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“I have not, but I just left my bedroom.”

“Oh.” The little girl twirled a lock of her pale hair around her forefinger, her expression thoughtful. “Would you play chess with me? Ethan beat me again. It is quite embarrassing. I am five years older than him!”

Jane smiled warmly. “Of course. I will drink my coffee and then we can play.” The scent of the freshly brewed coffee was beckoning vigorously this morning, its rich aroma curling invitingly around her senses.

Tatiana grinned, then skipped past the window to join her, her slippers barely making a sound on the polished wooden floor. Jane watched as the girl came to an abrupt stop, pressing her face to the glass as if trying to see something more clearly. Her breath fogged the windowpane, and when she turned around, her cheeks were flushed with color.

“Are you all right, Tatiana?” Jane asked, setting her cup back on its saucer with a soft clink.

“Uh … I will have to play with you later. There is something I must do.” With that, the little girl spun on her heel and raced from the room, her skirts fluttering like silken wings as her legs pumped across the distance.

Jane stared after her, the suddenness of Tatiana’s departure unsettling. A flicker of worry creased her brow, and she walked over to the window to see who or what had distracted the child. She pressed her hand to the glass, scanning the gardens, but whoever it was had disappeared from view by the time she reached the window.

Biting her lip, she felt a ripple of anxiety for Tatiana. Should she follow the girl to find out what had upset her?

* * *

Barclay viewed the pins, which truly were set far too close to make for a challenging game, but it was how the ladies played, and so he must engineer some method of enjoying it. Perhaps he could practice knocking down specific pins to hone his aim. His aim in—drat—ninepins. He swallowed, assuring himself there was a way to make it a passable pastime, even if it felt like an exercise in futility.

Lifting a ball from the table, he made a show of preparing to bowl. He reached back, his arm swinging forward⁠—

“Papa!”

The cry was practically a shriek. Barclay halted mid-swing, the weight of the ball knocking against his chest with a dull thud. He composed himself for a moment, his brow smoothing as he turned to find his daughter standing just a few feet away, her expression stricken and outraged. Her tiny fists were clenched at her sides, and her face was flushed with emotion.

Turning back to Mrs. Gordon, he forced a polite smile. “Mrs. Gordon, if you would not mind, I need to speak to my daughter for a moment.”

The widow’s smile faltered, her fingers tightening on the handle of her parasol before she gave a slow nod. Without a word, she opened the parasol with a soft snap and strolled away, her skirts sweeping elegantly along the grass. Barclay watched her departure for a beat, then turned to Tatiana. Taking her small hand in his, he walked her over to the shade of the great oak tree that dominated the lawn. He settled himself on the bench and gently lifted his daughter to sit beside him, her legs swinging slightly as they dangled above the grass.

“What is it, little one?” he asked, his voice softening.

Tatiana fixated on her toes, her leather slippers scuffing lightly against each other. When she finally raised her face, he saw tears shimmering on her lashes, her large blue eyes brimming with sadness. The sight of it stabbed him in the chest like a thousand tiny daggers. Lud, he was bungling his family duties. First, he had failed to help Aurora fulfill her lifelong dream of joining that society she so cherished, and now Tatiana looked as though her heart were breaking.

“Why are you with Mrs. Gordon, Papa?” she asked, her voice so small and fragile that it nearly undid him.

Barclay’s shoulders stiffened slightly. “Our situation is … difficult, little one. Mrs. Gordon might help us,” he replied, choosing his words with care.

Tatiana’s lip quivered. “But I like Jane. I want her to be my mother.”

Barclay braced himself. He could not bear the thought of another woman in his care being broken by their association with him. Mrs. Gordon might help both Aurora and Tatiana overcome this … this … wretched notoriety. He was not afraid of ruining the widow’s life with his situation, for she was rusticating in the country and seemed more than willing to contend with the challenges that came with his name. They enjoyed a companionable relationship, but no deep feelings were engaged on either side. A marriage to her would be … safe. And he must do what was right for his family, no matter how much he might wish for something different.

“Jane is a young girl,” he began gently. “You need a proper mother. One who can help you grow up to be a great lady one day.”

“Mrs. Gordon does not like children.”

Barclay stiffened. “How can you know that? Did she say something to you?”

“No, but I can tell.” Tatiana’s voice was small but resolute, her eyes sharp with the clarity of a child’s intuition. “And I know Jane makes you happy. You smile when you are with her. Please do not do this. You like her too. I know it. It is not too late. I left Jane in the library, and we can go join her there.”

Barclay relaxed somewhat at the news that Mrs. Gordon had not spoken unkindly to his daughter. He reached out his hand and clasped Tatiana’s gently, his large hand nearly engulfing her tiny one. “You must trust me, Tatiana. I am doing this for you. One day you will understand.”

But instead of calming her, his words seemed to kindle a fire. Tatiana’s eyes grew glassy with tears, and then she began to sob in earnest. For the second time that day, Barclay found himself attempting to comfort one of the women he was honor-bound to protect while they wept. He reached out to embrace her, but Tatiana pulled away from him, slipping from his grasp.

There she stood, glaring up at him with her arms akimbo and her face flushed with anger, looking for all the world like a little warrior princess. Her chin jutted out defiantly, and her blue eyes blazed with unshed tears.

“You know nothing,” she declared, her voice trembling with emotion. “I know Jane is the one, but you will not listen!”

And with that, she spun on her heel and ran, her skirts flaring behind her as she disappeared from view. Barclay remained where he stood, his hands falling uselessly to his sides as he watched her go.