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Just then, a flash of lightning lit the hall. A clap of thunder masked Barclay’s yelp of surprise when a small, ghostly figure was revealed several feet in front of him.
“Papa?”
Barclay caught his breath, realizing that it was Tatiana who had startled him out of his wits. “What are you doing out of bed, little one?”
“I miss Mama.” She broke into tears when she responded, causing Barclay to hurry over to her side.
Dropping to his haunches, he folded her into his arms. “Oh, Tatiana. I promise wherever your mama is right now, she misses you dreadfully, too.”
Tatiana’s little shoulders shook as she cried into his shoulder, breaking Barclay’s heart as he swept her up against him and carried her to his room. Walking over to a sofa by the fireplace, he settled her down next to him. “What is it?”
“I woke from a dream. Mama was there, but I couldn’t see her face. When I awoke, I realized I have forgotten what she looked like.” Barclay’s heart fractured as he stared down at the tear-streaked face of his little girl and thought about what he should say.
He reached out a finger to wipe away her tears. “That is ridiculous, little one. Of course you remember how she looks. Why, you look just like her!”
Tatiana’s tears stopped. “I do?”
“All you need to do is look in the mirror. Come, see here.”
Barclay ushered his daughter over to a mirror on the wall. Holding her up with one arm, he raised his hand to finger her hair. “She had silken hair woven from moonbeams . . .”
“Like mine?”
“That is correct. And, see, she had eyes as blue as the Baltic Sea.”
Tatiana gazed at her reflection. “Like mine?”
Barclay bobbed his head. “And her skin was as smooth as fresh cream.”
Tatiana stared intently into the mirror, raising a hand to touch her cheek. “Like mine?”
“Just like you, little one. Just like you.”
“She will always be here with us?”
“Always.” Barclay’s voice was hoarse when he responded, and he accepted the truth. Their mutual grieving must come to an end. He could not live in the past any longer, and he must help his child to find joy once more, as she had during the reading of Aladdin earlier that evening.
Somehow, this visit to Saunton Park had unlocked a door, and Barclay could see clearly that he had been keeping them trapped in the past with his lingering state of mourning. Natalya had instructed him to find a new wife once she was gone. Barclay had failed to pay her heed, and it would disappoint his late wife that her child suffered for his neglect in fulfilling his promise to her.
He must accept that Natalya was gone. Come morning, he needed to make a serious attempt to find a new mother for Tatiana. No more mourning. No more woolgathering over the beautiful young woman he had met a couple of days ago, but a genuine effort to find a suitable mother.
Chapter Seven
"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
* * *
Jane 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.
