Page 44

Richard rose from his chair, pacing over to the window to gaze out over the park. His hands clasped behind his back, shoulders squared in that slightly rigid stance he adopted when uncomfortable. “I am more familiar with the art of seduction than with courtship, I am afraid,” he confessed, his voice dropping to just above a whisper. “Perry could recite every rule, every nuance of courtship with perfect recollection, but I … can merely give you a rough outline.”

Barclay leaned back in his chair, crossing one leg over the other. “Such as?”

Richard turned from the window, his gaze steady. “Two dances imply a sincere interest. A third is practically a public proposal. Hothouse flowers are considered an appropriate gift, but not a piece of jewelry or anything too personal or expensive.” He shrugged helplessly. “I always assumed I would gather the details when I actually found a young lady worth courting.”

Barclay’s eyebrows shot up. “I thought you hunted for a wife for several Seasons?”

“Yes, but I never went past a single dance.” Richard’s mouth quirked with wry amusement. “None of the young misses captured my interest, so I only knew what was expected in broad strokes. Or rather, defensive strokes. Like never being caught alone with a young lady if one did not wish to be led to the parson’s noose … and to be mindful of that dancing rule of two and three.”

Barclay huffed a laugh. “Even I know that.”

“I am mortified to reveal this to you of all men.” Richard’s voice grew softer, almost confessional. He clasped his hands behind his back, his gaze still fixed on the window’s view of Saunton Park. “I was so afraid of becoming like our father. I changed my entire life around when I realized how perilously close I was to following in his footsteps.” He paused, his shoulders straightening as if bracing himself. “Fortunately, my conscience is eased because the moment I learned of Ethan, I knew I would acknowledge him.” His voice grew firmer, edged with pride. “After meeting my boy, I learned of your existence—it is incredible to me that my father did not marry your mother, or at least acknowledge you. He should have been proud to bestow his name on you or, at the very least, pledge his support for such a talented man.”

Barclay straightened, his heart squeezing at the sincerity in Richard’s voice. He rose from his chair and joined his brother at the window, gazing out over the park where the morning mist still clung to the grass in delicate wisps. It mitigated his guilt to discover that Richard, too, had wrestled with the shadow of their mutual parent. “You are a good man, Richard,” he said quietly. “And I must confess, hearing that you considered similarities between you and the late earl is a bit of a relief. I have been doing the same since I was told he was my father, and it has worried me to notice possible elements of him in me.”

Richard turned from the window, his brow furrowing in disbelief. “You?” he asked, his voice laced with incredulity. “You are a bastion of honor and integrity, who is still faithful to his wife two years after her death. What could you possibly have in common with our father?”

Barclay’s gaze did not waver as he responded. “I think any discussion of women inevitably stirs thoughts of the actions that led to our existence, does it not?”

Richard winced, his expression twisting with distaste. “Well, that is a repugnant thought to consider.” He hesitated, his gaze dropping momentarily before he looked back at Barclay with conviction. “However, I feel compelled to tell you I have not noticed a single trait in you that reminds me of our father. He was the worst kind of libertine.”

Barclay’s brows knitted. “To what extent?”

Richard’s mouth pressed into a hard line, his hands clenching behind his back. “If you knew …” He shuddered visibly, a shadow flitting across his expression. “There are no words to describe the hell that my younger brother lived in under his roof.” His eyes flicked back to Barclay, heavy with the weight of memory. “Suffice it to say that when I see how you are with your mother and your daughter, I can assure you that you have not inherited even the tiniest fraction of character from the Earl of Satan. He was an irredeemable monster.”

Barclay’s gaze dropped to the patterned carpet, tracing the floral swirls absently with his eyes as the silence stretched between them. Finally, he spoke, his voice low and thick with emotion. “I am constantly reminded since I arrived here that he seduced my mother when she was just seventeen years old. Somewhere in this house … or the grounds.” His fists tightened at his sides. “It does not bear thinking.”

Richard leaned a hand against the window frame, his posture relaxed as both men gazed out over the expanse of Saunton Park. Barclay’s eyes tracked a group of gentlemen striding in the direction of the lake, their fishing poles slung over their shoulders and hampers dangling from their hands. Their laughter carried faintly on the breeze, punctuated by the occasional shout as they jostled one another in good spirits.

On the distant horizon, two riders appeared, crossing the open field at an easy canter. Barclay squinted, trying to distinguish their figures. One was clearly a man of considerable size, and he wondered if it might be the Duke of Halmesbury. The second rider was smaller by comparison, though whether that was due to stature or distance, he could not quite tell. It might have been the duchess, though he could not yet make out the distinctive silhouette of a sidesaddle. Then again, considering the duke’s formidable size, even a fully grown gentleman might appear diminutive at his side.

“I wish I could do more for your mother,” Richard said suddenly, his gaze still fixed on the scene below. “Sophia and the duchess have pledged to introduce Aurora to the very best of society—the worthwhile best, that is. Not the judgmental biddies beneath our notice.”

Barclay turned, meeting the earl’s gaze. His chest tightened at the sincerity in Richard’s expression. “I appreciate that … brother.”

The earl’s head came up at that, surprise lighting his features. His eyes widened with clear delight. “Brother?”

Barclay nodded, his lips curving into a tentative smile. “Just assure me your door will remain open in case I decide to blunder through a courtship during my stay in your home?”

Richard’s eyes softened with warmth, and he stepped forward to clasp Barclay’s shoulder with a firm grip. “You have my support always. You are my blood, Barclay.”

Barclay could only hope that the earl’s sentiment extended to a potential courtship of Jane. Richard was fiercely protective of his family, and the young woman was his sister-in-law.

Faith! Did I need to think of a further complication?

How had he failed to realize sooner that he was contemplating courting Perry’s sister-in-law? Emma Davis’s recent marriage to his new brother only deepened the complications. Barclay suppressed the urge to hang his head in dismay. Instead, he kept his gaze fixed on the trees outside the window, the gentle sway of the branches in the breeze doing little to settle the turmoil in his chest. He took a steadying breath, forcing his composure before Richard could detect any trace of his inner conflict.

This was an impossible situation. He could only be grateful that Richard had not pressed him for the identities of the women he was considering. How on earth would he reveal to his new brother that it was Jane who had captured his interest?

When he left the study a few minutes later, his thoughts churned relentlessly. If he were to truly consider this courtship of Jane, he would need to speak with Aurora first. His mother was typically engaged in lively conversation with their hostess at this time of the morning, her laughter often drifting through the corridors of the manor. Yet, today, he had not caught so much as a glimpse of her among the guests who meandered through the grand rooms.

Setting off to look for her, Barclay traversed the spacious halls, his footsteps echoing softly against the polished marble. He soon confirmed she was nowhere to be found in the main house; the drawing room, the conservatory, and even the library were vacant.

As he walked back toward the family wing, his professional eye drifted to the architectural details of Saunton Park. Tsar’s hand was evident in every line and curve of the manor—the arching windows that framed endless views of the parkland, the delicate cornices that traced the ceilings, the balance of light and shadow in the vast hallways. Barclay found himself admiring how Tsar had incorporated the natural landscape into the very design of the estate, as though the walls and windows merely framed what the land already offered.

Yet his appreciation was quickly overshadowed when he reached the family wing and approached Aurora’s door. It was slightly ajar, and from within, he heard the unmistakable sound of a woman weeping. His heart clenched painfully in his chest. Striding forward, he pressed the door open, his gaze sweeping the room to confirm it was his mother seated in a plump armchair by the window.

But she was not admiring the view. Her face was buried in the crook of her elbow, propped on the ledge, her shoulders shuddering with the force of her sobs.