Page 3 of Miss Davis and the Architect (Dazzling Debutantes #4)

Chapter Two

"I declare after all there is no enjoyment like reading! How much sooner one tires of anything than of a book!"

Jane Austen

* * *

E mma and Jane spent their final hours together while Perry and Richard were somewhere in the manor acquainting themselves with their new brother. Finally, Jane bid her sister and Perry a tearful farewell before watching their carriages depart for Shepton Abbey. It was late afternoon, and the manor cast long shadows across the drive as the carriages disappeared around a corner.

Turning back to the house, Jane addressed the earl’s wife. “Sophia, I think I shall retire to my room to eat dinner. I did not sleep, and I rose early to spend these last hours with Emma.”

The countess walked over to clasp her hands with concern. “Of course, Jane. There is no pressing need to attend dinner this evening. Our guests are still arriving, so I believe it will be an informal gathering, and you can meet Mr. Thompson and his family in the morning. Should we send for the physician?”

Jane shook her head. “It is nothing that a nap will not set right.”

Sophia’s stormy blue eyes displayed her worry. “Please do not hesitate to have us summon him.”

Jane smiled in acknowledgment before departing for the family wing. Soon she was undressed and attired in her nightclothes, settling her weary head to the pillow.

Some hours later, she awoke. Night had fallen, and the room was dark, the familiar silhouettes of the furniture softened in shadow. Rising from the bed, she lit a beeswax candle and watched as the flame flickered to life, casting a pool of golden light against the dimness.

Crossing to the dressing table, she uncapped her dental elixir and poured a portion into a glass before adding water from the pitcher. Then she raised it to her lips to take a mouthful, swishing it gently before leaning over to spit into the empty pitcher beside it.

“What are you doing?”

Jane jumped in fright, spilling several drops of the watered-down elixir over the table, but managing to hold on to the remainder of the contents. Her hand came up to clutch her chest, where her heart beat like that of a panicked rabbit while she gasped for breath.

Turning around, she saw a tiny form in the corner of her room.

The figure stood up and stepped into the light, and Jane realized it was the little girl from earlier, her silver-blonde hair shining like rays of moonlight in the dimly lit room.

“Hallo?”

The girl’s cherubic face broke into a smile. “Hallo.”

“Are you lost?”

Her little face grew thoughtful. “No, but I am a little bored. I am not accustomed to traveling anymore, and I believe I should have brought more books with me.”

Jane fumbled mentally. She was familiar with dealing with children, and this girl appeared to be about the same age as her youngest sister, little Maddie, but she was groggy from her nap and not sure how the child had come to be in her room.

“What were you doing?” The girl pointed a slender finger at the bottle of elixir and the water glass standing on the table. “Why did you spit that out? Did it not taste good?”

Jane gathered her wits about her. “It is a dental elixir that the countess’s French maid prepared for me. It is not intended for drinking.”

“What is it for?”

“It cleans the mouth. I had sensitive gums recently, so Miss Toussaint made the elixir for me. You swirl it around in your mouth, then spit it out.”

“Curious.” The waif wandered closer to inspect the glass, diminutive compared to the height of the dressing table. “What is in it?”

“Pyrethrum, some rosemary essence, nutmeg, a little bergamot, and some very strong brandy. Which is why I water it down before I use it.”

“What is pyrethrum?”

“It is a daisy.”

The girl reached out and took up the glass, raising it to her nose to sniff it. “It smells good and foul at the same time.”

Jane grinned. “Indeed.”

The girl tilted her head back, her deep blue gaze so intense that Jane unintentionally stepped back.

“May I try it? My gums have been bothering me.” She stretched her mouth open to reveal pearly white teeth. The front two were missing to give her a gap-toothed smile.

Jane found herself rather charmed by the child. She gave a nod. “If you promise not to swallow any?”

Raising the glass, the girl took a mouthful to swirl it around for several seconds exactly as Jane had done, then turned to spit it into the empty pitcher. She straightened back up, smacking her lips. “It does taste foul!”

Laughing, Jane took the glass from her. “How are your gums?”

“They feel clean.”

“Excellent.” Putting the glass down, Jane dropped a little curtsy. “I am Miss Jane Davis. Who might you be?”

“Tatiana Thompson. The earl is my uncle.” The last was said with reverent pride.

Jane realized that the gentleman she had seen disembark from the carriage earlier that day must be the new brother of the earl.

Well, not new, per se. Just newly discovered.

“Then we are related … distantly. The earl’s son is my cousin.”

“Ethan?”

“That is correct.”

“My papa grew quite stern when he heard about Ethan.”

“Did he?”

“He did. I think he had an issue with how long the earl had been married.”

Jane rubbed her face, not sure how to respond. “Um …”

“Is it because Ethan is a bastard? Like my papa?”

Jane could not prevent a grimace from flickering across her face. How did she wind up being the unfortunate party to address this question?

“I think it best you ask your papa about that.”

“Is Ethan a bastard?”

Jane shook her head. “Ethan is a very nice boy. A true gentleman. It is true his mother and the earl were not wed, so he is natural born. But it is not polite to call someone … that.”

“Why?”

Tucking a curl behind her ear, Jane dropped into the chair so she might be more of a height with the little girl. “It is an impolite word. Ethan cannot help the circumstances of his birth. It is more polite to say natural born.”

Tatiana contemplated her for several seconds. “Then the person who called Papa that was being rude?”

“Yes, it was an insult.”

“I did not like the man. He was complaining to his companion the entire time he waited in the drawing room, and I thought he was not very nice. Or correct about his complaints.”

“How did you know what a bastard is?”

“The man sort of explained it during his complaining. He did not know I was hiding behind the sofa. It was enlightening.”

Jane chuckled. “It is not polite to eavesdrop.”

“What is that?”

“It means to listen to another’s conversation.”

Tatiana shrugged. “What they do not know cannot offend them.”

At this, Jane could not hold back a laugh. From the mouth of babes.

Tatiana stepped forward, placing a hand on Jane’s cheek as she stared deep into her eyes. “I like you.”

She smiled in response. “Thank you. I like you, too.”

“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 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 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 Tatiana as a 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 into 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 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 novel was needed to keep her company.

* * *

Barclay leaned on the ledge of his bedroom window, staring up at the moon which cast a silver light across the landscape. The chamber behind him was quiet, the hearth embers long gone to ash, and the only sound was the soft stir of the drapes as the breeze moved through the crack in the casement. Pale ribbons of moonlight spilled across the polished floorboards, and from somewhere in the distance came the solitary hoot of an owl.

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 she 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 arrived in late spring, when the Neva River shimmered beneath nearly endless skies and lilacs bloomed along the embankments. The light never seemed to fade, and the scent of warmed stone and birchwood drifted through the city streets, where merchant families in fine carriages passed beneath rows of wrought iron balconies and bell towers.

He had stayed in the home of a respected merchant—an old friend of his grandfather—where he met the merchant’s youngest daughter, recently returned from finishing school.

Natalya had caught his attention at once, acting as his interpreter at social events. He still recalled what she had worn that first night—a gown of soft lilac silk, the hem embroidered with tiny white wildflowers, and a sheer shawl fastened with a silver filigree brooch. Her hair, the color of moonlight, was plaited into elegant coils and adorned with a carved ivory comb. Her manner was warm and graceful, her voice low and precise as she translated jokes and proposals with equal poise. She smelled faintly of rose attar and orange blossom water.

To her, his parentage had meant nothing. She had not blinked at the mention of his unmarried mother. She only cared for him.

Her father had considered the match an honor—uniting with the family of Tsar was no small matter, even if Barclay bore the stain of illegitimacy. The man had looked beyond society’s snubs and seen a future son-in-law worthy of his daughter.

Barclay had intended to stay a month. He had remained for three.

And when the ship set sail for home, his Russian bride had stood beside him—his Natalya, silver-haired and smiling, her hand wrapped tightly in his.

When Natalya had accepted his proposal and embarked on a new life in England, they had both known their days together were numbered. She suffered from a weak heart, but she had refused to allow her condition to hold her back. She had been determined to live life to its fullest, and Barclay was grateful for every moment he had shared with her on this earth.

When she had decided to have a child—something the doctors had cautioned her against—his wife could not be dissuaded. She had wanted to leave a piece of herself behind.

“You must allow this, Barclay. One day I will no longer be here, and then you will be grateful to have our child to remember me by.”

He had reluctantly agreed, and Natalya had bravely taken the journey of motherhood, taking every precaution to protect herself during that time. And she had been proved right in her quest. She had survived the ordeal to bring Tatiana into the world and lived another six years as her mother. Long enough to see their daughter walk for the first time, to hear her laugh, and to watch her grow from a tiny babe into a spirited young girl.

Barclay could regret none of their time together—made all the more sweet because his beloved had fulfilled her dream of motherhood, and had been there to witness their daughter bloom into a small, radiant version of herself. Then Natalya’s heart had taken its last beat, and she had slipped away from them for the final time.

Even as her health declined, she had continued to dress with quiet elegance—her beloved shawl always around her shoulders, her silver hair still pinned with the comb he had given her on their wedding night.

Tatiana tilted her head just like her mother once had, her laughter on certain days so like Natalya’s that it startled him.

His wife would have been so pleased for him this evening. So happy that Aurora and Tatiana would gain a new level of social status with this recent development. She had believed in family, in honor, and would have admired the earl for searching him out and elevating their name.

He wished she were here to view this beautiful moonlit night with him. To discuss the events of the day and their arrival at this magnificent country home. “Barclay, you did well, bringing our family here.”

As he had so often done since her death, Barclay had summoned Natalya from his memories to stand at his side. She appeared just as she had in life—wrapped in her amethyst shawl, the ivory comb catching the moonlight in her pale hair, her expression serene and steady.

“I knew it was what you would want.”

She smiled, resting her delicate head against his shoulder. “You were right.”

Barclay’s heart squeezed tight. He knew this phantasy could only survive so much—he could not attempt to touch her, or his imagination would fail and his grief would return. He missed his wife so much, it was a physical pain.

“Anything for you.”

“But, my love, you promised me you would find a new wife. A new mother for Tatiana.”

Barclay grimaced. Recently, every time he called Natalya from the recesses of his mind, she admonished him for not fulfilling his last promise to her.

“I am not ready, Talie.”

“It is … vremya …” She searched for the English word, as she often had in the past. “Time. It is time, Barclay. I have been gone two years now, and Tatiana needs a mother.”

“I cannot, my love. I still hear your voice. I still turn to find you when I wake. I cannot … replace you.”

She smiled, tears dampening her silver lashes. “Not replace. Someone new. Someone different to provide you comfort. An English girl, perhaps, who does not care about your lack of a father. Who cares for you.”

Her voice was a balm and a blade—soft as silk, but it cut him all the same.

“Please, Natalya. I cannot.”

Natalya frowned lightly, turning to place a hand on his chest as she always had when imparting advice. He could almost feel the remembered warmth of her palm, though he dared not look directly at her hand.

“You must let me go, Barclay. My child needs a mother. And you need a new partner.”

“Talie—”

A knock at the door interrupted his thoughts. He blinked. The moon slipped behind a cloud as she faded, the silver light dimming, as if taking her with it. Shaking his head, he returned to the moment, crossing the room as the memory of Natalya departed as quietly as it had arrived.

* * *

Jane sat in a wingback chair in the far corner of the library, reading the book of poetry she had found on the shelves. Since arriving in the Balfour household, she had been struggling with insomnia, but had grown to enjoy the late hours when the household had retired to bed. It allowed her to read in peace.

A single candelabrum flickered on the table beside her, casting long, wavering shadows across the book-lined walls. She turned the page to her favorite sonnet, tracing a finger over the familiar lines from the Bard as she mouthed the words to herself.

In the distance, she heard footsteps approaching.

Not sure who might be entering the library so late at night, she drew her long legs up onto the seat, adjusting her wrap to conceal herself until she knew who had interrupted her solitude.

“Why is it we need to converse in the library at this hour, Mother?”

Jane shivered at the husky quality of the man’s voice, her skin tingling in response to the warm, textured sound. It wrapped around her like the velvet lining of a winter cloak.

Leaning around the wing of her chair, she stole a peek.

It was him. Tatiana’s father.

Jane realized she should announce her presence, but she found herself reluctant to do so. She wanted to enjoy listening to him for a few minutes more. If she made herself known, there would be polite introductions, awkward greetings—and all of it while they were in their nightclothes, which did not seem an auspicious beginning.

“Barclay, it is important that Tatiana not overhear us. You know how she is. I thought if we talk here in the library, we will leave her undisturbed. The poor mite only just fell asleep.”

The accented voice confirmed that his mother was the companion who had followed him into the room.

He gave a dry laugh, which skidded over Jane’s scalp like warm honey. His tone had such a dark and unique timbre, thrilling to listen to, and unlike any she had heard before.

“Are you certain she was not feigning?”

Miss Thompson responded pertly, “Quite certain. She already snuck out for the evening while I was asleep, but a charming young woman returned her to me.”

It sounded like the pair had taken the seats near the entrance of the library. Jane considered rising to inform them of her presence, but she held back. Once again, she found her romantic nature stirred by the presence of the gentleman, and this was her chance to gain insight into him.

“What was so urgent we needed to meet at this late hour?”

“We need to discuss your future, Barclay. This house party represents an opportunity for you to move forward. Natalya has been gone for two years now, and you need to think about the future.”

Barclay was quiet for several seconds before making a low sound of dissension.

“I do not wish to talk about Natalya. Or the future, for that matter.”

“Barclay, I just want to help. You are not aware that Tatiana approached a stranger this evening and asked the young lady to be her new mother?”

“What?”

“You heard me correctly. She found a young woman in the family wing. Miss Davis is a distant relation to the earl, and Tatiana was quite taken with her—so much so that she proposed that Miss Davis marry you.”

The gentleman paused before replying.

“Why would she do that?”

“Tatiana is worried about you. Which is why I insist we need to discuss this situation … for Tatiana’s sake. It has been a long time since Natalya left us. It is time for you to pursue a new relationship. To start again.”

The gentleman sighed, while Jane held her breath, awaiting his response. The precocious daughter and the melancholy father captivated her attention. If only she knew how to help them.

“We will be fine.”

Miss Thompson snorted delicately.

“Barclay, something must be missing from your lives if your daughter is proposing on your behalf to strangers. We must deal with this, son. Are you sleeping?”

“No, but who can sleep when the most beautiful woman in the world was stolen to the heavens by greedy angels, leaving us mere mortals behind to grieve?”

Jane felt a pang shoot through her chest. The raw honesty of the man’s grief was almost too much to hear. There was poetry in his pain, in the way he spoke of his wife—so vivid, so undiminished. She lowered her eyes to the book in her lap, though the words had long since blurred. A single line from the sonnet lingered in her thoughts.

“I all alone beweep my outcast state…”

She should not be here, eavesdropping like some schoolgirl. And yet she could not bring herself to rise.

It was poignant, his love for his lost wife. Jane wished to comfort him in his sadness—and wished, with a sudden sharpness, that a man might one day love her in that way.

“Son, your child needs a mother. And you need a wife. It is time to consider the future.”

“How can I consider the future?”

There was silence. Then came the question, soft and deliberate:

“Do you think you could love again?”

Jane rested her chin on her knees, scarcely breathing in her anticipation of what he might say.

“That seems an impossibility.”

“Then what will you do?”

“I will … continue. I will rise in the morning and go about my day. I will spend time with Tatiana and then return to bed in the evening and remember my dear wife until …”

“Until?”

“Until one day I wake up and this terrible sense of loss has faded, and I can forget how wonderful it was when we were a family. When my silver faerie was at my side … and my child had a mother.”

In the silence that followed, Jane could swear she could hear the gentleman’s heart cracking in two. The discussion had become so intimate, so raw, that there was no possibility of announcing her presence now. Her body was tense with the need to vanish. She barely dared to breathe, terrified they might hear the faint intake of her breath in the deep stillness.

And yet, she could not pull herself away. She wanted to offer comfort, to soothe his grief—do something. Anything.

If she were older, more worldly, had something to offer him … she might find the courage to act. Offer him solace?

But what could a young girl such as she, with no life experience, offer a single father in his thirties, haunted by the ghost of a beloved wife? Jane had never felt so helpless. She would seem an immature flibbertigibbet beside this weary, grieving gentleman.

His mother interrupted the gloom that had descended on the conversation.

“I appreciate you loved Natalya with all your heart, but you understand this cannot continue?”

There was a long pause.

“I … know.”

“So you will make an effort to meet some women at this house party? Ask the earl and his countess to make introductions to eligible women?”

Another pause, deeper and heavier.

“I … suppose … I must … for Tatiana’s sake.”