her little feet almost stomping with each step.

When they reached Aurora’s room, Barclay closed the door behind them and turned to face his daughter. Kneeling so they were at eye level, he spoke gently but firmly. “Tatiana, it is not proper to impose on Jane. She has her own life to live, her own path to follow, and you must allow her to do so.”

“Jane enjoys spending time with me. She told me so. It is your fault that there is trouble, and I refuse to turn my back on her.”

Barclay walked away, raking his hands through his long hair, to stand by the window while he tried to think how to explain this to his child. Good grief, when had he last had his hair trimmed? Tatiana was not wrong about his need for a wife, it would seem.

“It is not possible for me to court Jane, and it would be inappropriate to spend time in her company, little one.”

“Why? She is family. Her sister is married to your brother, Uncle Perry. If I want to spend time with her, I can.”

“Tatiana, perhaps in the future. But not now. We must allow Jane her time. She is seeking a husband, and she needs to be allowed to do so.”

His daughter growled at him, causing Barclay to blink. It sounded more like a mewling because she was such a little girl, but it was unprecedented. He spun back to face her, discovering that her face had turned red with anger.

“You are a selfish man! Jane was to be my new mother! Mama would have approved. Now you are ruining it! Not only that, now you are trying to ruin my time with her!”

Barclay shook his head. “There are things—adult matters—which you do not understand. I am doing this for you. And your grandmama, and I need you to trust me.”

“Why? I see what Jane did, but you will not listen. You changed. You were smiling and happy like you were when Mama was still here. Now you are back to your sadness. I am worried about you, but you will not listen to me. I know Jane is the one!”

Barclay hung his head, too ashamed to look at her while he tried to find the words to explain once more. “It is not right, Tatiana. Jane could marry anyone. She is the sister-in-law to an earl, from a good family, and there will be problems for her if she were to marry me.”

“We are a good family! We look after each other. We spend time together. We try to make each other happy. That is what Jane would do if she were part of our family.”

Barclay drew a deep breath. Usually, he was so talented with negotiations, but there was something complicated about dealing with one’s own child. He knew he was trying to do what was best for her, and for Jane, but how did he tell Tatiana without ruining her childhood? She did not need to know about the troubles surrounding his parentage. The troubles she would deal with in the future. Nay, that must wait until she was much older. It was his duty to protect her innocence and allow her this time of ignorance for as long as he possibly could.

“You must give Mrs. Gordon a chance, little one.”

“She does not like children!”

“How do you know that?”

“I … just know. I can tell. Ethan agrees with me.”

Barclay shook his head. He did not know why Tatiana was convinced the widow did not like children. There had been no evidence of that. “Ethan is four years old and not an expert on women. She is very pleasant, and she can teach you many things.”

“Like what?”

He was not prepared for the question. Lud , he was quickly learning during this house party that his daughter might look like her mother, but she had inherited all the stubborn traits of the Thompson family. Tsar was going to howl with mirth about all of this when they returned to London in a week or so.

Barclay would laugh himself if this was not so terribly disheartening. Perhaps that was a good sign. A sign that his mourning truly was over if he even considered laughing. He could not recall when he had last laughed about anything—not truly, without forcing it politely—but since arriving at this house party, it seemed he had recovered his sense of humor.

“She can teach you to behave like a proper young lady.”

“Jane can teach me that.”

“Yes, but …”

“But what?”

“Mrs. Gordon was the wife of a vicar. She can teach you all about …” Barclay sought for something to say. “Charity!” he announced, proud of himself for thinking of it.

Tatiana considered this, and Barclay realized neither of them knew enough about Jane to know if she was involved in charitable work. After a lengthy pause, her face lit up, and she responded, “Grandmama can teach me that.”

That was true. Aurora involved herself in charity work with their church.

“Mrs. Gordon has a lovely voice, and she must know how to sing. She could teach you to sing lovely hymns.”

His daughter narrowed her blue eyes in a menacing manner. “Are you saying I cannot sing?”

Barclay coughed into his hand. If Natalya were here, she would do a much better job of handling their daughter. But if Natalya were here, they would not be arguing over who would be her new mother, so that was a moot point.

“You have a lively singing voice, little one.”

Thankfully, she appeared mollified. Barclay straightened his shoulders and endeavored to return to his original point before Tatiana had debated him into a corner.

“I need you to leave Jane alone and allow her to seek a young man to marry. We cannot stand in her way, or cause complications.”

She shook her head. “I do not agree to this. I have already asked Jane to read me Ladin , and she said when she is feeling better, she will do so.”

Barclay frowned, worried despite his vow to steer clear of the young woman. “Is Jane unwell?”

“She said she has a headache.”

He exhaled. “Then I need you to listen to me. I am the parent.”

“I should listen to you, even if you are wrong?”

Scowling, Barclay tried to think how to respond to that. “I am the parent, and you must listen.”

Tatiana drew herself up to her full height. It was not much, but she was as regal as a queen when she replied, “I shall not. Jane is my friend, and you cannot stop me from spending time with her.”

Before he could respond, she turned and ran from the room in a blur of skirts and stockings before he even had time to think. Bosh! He should have stood between her and the door, knowing she might bolt. Now he would have to wait to find her and start this discussion all over again. Natalya had always been so talented at dealing with Tatiana. He was a brute compared to her finesse with the child.

Dash it , if his nine-year-old daughter besting him in debate was not a sign of his advanced years! This was precisely why this age gap between him and Jane would not work. If he did not know better, he would swear he had aged a hundred years based on how he had felt since he had found Aurora crying in her room.

* * *

Jane left her bedroom at about two in the afternoon, once the pounding in her head had receded sufficiently to paste a smile on her face and feign some social pleasantries.

While preparing for the day, she had reached a decision. It was time to seriously consider a match with Mr. Dunsford. With him, she would access a path to the familiar. As the daughter of a landowner, she would marry the heir to a similar situation. This was a world which she could understand and navigate. Her sister was the wife of a landowner. Her father was a landowner himself, and her mother was the wife of a landowner. It would be perfect because she would have plenty of help to make such a situation a success.

It had been the original plan she had had for this Season, before Emma had meddled with her ideas of a meeting of the minds. She had tried following Emma’s advice, which had led to bitter disappointment. Her sister’s success with bringing Perry up to scratch had been a fluke, a once-in-a-lifetime stroke of luck not to be repeated.

All that remained was to confirm that she and Mr. Dunsford had enough in common to make a marriage work. Anything to leave this miserable situation in the past.

Jane stopped in the hall to rub her weary hands over her face. She was having trouble maintaining the appearance of conviviality. Fatigue was setting in once more, and she cursed the coffee that had put her in this infernal mood, while craving a cup of the demon brew, which would release her from this current agony.

Be strong! Aurora said this will only last a few days before it wears off.

Inhaling deeply, she pasted the jovial expression back on her face and continued her walk to the library. She would rest there for a moment while she regathered her wits, then set off to find Mr. Dunsford. Hopefully, his attentions had not wandered to another female guest while she had been occupied with Barclay.

When she reached the library, she scowled at the coffeepot with loathing. And longing. It was hard not to recall the blissful sense of tranquility after drinking a cup. Shaking her head, then groaning when it caused the thudding to echo against her skull, Jane squared her shoulders as if preparing for battle.

Resolutely, she headed down to the main level in search of the other guests. She soon found the countess drinking tea in one of the drawing rooms with an accompaniment of women of all ages. The Duchess of Halmesbury gestured for her to come join them, so Jane walked across to take a seat.

The moment she sat, the babe in the duchess’s arms turned to watch her. Reaching up two chubby arms, Jasper mewled loudly. The duchess laughed. “Jane, my dear son has grown weary of his mother. Would you like to hold him?”

Jane immediately reached for the boy. As soon as he was in her arms, gazing up at her with enormous eyes, she leaned forward to sniff his sweet scent and was hit with a wave of yearning. If she could find a beau to marry, she could start her new life. Perhaps have her own babe by this time next year. She nearly wept with the sheer desire to begin on this path. This Season was turning out to be a bitter experience, and there was no need to prolong the agony.

Faith! These symptoms from the coffee are turning me into a dreary mess!

As Jasper grabbed one of her fingers with his tiny fist, Jane thought once again about how she might be betrothed before the house party ended. She was ready, and she did not want to meet more men who would lead to more disappointment. All she needed was one suitable gentleman to propose. Her impatience was not to do with her throbbing head, she assured herself, nor the architect she wished she had never met. This was about stepping into her future.

When Jasper grew weary, his little eyelids drooping, she handed him back to his mother, who summoned their nanny to take him for a rest. Then Jane left to find Mr. Dunsford. Exiting the manor, she found him engaged in a discussion with several young gentlemen and ladies. He grinned broadly when he spotted her. Completing the anecdote he was telling, he quickly excused himself to join her.

Bowing, with a tip of his hat, he straightened and held out an arm. “Miss Davis, would you do me the honor of taking a turn in the gardens? There are several guests here to maintain propriety.” He gestured back to the table. Jane accepted his arm, and they descended the stairs to walk the pathways of the formal garden.

“Tell me about your home, Mr. Dunsford. Is it far from here?”

“Not at all. About two hours at most, to the northeast of Saunton.”

“And do you have a large family?”

“Alas, no. There are my father and my little sister. My mother died a few years ago. What about you, Miss Davis?”

“I have three brothers, all younger than me. And two sisters. You might have met Emma the day you arrived?”

“Ah, yes. The young lady who married Mr. Peregrine Balfour. I was most surprised when he mentioned he plans to remain at Shepton Abbey throughout the year. I always thought the gentleman loved the sophistication of London too much to rusticate.”

“Do you visit London?”

“As frequently as family obligations permit. Now that I hear you will be there with the earl’s family for the rest of the Season, I am quite inspired to follow you!” Mr. Dunsford smiled, revealing pearly teeth. He was the epitome of the gentry. Fine-looking, charming, and modest for the most part—having made her smile many times with his dry and self-deprecating wit.

Jane smiled in acknowledgment, thinking about how she had enjoyed their interactions. There was every reason to believe that they would enjoy the companionship of a good marriage and to believe she would eventually forget the architect who had awakened her to passion.