Page 8 of Miss Davis and the Architect (Dazzling Debutantes #4)

"It is not what we think or feel that makes us who we are. It is what we do. Or fail to do …"

Jane Austen

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J ane woke late the following morning, having stayed awake until dawn before finally drifting off as the first light crept over the horizon. This inability to slumber was becoming maddening. She had never struggled with sleep before, but ever since she had joined the Balfour household in London—and now Saunton Park—her nights had grown longer and more restless.

Before her visit, she could sleep anywhere and at any time, but that was now a distant memory. Insomnia had become a persistent companion for many weeks.

She prepared for the day, eating breakfast from a tray brought in by a maid. Fortunately, her strange hours were not widely known outside her family. What kind of denizen of the country kept such late hours? Her twin brothers, Oliver and Max, had teased her mercilessly during the few days they had been in residence for Emma’s wedding the week before.

Eager to read, yet nervous to encounter Barclay after the intimate words they had shared the night before, Jane left the family wing and headed for the library. Upon entering, she was greeted by the familiar scent of roasted beans and found a tray of coffee waiting for her—the servants had grown accustomed to her unusual habits.

“Miss Davis, there you are. Did you hear me coming?” he asked, his voice smooth and easy. The young gentleman wore a finely tailored burgundy coat that fit him like a second skin. His waves of curls were both wild and perfectly arranged, a testament to a valet’s deft touch.

Jane blinked in confusion.

“You were pouring me a cup?”

Her smile was pasted on out of sheer habit. Her head pounded from lack of sleep, and she had been yearning for that first sip of coffee to fully rouse her before encountering company. But now that Mr. Dunsford had seen her reaching for the gentlemen’s beverage, she had little choice but to forfeit her cup. “Of course,” she replied with forced cheer.

She poured, breathing in the rich aroma with unspoken longing before setting the pot down. Reluctantly, she picked up the cup and handed it to him, feeling the pang of sacrifice as the warmth left her fingertips.

“One wonders why the servants are providing cream and sugar?” he mused, gesturing toward the tray.

Because that is how I prefer to drink it!

Jane shrugged. “Perhaps some guests prefer to add it.”

“Fie! That is something a lady might do. What type of man would drink it in such a feminine manner?”

Her fingers tightened around the edge of the tray. It was time to change the subject, lest she reach over and snatch the cup back from his hands. She had noticed a certain propensity for grumpiness before her first coffee of the day, and she was liable to say something unladylike if she lingered too long on the injustice. Mr. Dunsford was blissfully unaware of the havoc he was wreaking on her patience. It would hardly be fair to take it out on him.

“Were you looking for me, Mr. Dunsford?”

“I was. I was hoping you might be available to play lawn bowls? Several guests have gathered on the east lawn. Do you play? I can teach you!”

Jane suppressed a smile. She had grown up in the country as one of six children. They played bowls every Sunday, and Jane was the best player among them. Again, it was not Mr. Dunsford’s fault that his comments grated on her nerves. Her mood had everything to do with the absence of that dark, glorious brew she so craved. Perhaps she should call for tea instead?

“I have played it before.” The temptation to refuse and hunt down another cup of coffee flared in her mind, but she recalled her resolution after reading to Tatiana. It was time to consider her future—time to seek a husband and turn the page to her life’s next chapter. “I would love to play.”

Mr. Dunsford’s boyish face brightened. “Excellent!” He stood, placing the cup down with careless abandon.

Jane’s gaze flickered to the untouched coffee, her mouth practically watering at the sight. How she longed to take it up, savor its warmth, and let it work its magic. She forced a smile at the young gentleman, but her eyes drifted back to the cup. “I shall need to collect my bonnet, Mr. Dunsford. How about I meet you on the lawn?”

“Of course! A lady as fair as yourself must take care of her complexion. I shall wait for you by the terrace.” He bowed, his expression brimming with hope. Jane realized that with a bit of encouragement, she might easily secure a proposal from him. He was clearly keen. All she had to do was spend time with him and decide if he was the sort of man she could tolerate for the rest of her days.

The moment he left the room, Jane sprang into action. She prepared her coffee with swift, efficient hands, her heart lifting as the rich aroma filled the air. Lifting the cup to her lips, she breathed deeply before downing it in one long, indulgent sip. The tension in her shoulders melted, and the pounding in her head dissipated, leaving only the hum of satisfaction in its wake. She dabbed her lips with a handkerchief to remove any evidence. It was not the leisurely ritual she craved, but at least she was fortified for whatever lay ahead.

Feeling invigorated once more, Jane collected her bonnet from her room and washed her mouth with the dental elixir before making her way through the manor. The sun streamed through tall, mullioned windows, casting long beams of light across the polished floors. She exited onto the terrace, where several guests had already gathered, their laughter drifting through the manicured gardens. Tables were laid out with neatly arranged lawn bowls, the polished wood gleaming in the late morning sun.

Mr. Dunsford spotted her arrival and hastened over, his long legs carrying him swiftly across the lawn. He took her hand and bowed deeply. “Miss Davis, I am very much looking forward to demonstrating the nuances of play to you.”

“That would be delightful.” She returned his smile, her eyes bright with amusement.

“We are playing in teams of two. Mr. Ridley and his sister will play against us.”

Jane glanced over the bowling green, its smooth surface bordered by trimmed hedges and shaded by towering oaks. The duchess approached, her jaunty bonnet bedecked with elegant feathers that bobbed lightly with each step. Sunlight caught the rich color of her brandy eyes, making them gleam with anticipation.

“Jane, we finally play a game together. I grow weary of sitting as a spectator.”

“Which rink is ours, Your Grace?”

“We are playing on the first one.”

They strolled over to where Mr. Dunsford and Mr. Ridley stood waiting, the men deep in conversation. Upon their arrival, Mr. Dunsford tipped his beaver hat with a modest bow. “Your Grace, I am honored to play against you.”

The duchess beamed in response. “And I, you, Mr. Dunsford. I must warn you that my brother and I have played together many times.”

“If you win, I shall be able to say the Duchess of Halmesbury bested me,” he replied with a polite grin.

“Excellent. Let the best team win.”

Mr. Dunsford and Mr. Ridley performed the coin toss, the bright glint of silver catching the sunlight as it spun through the air. The duchess won the right to toss the jack, her smile triumphant. Her brother dashed forward to collect it, running out to center it on the pitch after it came to rest.

Jane walked over to the table where the bowls were laid out, their polished surfaces smooth beneath her fingertips. Mr. Dunsford joined her, his hands clasped behind his back in an imitation of gentlemanly leisure. “I shall bowl last because it will be more difficult. You should do your best to place your bowl near the jack.”

She smiled amiably, masking her amusement. They had not discussed who would bowl first, but she saw no need to quibble. Her focus turned back to the pitch as the duchess approached the mat, skirts sweeping elegantly around her legs. With a practiced drop, she rolled her bowl, the polished wood curving outward before arcing back and coming to rest just four inches from the jack.

Jane’s eyes widened. The duchess must possess considerable experience to send her bowl so far up the pitch with such precision. Clearly, she had played as often as she claimed.

“Well done, Annabel.” Mr. Ridley leaned down to peck his sister on the cheek, holding the brim of his hat to prevent it from toppling off.

Mr. Dunsford rubbed a hand over his jaw, his gaze fixed on the placement of the duchess’s bowl. “Her Grace has done very well. Please do not be alarmed if you cannot place yours closer than hers, Miss Davis. Just do the best you can.”

Jane nodded without comment. Taking her place at the mat, she surveyed the arrangement of the bowls and the jack with practiced precision. The lawn stretched before her, the sunlight casting long shadows over the pitch, the whisper of a breeze rustling through the nearby hedges. Kneeling gracefully, she bowed and sent her bowl gliding forward. It rolled in a smooth, deliberate arc, coming to rest a mere two inches from the target.

Mr. Dunsford walked forward, his jaw slack with disbelief.

Mr. Ridley, too, approached, squinting down at the placement before turning to call out instructions to his sister. The duchess, unruffled, picked up another bowl. With a look of determination, she returned to the mat and rolled her shot with steady elegance. The bowl curved, slowed, and settled just a hair closer to the jack than Jane’s, claiming the winning position.

As the game continued, the duchess formed a strategic head with her remaining bowls, expertly blocking any clear path to the jack. Jane studied the layout, her eyes narrowed with concentration. Then, with measured steps, she approached the mat. A hush fell as she knelt and bowled a fast run shot. The bowl sped down the pitch, striking two of the duchess’s well-placed bowls. They skidded apart, one tumbling into the ditch and out of play, while Jane’s own bowl collided with the jack. Both quivered, then rolled gently apart.

Jane quelled the grin that threatened to spread across her face. Her run shot had been quick and precise, a testament to her years of practice.

Mr. Dunsford shook his head, his beaver hat teetering dangerously before settling back into place. “Miss Davis, I believe you should have been the last to play! I hope Mr. Ridley is a poor player, for I cannot do better than you.”

“Not at all, Mr. Dunsford. I am certain you could have thrown a run shot more impressive than mine. You are stronger, after all.” Her tone was gracious, but Jane was undeniably pleased. Let Mr. Dunsford see she was a sensible young woman—one who would not dim her light to stroke a gentleman’s pride. She might forgo drinking coffee before him, but she would not restrain her talents.

The game progressed slowly, with tension building as each end was played. Eventually, the duchess and Mr. Ridley triumphed by a single shot. It had been exhilarating, neither team certain of victory until the very last play. Mr. Dunsford had performed adequately but lacked the accuracy to break apart the head Mr. Ridley had so expertly formed. That decisive move won the final point for the opposing team.

They congratulated each other with genuine smiles, complimenting notable shots before making their way back to the terrace. The sun had dipped behind the manor, casting the terrace in cool shade, and the heat of the afternoon had eased. Jane’s spirits lifted further when she saw that tea and biscuits had been laid out on a linen-draped table.

She joined the duchess, taking a seat beside her. Together, they watched the ongoing game on the third pitch, the only match still in play. The soft clack of bowls and the murmur of conversation drifted around them, lending the afternoon a pleasant, genteel atmosphere.

“I must say, Jane, I was pleased to observe that you did not restrain your skill to pander to the gentleman.” The duchess spoke quietly so as not to be overheard, nodding her head subtly in Mr. Dunsford’s direction. “Many young ladies would have done so.”

Jane sipped her tea, the delicate porcelain warming her hands. “I think there should be some honesty during courtship. I would not want the gentleman to get the wrong idea of who I am.”

“You seem quite a competitive young woman,” the duchess remarked, her eyes sparkling with mirth.

“Not really. I love feminine pursuits. I embroider well. I am adequate at the pianoforte. But I do not wish to be controlled when I marry. I would like a partnership such as the one my sister and Perry share.”

The duchess chuckled, the sound light and unrestrained. “I see. It was a demonstration for the young buck—that you have a mind of your own.”

“Precisely.”

“I appreciate that. When my husband and I met, there could be no doubt that I was an independent hoyden. I am still uncertain if the duke was impressed with my audacious behavior, or if he married me to protect me from my wild spirit.”

Jane tilted her head, her interest piqued. “You were audacious?”

The duchess shook her head in mock remonstration. “My goodness, I hope I am still. Perhaps more refined, but under this regal exterior beats the heart of a rebel.”

Jane giggled, the sound as light as a bell. “I would not say that I am a rebel. However, I would like a husband who respects my needs as I respect his. I wanted to ensure the gentleman noted me as an individual and not just a pretty face.”

“That is well advised. He will have to acknowledge that you are a person in your own right after the way you played today.”

“Then I have succeeded in making my point. All that remains is to discover if his pursuit continues now that he has been informed of my skills.”

As if on cue, Mr. Ridley and Mr. Dunsford joined them, teacups balanced in their hands.

“My word, Miss Davis. You play exceptionally well!” Mr. Dunsford’s youthful face shone with admiration, and Jane found his praise to be quite validating.

“I come from a large family who loves to play. We have competed on many a Sunday afternoon.”

“I am most impressed with your run shot. You must have quite a bit of steel running through you to bowl so fast and hard.”

Jane smiled, satisfaction blooming in her chest. Mr. Dunsford had seen her as capable and strong—and still wanted her company. Woolgathering over Barclay Thompson be dashed. This budding connection showed promise. Perhaps she might be betrothed to a suitable young man who genuinely admired her before summer's end.

Behind them, the terrace door swung open with a soft creak. “Jane!”

Mr. Dunsford flinched, nearly spilling his tea. Jane turned just in time to see Tatiana’s bright face, brimming with joy, before the little girl flew across the stone floor and threw her arms about Jane’s neck. Jane laughed warmly, raising her hands to embrace the child, though she noted with some amusement how Mr. Dunsford leapt aside as if she had unleashed a wild hare. His expression was one of pure consternation.

“Jane, have you been playing bowls with Papa? I cannot find him anywhere.”

“I am afraid not. I have not seen your papa today, Tatiana.”

“Oh.” Tatiana’s little face fell, her silver-blonde curls bobbing as she dropped her gaze. A pang of sympathy tugged at Jane’s heart. Gently, she reached up and tucked a stray curl behind the girl’s ear.

Mr. Ridley cleared his throat politely. “Some guests are playing ninepins beyond the rose garden. Perhaps Mr. Thompson is there?”

Tatiana’s eyes brightened with hope. “Where is that?”

“I can take you, if you wish. I was going to join a friend.” His expression was kind, and Jane noted the ease with which he offered assistance.

“Yes, do that,” Mr. Dunsford interjected quickly, his relief poorly disguised.

Tatiana clapped her hands, turning to Mr. Ridley. “Yes, please, Mr. Riddee .”

The gentleman chuckled at the mispronunciation of his name, his brandy eyes twinkling with good humor. He extended his bronzed hand, and Tatiana slipped her tiny one into it trustingly. Together, they walked off, as she peppered him with questions about ninepins.

Jane watched them go, a strange wistfulness stirring in her chest. Despite her newfound appreciation for Mr. Dunsford’s attentions, there was an undeniable ache in watching the little girl wander off in search of her father.

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