Page 53

Aurora’s expression remained gentle. “To be cast out of good society because of a mistake I made as a child?”

“Um … yes. I apologize. It is just that my cousin Kitty—Ethan’s mother—was in your position. There are barely any consequences for the father, yet the mother is never allowed to forget she erred.”

Aurora sighed, the sound weary yet resolute. “I am fortunate that my family supported me, just as your family supported Ethan and his mother. It is difficult for me, but it is Barclay who has had to live under that cloud of shame his entire life. He is blameless, yet it still affects him—and Tatiana. He has struggled with it, and I would do anything to ease his burden.”

Jane leaned forward, her brow creased in concern. “He has struggled?”

“Very much so,” Aurora continued, her voice softening with maternal pride. “He blames himself for so much that was never his fault. I was overjoyed when the earl came to find him to acknowledge him as his brother. It will balance out over time—that he is a brother of a powerful earl cannot be ignored. My father is very pleased about the improvement in Barclay’s situation.”

Jane forced a smile, nodding along. “I am so happy to hear that.”

“More than that, I want to see Barclay make a suitable match.” Aurora leaned back in her chair, her gaze distant with memory. “My son relied on his late wife more than he cares to admit. It has been difficult for him, and this new connection to the earl will open up new possibilities for courtship.”

Jane’s hand faltered around her fork. The thought of Barclay with a new wife sent a pang through her chest that was sharper than she anticipated. She swallowed back the ache and speared a piece of egg, chewing mechanically while she tried to imagine Barclay with another woman. Of course, she had always known he would marry again, but she had not imagined it would happen so swiftly. Nor had she considered that, once he made his match, she would continue to see him with the new Mrs. Thompson because they were relations now.

When she found her voice, she responded with as much composure as she could muster. “He is a good man … and he deserves any happiness he can find.” Her voice only wavered a touch, but she despised herself for it.

Aurora regarded her with a tilted head, a glimmer of curiosity crossing her face. Jane's cheeks warmed, and she dropped her gaze to her plate, determined not to reveal her emotions. Heaven help her if she let Barclay’s mother become privy to her unrequited affections. Was it not mortifying enough that both Barclay and Tatiana were already aware of his rejection? Now she was about to alert his mother to her feelings, which she had been so desperately trying to suppress.

I suppose it should flatter me that he thought I would work it out for myself.

But she was not flattered. She was hurt. Despite her best efforts to be understanding of his situation, the sting of his absence lingered.

Jane quickly finished her breakfast, her resolve hardening with each bite. She set her napkin aside, forcing a cheerful expression. “If you will excuse me, I think I shall go find Mr. Dunsford and see if he is available for a game. I have not played lawn bowls in some time.”

Aurora’s smile was warm but laced with something Jane could not quite place. “Of course, my dear. Enjoy your game.”

With a polite nod, Jane rose from her seat, her hands trembling ever so slightly as she smoothed her skirts. Anything—anything—to stop thinking about Barclay and remind herself that there were other men. Other possibilities. She might be young, but Mr. Dunsford seemed to appreciate her youth, so it was time to stop ruminating over her infatuation with an unattainable widower and explore her other options.

Perhaps it would ease this relentless ache in her chest.

* * *

Barclay had just returned to the manor from the stables. He did not frequently have the pleasure of riding, so before he could be recruited into another game of ninepins or shuttlecock—or any other of the inane amusements favored by many of the female guests—he had seized the opportunity to ride with the earl.

Jane was never to be seen at those frivolous games, and his prior observations suggested she occupied herself with more worthwhile activities, such as chess. Perhaps she had played bowls that day he had tried to persuade Mrs. Gordon to join him. She certainly had not made an appearance for ninepins.

He and his brother had toured the park, the estate's grandeur revealing itself at every turn. Barclay had the opportunity to appreciate Tsar’s brilliance in selecting the location of the manor. Of course, the late Earl of Saunton would have agreed to the advice from his architect, but he knew Tsar was excellent at persuasion and would have steered and cajoled the earl into making the right decision.

After the brisk ride, Barclay’s inner thighs ached in the pleasurable manner of a man who had exerted himself. Days of idle revelry at a nobleman’s house party were far outside his usual daily activities. It had indeed been an escape to feel the power of the beast beneath him, the reins taut in his hands, and the wind sweeping through his hair as they galloped across the estate. For those precious hours, he could forget about ninepins and polite conversation and simply exist.

As he entered the hall, Jane appeared in the doorway of the family breakfast room, and the sight of her stopped him mid-stride. He could not help himself—his eyes swept over her form with a hunger that bordered on desperation. She was loveliness incarnate, her dark hair framing her delicate features, her eyes brightening with what he dared to imagine was joy at the sight of him.

But then, as swiftly as it had arrived, the light in her eyes faded, as if a shadow had been cast across her spirit. Her gaze dropped, her lashes sweeping down to conceal the expression in her eyes, and she turned away, her skirts whispering around her ankles as she walked down the hall, each step taking her farther from him.

Barclay stood rooted to the spot, every fiber of his being urging him to follow her. Talk to her. Explain. Apologize. Anything to stop the desolate expression that had crossed her lovely face. But if he were alone with her—if they were to share even a single moment of solitude—he feared all his best intentions would fly out the window like birds escaping a cage, desperate for freedom. He would haul her into his arms, crush her to his chest, and sip from her strawberry-sweet lips until neither of them could remember why it was forbidden.

But he did not move. He watched her turn a corner in the corridor, disappearing from view, and the spell finally broke. He blinked slowly, exhaling a breath he had not known he was holding. It was only then that he realized Aurora had taken Jane’s place in the doorway. She was watching him intently, her brow creased with inquisitive concern.

Barclay squared his shoulders, praying she had not witnessed him mooning after Jane like a green boy fresh out of school. “Mother,” he greeted her, his voice steady.

“Barclay,” she acknowledged, but the curiosity etched into her features did not fade. Barclay’s spine stiffened under her scrutiny, and he worried he had given himself away. He dipped his head in a hasty nod before striding off, eager to escape his mother’s perceptive gaze before she pressed him with questions he could not—would not—answer.

Mrs. Gordon was on the terrace, engaged in that infernal game of shuttlecock—or battledore—or was it jeu de volant? He could not keep track of the ridiculous names they gave to the child’s game. Feathered corks flitted back and forth in the air, propelled by delicate wooden rackets, and the ladies tittered with delight each time one fell to the ground.

Zounds, it would be far more entertaining if the feathered device were used for its intended purpose—falconry, with a hawk diving from the heavens to snatch it midair. At least then, there would be some sense of purpose to it, rather than this insipid flapping about with rackets, as if they were little children amusing themselves.

As predicted, the day passed at a glacial pace once he joined Mrs. Gordon. The ladies she played with chattered ceaselessly, their giggles punctuating every light volley. When the shuttlecock fell to the ground, they squealed and swatted at it as if it might come to life and fly off of its own accord. Barclay forced a smile, nodding politely, while his thoughts wandered far afield.