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Barclay leaned back to stare at the cornices. The ornate cornices that Tsar had especially designed for this manor, as part of his commission from the late earl. Barclay’s sire. Four generations of Thompsons had their lives entwined within the walls of this manor, this grand design, and it was time for Barclay to confess his sins.

“This is not your fault, Mother. It is mine.”

“Why would you say that?” Aurora asked in an echo of his earlier question.

“I had planned to propose to the widow. Tatiana was adamant I was making a mistake, but I did not listen. She insisted the widow does not like children, and I informed her that was stuff and nonsense. So it is my fault she has run away. Or is hiding. Or is lying somewhere injured.”

Barclay lowered his head into his hands, his fear of something happening to his child causing his breath to come out in pants. What was the thing Tatiana had said that nagged at him? If he could just recall …

“Was she correct?”

He hesitated before answering. “Mrs. Gordon thinks Tiana should be sent to a ladies’ seminary in Surrey.”

“Tiana?”

“That is what she repeatedly called her.”

“But … Tatiana is only nine years old. I know there are families that do such things, but I could never send a child away that young.”

“I informed the widow that I, too, would not consider it.”

Aurora was silent. Then she cleared her throat and asked the inevitable question. “What did she think of that?”

“It does not signify. Any woman who asks me to send my child away while she still mourns her mother’s death can … get hanged.”

Aurora chuckled. “I presume you were not so eloquent with the widow?”

“I was not. I did make it clear that there was no future for us.”

“Why were you pursuing her, Barclay? I sensed that there was something between you and Jane Davis. Why would you pursue another woman if your affection is engaged by someone else?”

“I thought … that given our situation, I should not inflict it on someone so young. Someone with such a promising future ahead of her.”

“You mean my recent situation with the charitable committee?”

Barclay’s shoulders slumped at the memory of his mother crying earlier that week. “I do.”

“Jane Davis strikes me as a sensible young woman with a good head on her shoulders. And her cousin is a by-blow, so she is aware of the difficulties associated with our situation. What were her thoughts on making a match? Is that why she was avoiding you?”

“No. She avoided me because I severed our connection.”

“Oh, Barclay.” Aurora covered her mouth with her hand, crestfallen.

He straightened up in his chair to defend himself, his gaze averted. “I thought I was doing the right thing. That Mrs. Gordon was the logical choice, given her maturity and social standing.”

When he glanced over at his mother, it surprised him to find pity on her face.

“Barclay, it is not about the logic of the match. It is about the person in question. Their integrity, their loyalty. Your loyalty. Natalya was not a match that made sense, but she stood by your side every day of your marriage. She did not care about the scandal in our family; she cared about us. As a family, we are strong. We can face adversity together.”

Barclay hesitated for several seconds before admitting the truth of it. “Jane would make a wonderful addition to our family.”

“I agree.”

“I think it is too late.”

Aurora stayed silent, waiting for him to explain.

“I hurt her, and I believe Mr. Dunsford intended to propose to her earlier in the library. Given how things are between us …”