Page 38
Before long, they emerged into a clearing, and Ethan gasped with delight. “Look!” he cried, pointing across the water.
Jane’s gaze followed his outstretched finger. A pond stretched before them, its surface green and still, reflecting the pale light that trickled through the trees. And there, on the opposite bank, stood a statue of Persephone, gazing back at them from the entrance of a grand grotto.
Barclay led them carefully around the perimeter of the water, his hands steadying Tatiana as they navigated the narrow path. Moss and slippery green algae clung to the edges, and he kept a firm grip on her hand to ensure she did not stray too close. Ethan remained high on his shoulders, craning his neck to catch every glimpse of the statue as they approached.
They reached the base of the statue, and Barclay’s breath caught. It was an exquisite representation of the goddess of spring, far different from the customary depictions he had seen. Her marble features were turned longingly toward the entrance of the first cave, her expression wistful and full of longing. Rather than the typical sheaf of grain or regal scepter, this Persephone was scantily robed, her draped fabric so thin it seemed almost translucent, as though made of gossamer. She stood upon a bed of marble flowers, each petal lovingly carved to evoke the spring she brought forth each year upon reuniting with Demeter. The tilt of her head spoke of joy and yearning, as if the sculptor had captured her very soul in that fleeting moment of reunion.
Jane stood at the base, her jaw agape, eyes wide with wonder. Tatiana reached out a small hand, her fingertips grazing the smooth, cool surface of the marble. “It is beautiful,” she whispered in reverence, her voice hushed as if afraid to disturb the sanctity of the place.
Indeed, Tsar had outdone himself. The roof of the grotto, entirely man-made, reached out over the water, adding to the magic of the quiet space. The goddess stood forever reaching toward the entrance, as if yearning to return to the world above. Within the cavern, the sounds of the woods were muted, replaced by the gentle tinkling of water. A stream flowed gracefully from the bed of flowers at Persephone’s feet, winding its way through a carved channel before rejoining the pond outside. It was a water feature for which his grandfather had been exceedingly proud, evoking the melting of winter snow and the renewal of spring when Persephone returned to her mother.
“Grandpapa designed this?” Tatiana asked, her eyes wide with wonder as she gazed up at the statue, her small fingers still resting on its smooth marble surface.
Barclay smiled, surprised and pleased by her curiosity. Perhaps the architectural blood that ran through their veins had just awakened in her. For a brief moment, he imagined her growing up to be a great artist or even working alongside the elder Thompsons in their business. He instinctively knew that such a path would not offend Jane if she were to join their family. It was one of the many things that set her apart from the other ladies of society.
“There is more,” Barclay announced as he lowered Ethan to the ground. The roof dipped down as the path wound deeper, and it was no longer safe for the boy to ride so high on his shoulders. Taking the lead, he herded their little party farther along the stone path. Shadows deepened as they moved, the light filtering through with a dim, otherworldly glow.
Barclay led them to the back of the cavern, where a wall extended halfway, concealing a narrow entrance to the second cave. He guided them through, the coolness of the stone walls brushing against their fingertips as they walked. The surface was engraved with a frieze depicting the underworld—chiseled with such skill that the shadows seemed to move and dance across the carved figures.
It was a revelation of design, the stone shaped to mimic the folds of rock, the carvings so intricate they seemed almost lifelike. Yet, it did not escape Barclay’s notice that his … sire … had chosen to commission an underworld theme—a peculiar choice unless one took the dead man’s tendencies into account. Of course, the Earl of Satan had bonded with this harsh chapter of classic mythology. How fitting a subject for such a cruel and lecherous man.
But today was not for pondering the failings of his lineage. Today was for learning more about the woman who had captivated him from the first moment they met, and for assessing their compatibility, with Tatiana by their side. He brushed aside his bitter thoughts, unwilling to allow the specter of his father to taint this experience.
The path widened, leading them into a cavernous space where Jane suddenly stopped, her breath catching in her throat. Ethan and Tatiana gasped beside her, their eyes wide with wonder. A circular hole had been cut into the roof above, allowing sunlight to pour down in a concentrated beam that illuminated the statue before them. Barclay had to admit, his grandfather had orchestrated such drama that it fairly took one’s breath away.
Hades himself towered above them, carved from gleaming stone, much larger than Persephone. His long bident was clasped in one hand, while the other gripped a chain that tethered the ferocious Cerberus, the three-headed guard dog of the underworld. The beast was captured mid-snarl, each head snarling in a different direction, its muscles rippling with tension as if ready to lunge. On Hades’ head rested his helm, the smooth stone polished to a shine, and his gaze was fixed toward the first statue, hidden from view, yet with the same sense of longing.
But this god did not long for the world above. He longed for his wife. Barclay understood the sentiment all too well. He had once shared that same unyielding ache for Natalya. Yet, for the first time since she had departed, his thoughts did not settle upon her this afternoon. Instead, they lingered on Jane—on her bright eyes, her ready smile, and her unguarded wonder.
“Who is it?” Ethan breathed, his small face reflecting his awe as he stood at the base and gazed up at the towering dog. Cerberus stood taller than the boy, its marble teeth bared in a fearsome snarl. Barclay had to confess his own admiration for the scope and perfection of the statue. One could almost imagine the fetid breath of the beast as it guarded its master’s realm.
“It is Hades, the king of the underworld,” Barclay explained, his voice low and reverent. He pointed up at the statue’s helm, which gleamed in the dappled sunlight filtering through the carved opening above. “That is his cap of invisibility. It allows him to travel undetected by other gods, similar to a cloud of mist.”
Jane circled the massive statue, her footsteps light against the cool stone floor as she examined it from every angle. Her gaze traveled over the intricate carvings, lingering on the folds of Hades’ robes, which seemed to ripple with movement, and the fine etchings on his helm. “The detail is so intricate,” she murmured, awe threading through her voice. She paused by his feet, her eyes widening. “See his sandals?” She pointed at them, marveling at the leather straps depicted with such precision that the texture of the bindings seemed almost touchable. Hades looked as though he might step off his pedestal at any moment, striding forth to search for Persephone.
Tatiana leaned closer, inspecting Cerberus with wide, fascinated eyes. She squinted at the sharp teeth jutting from each of the creature’s snarling mouths, her small hands clasped behind her back as if to restrain herself from reaching out. “It is … magical,” she sighed dreamily. “Like Ladin in his cave of treasures!”
Barclay beamed, the warmth of it reaching his eyes. He could not remember the last time he had experienced such a moment of unfiltered joy—four special people together, united in wonder as they beheld one of his grandfather’s greatest works. His heart swelled with unexpected emotion, and he committed every detail to memory. The soft murmurs of admiration, the sunlight catching in Jane’s hair, the echo of Ethan’s footsteps as he circled the statue in fascination. It was, quite simply, perfect.
Eventually, they began their journey back to the manor, retracing their steps along the winding path. Tatiana and Ethan clamored ahead of them, their laughter ringing out like bells as they weaved through the trees. Their cheerful voices floated back, punctuated by giggles as they chased one another along the trail.
Barclay watched them for a moment before his gaze slid to Jane. Her eyes were fixed on the path, but her expression was serene, her lips curved in a soft smile. The sunlight filtered through the canopy, casting patterns of light and shadow across her features. Taking the opportunity, Barclay reached out discreetly, his hand closing over hers.
Her fingers curled against his palm, and though her gaze remained forward, he did not miss the smile of bliss that crossed her face. It was a small, secret smile, but it held more warmth than the afternoon sun. A sigh of contentment escaped his lips, a quiet exhalation of happiness. For the first time in longer than he could remember, he felt … whole.
They walked like that, hand in hand, their steps in perfect sync, the woods around them silent save for the rustling of leaves and the distant calls of birds. He knew that soon they would return to reality—the manor, the watchful eyes of the house party, the ever-present scrutiny of society. But here, hidden beneath the shade of towering oaks and dappled sunlight, there was only them.
No matter what happened after this walk, the wondrous visit to the grotto with Jane and the children would forever remain in his heart, etched there as one perfect afternoon of happiness.
Chapter Nine
"You pierce my soul. I am half agony, half hope."
Jane Austen
* * *
As they approached the manor, Barclay reluctantly let go of Jane’s hand and moved ahead to take Tatiana’s small fingers in his grasp. Jane slowed her pace, allowing Ethan to catch up so she might walk beside him. Barclay sighed quietly, the weight of reality settling back onto his shoulders. Their glorious jaunt was over, the guests now coming into view on the terrace, and he longed to turn back to the cool shadows of the woods where everything had seemed so simple—so pure—in the solitude of the grotto.
