They needed their father. Someone who’d experienced the same loss.
When she heard the voices coming from the study, she should have known better than to eavesdrop. In fact, she should’ve been wise enough to sense the danger that lurked ahead and return to the schoolroom immediately.
Yet, she’d ventured closer.
And closer still until she spied the man meeting with Lord Ashford.
The Duke of Catherton.
Had he come to discover Payton’s identity?
The baron had slammed the door in her face without a word, which was favorable. If Lord Ashford had known she was the mystery woman who’d lost to the duke, he likely would have called her into the room and demanded she settle her debt.
Payton would have had to admit that she did not possess the funds to repay the duke.
What would have happened next?
She shivered at the thought of Lord Ashford handing her over to Catherton. She’d been a fool to allow the duke to bait her into such a grand wager. And now the baron was involved. She’d ruined an advantageous situation and lost her meager savings in the process. Her chest tightened at the thought of starting over—without her money or her post at Ashford Hall.
Hopefully, Marce would return from her trip by her next day off so Payton could throw herself on her sister’s mercy and beg for the funds to settle the debt. Never again would she gamble…at least not more than she could afford.
But she couldn’t tell Marce that part. It would be akin to giving up a large portion of her newly found freedom—a piece of herself. She would need to promise never to ply her hand at cards or any wager again. Perhaps it was time she put her gambling behind her, find a new way—a sensible way—to secure the future she intended for herself.
“Miss Samuels?” Joy stuck her head into the room from the sitting area. “Are you going to eat with us?”
She smiled at the child, her mood lightening at the sight of the young girl, free from her nightmares. “Only if Cook sent enough for us all.”
“Cheese with jam and fresh bread.”
She didn’t normally luncheon with the children, favoring a brief few moments to herself before their afternoon lessons commenced; however, Joy had awoken in a delicate mood—finding Payton straight off and remaining close all morning.
“Oh, that sounds delightful,” Payton accepted.
They hadn’t spoken about the previous evening, but from the soft pink that blossomed in Joy’s cheeks each time Payton noticed the girl watching her, Payton knew she too was thinking about the private moment they’d shared. But how to bring up the subject?
Was it better to leave the topic alone for now?
If the child had more she longed to talk about, she would eventually bring it up when she was ready. It was undoubtedly a difficult thing to speak about with someone as unfamiliar as a governess. It had taken years for Payton to accept that Marce could help her heal; that losing their mother did not mean the end of their family.
The loss of Baroness Ashford shouldn’t have meant the end for Joy and Abram. Yet each day, she witnessed their father pulling further and further away from his children. Where Payton and her siblings had banded together, the baron and his children had drifted apart, allowing a void as vast as the English Channel to open between them.
“Hurry up!” Joy shrieked.
“Or what?” Payton countered, pushing away from the closed door. “The cheese will turn moldy and the bread stale?”
With a giggle, the child spun on her heels, her long braids whipping behind her as she fled back to the table and her meal.
Something was different about the child today…more to the point, everything was different. Before, Joy had been a child with the weight of the world’s troubles upon her. Holding her down and dispelling any sense of calm. Maybe it was Payton who’d changed, not Joy. She’d told a story, her own personal nightmare, for the first time—ever. There had been no expectations surrounding her confession, nor had she believed that Joy was fully awake and listening; however, the simple retelling of her past heartbreak had shifted something within Payton. It had brought back the importance of her mother’s words—the truth of them.
Payton followed the girl into the adjoining sitting room. A table had been set up by a footman with the meal atop. She watched in stunned silence as Joy bounced to her brother’s side and gave him a loud kiss on the cheek.
“Yuck!” he exclaimed, wiping the offending spot. “I do not want to think about where your lips have been.”
“I kissed a horse’s rump,” Joy teased. “A mangy horse’s behind.”
Payton covered her mouth to hide her smile and stifled a chuckle. Odd that such a ruckus would have irritated her before, but now she saw the endearing connection between the pair. It was the same kinship she shared with her own siblings.
“Miss Samuels,” Abram whined. “Make her stop.”
She swallowed, morphing her face into an impassive stare. “Joy,” she scolded, her tone rising a notch to betray her mirth. “Apologize to your brother and sit down.”
Joy plopped down into her seat, her elbows landing on the small, circular table with a thud. “Sorry you are more sensitive than Auntie Flora.”
“That’s not an apo—”
“Joy, that is quite enough,” Payton warned, taking her own seat. “And, Abram, it would behoove you to tamp down your gullible side, or you will surely be taken for every shilling you have.”
“I am not gullible.” Abram crossed his arms with a huff and slunk down in his chair.
“Elbows off the table,” Payton said in Joy’s direction, mildly surprised when the girl complied. “And you should sit up straight, Abram, or you’ll end up with a crooked back by the time you are my age.”
“I don’t plan to live past forty,” he scoffed.
“Forty?” Payton said, allowing her laughter to fill the room. “How old do you think I am?”
“With how dour you are, certainly as old as Father.”
Payton turned to look at Joy, who giggled at her wide-eyed expression.
“What of you?” Payton asked. “Do you think me decrepit, too?”
The girl’s brow furrowed, and her smile vanished as she bit her bottom lip in thought. “At least fifteen,” she announced, obviously pleased with her guess as she grabbed a hunk of cheese and popped it into her mouth.
“Well, I can tell you that neither your father nor I are close to our fortieth year,” Payton declared. “However, I am a bit older than fifteen.”
“Told you.” Abram poked Joy in the side.
“Why on earth would the pair of you be discussing my age?” Payton asked, turning her attention to the display of cheese, bread, and cold pheasant, making light of her question. “If you spent more time at your arithmetic, Abram, you’d be moving on to your next-level coursework.”
“Can we go to Pall Mall and see Xavier’s Traveling Menagerie?”
The question came from Joy, throwing Payton off their original topic. The child’s expectant yet hesitant smile had Payton longing not to disappoint her. In her time at Ashford Hall, she’d never taken the children farther than the townhouse garden.
“Yes, Miss Samuels.” Abram bobbed in his chair, the most excited she’d ever seen him. “Can we go? I am certain Father will give us the two shillings each for the show. Can you believe they have a real bear…and a monkey?”
She glanced between the pair, their matching green eyes staring up at her in anticipation. Two days prior, they were playing horrid jests on her; and today, they wanted her to take them gallivanting about London. Was it a ploy to be out of the townhouse where they could escape her watch and cause the baron to dismiss her? If she were honest, she did think the children spent far too much time cooped up in their drafty home, and Payton was blessed enough to have her day off each week where she could return to Craven House and go about her business. Joy and Abram didn’t have that privilege. Even the baron tended to remain locked away at Ashford Hall mos
t days.
“I…and the pair of you…out alone?” Payton’s skeptical tone had the smiles falling from both children’s faces.
“Not alone,” Abram grunted, sounding far too much like his father. “We will have our driver. And a footman. Father can not deny us. You will tell him it has to do with our lessons.”
The boy smiled triumphantly as if he’d secured the answer to all the world’s problems.
Joy gasped. “Mayhap Father will come with us.”
She clapped her hands as she bounced in her seat, nearly knocking her plate to the floor.
“Your father is a very busy man,” Payton hedged. There was no sense misleading the pair. The baron would never accompany them on an outing to see a traveling menagerie, no matter how many bears and monkeys the show boasted. The man couldn’t even be bothered to dine with his children, let alone be seen in public with them. “I don’t think—”
“Please,” the pair whined in perfect unison.
Payton glanced between their pleading stares. “Well, your father has not been particularly happy with the trio of us of late.”
“We are sorry we ruined your gown,” Joy moaned.
“And put the ants in your bed,” Abram continued.
“Ants in my bed?” Payton set her fork aside, suddenly itching at her scalp. “When did you put ants in my bed?”
Joy waved her hand at the question. “Oh, ages ago. I am sure they are all gone—”
“—or dead.”
“—by now,” Joy finished with a giggle.
Payton wanted to ask who in their right mind puts ants in someone’s bed; however, she’d done far worse to gall her older siblings. Not that she planned to share any of that with the children.
“Mayhap I can have a word with your father tomorrow or the next day,” Payton promised. What would she tell them if the baron said no? In her younger years, she would have gone anyways, consequences be damned. Unfortunately, she didn’t possess the funds to take the children, nor the transportation needed. They could signal a hack, but again, where would she find the money required to pay for the conveyance or the entry fees. But it was only a brisk twenty-minute walk to Pall Mall. “Yes, I will do my best to speak with him; however, if we are to be allowed out of the townhouse, the pair of you must promise to be on your best behavior from this moment until we return.”
Abram poked Joy again, and the pair shared a look, an unspoken message. It was similar to the conversations Sam and Jude had growing up, never exchanging a word but communicating everything through a simple glance nonetheless. A pang of jealousy hit her, but Payton refused to entertain the feeling. She was no longer a child, nor should she be privy to whatever silent conversation the siblings were entrenched in.
“May I please be excused?” Abram asked.
Payton’s brow rose at the question. “But you have yet to finish your meal.”
He glanced back at Joy before continuing, “I have something I need to tend to immediately.”
“Very well, but do hurry back,” Payton said, waving the boy off. “We will start our afternoon lessons in ten minutes.”
“Would it be all right if I go with him?” The apprehension in the girl’s voice was unmistakable, and Payton suddenly faced the hopeless, hurt child from the night before.
“Of course. Go ahead,” Payton murmured. “I suppose it will be up to me to finish all this wonderful food Cook prepared for us.”
The pair slid from their chairs with uneasy smiles and fled the room, their voices making their way back to Payton.
“…I told you the flour wasn’t a stellar idea.”
“How was I to know she’d agree to speak with Father so readily,” Joy retorted before the door slammed behind them.
Payton focused her attention on the meal spread before her, determined not to dwell on what exactly the pair had concocted with the flour. They’d turned a corner, the trio of them, a new understanding recognized between them. Perhaps continuing on at Ashford Hall would not be as dire as she’d anticipated, at least for the time being. Nothing was forever—and the future was ever-changing. Deciding to remain here, with Joy and Abram, was not entirely forsaking her chosen path, only a slight detour.
And gaining another private moment with the baron didn’t seem as displeasing as before either. She’d noticed—seen with her own eyes—a side of the man not many people were privy to, at least not any in his household.
However, when next they met, would he be the man from the previous night? Or the withdrawn, forlorn lord she’d witnessed since her arrival in his home?
Payton wondered if sharing her past with him would bring about the same change she was noticing in Joy.
Her truth for his.
Chapter 11
Damon stared into the blazing hearth, the crackle from the burning log the only sound disrupting the peace of his study. With all his business handled for the day, there was nothing else to fill his time until Mrs. Brown brought him his dinner.
The quiet was nearly deafening.
No shrieks from above. No slamming doors. No bickering.
He hadn’t heard a single footfall besides that of the servants going about their chores.
An entire day without incident. It had seemed inconceivable only a day before.
The muscles in his neck hadn’t eased, though. He was not fool enough to believe the tranquility of his home could last more than another few hours.
He’d passed by the schoolroom during the afternoon to find Joy and Abram busy at their studies, heads lowered while his daughter scribbled on some paper and Abram read a large tome. Certainly, the book was too advanced for his son. Hesitant to disrupt them, Damon had moved on and returned to his study…where he now sat.
Odd that only an hour before, he’d even wondered if Flora would be coming for a visit soon. His boredom due to his self-imposed reclusive lifestyle had reached a new level. He’d spent years hiding in this very room, and now he longed for a distraction from his solitude.
Five long days until the next gambling evening. It seemed a lifetime away.
And even the idea of that gave him no thrill.
Damon sighed, glancing at the sideboard where his tumbler lay empty. Not even the prospect of getting thoroughly drunk held any appeal.
Why could his children not come running down the stairs, yelling at one another? Or perhaps switch Cook’s sugar for salt? Or fill Mr. Brown’s pantry with stable cats. Better yet, ruin another of Miss Samuels’ gowns.
The image of his children’s governess standing before him, red with indignation, filled his thoughts, followed quickly by the sight of her sitting on Sarah’s favored lounge. Damon shook his head. He wouldn’t allow himself to think of Miss Samuels at the same time as Sarah. They were completely different women, from two opposite stations in life. One was the mother of his children, while the other…
Damon clamped his eyes shut as the unfamiliar lullaby echoed in his head.
The damned governess had given him a gift he didn’t deserve. She’d soothed Joy’s pain in a way he never could. A way he never imagined possible. He’d settled her gaming debt with the duke, but it was Damon who owed her. He’d been a fool to think he’d paid off Catherton to keep the man from spreading gossip about his gambling parties. That hadn’t been the reason at all.
He’d done it to repay the governess’s kindness.
Though she’d never know he did it, or his motives behind the deed.
She’d given Joy comfort from her pain, loss, and grief.
Damon had been swallowed whole by his own despair. He would never be the same man who’d cared for his wife and children again. That part of him had left with Sarah. Any hope for healing for Joy and Abram would come from another…Miss Samuels. She would be the key to their moving beyond their suffering even if Damon never found his way out.
A future untainted by his past was unimaginable.
What would life have been like had fate not dealt him such a cruel blow?
&nb
sp; He pushed from his seat and strode to the sideboard, pouring himself another tumbler of scotch. It was not worth even pondering life without the massive hole that ate at him every single day. He desperately wanted to heal, but where and how to begin was beyond his comprehension.
But his children… Despite Miss Samuels’ flaws, maybe she could make them whole again. They deserved more than Damon could ever give them. But what did that mean for him, having the governess close? Was it possible to heal his children but also keep far from Miss Samuels? Perhaps if Abram and Joy had time away from him, they would flourish. Flora had been pressuring him to send the pair to boarding school, but up until this moment, he’d thought he hesitated because he wanted to keep the siblings together for as long as time allowed.
Now, he realized that he kept them at Ashford Hall for not only that reason but also so he wasn’t alone. They were held down by the loss of their mother, as was Damon. Without his children close, he would suffer alone.
Swirling his glass, Damon focused on the smooth, heavy feel of the tumbler clenched in his fisted hand. He’d taken to drinking often since Sarah’s death. So much so, even the stiffest liquor failed to burn as it made its way down his throat and into his stomach now.
He set down the drink and turned away from it. No matter how many tumblers of scotch, gin, or absinthe he imbibed, it would never mend the fracture within him. It would never fill the void that consumed him. It would never bring a sense of life back to his existence.
Sarah was forever gone, and he’d diminished her memory by allowing a stranger to offer their children the solace that should have come from their father.
His head fell into his hands, and he rubbed at his eyes, hoping to lessen the ache that persisted behind them. How long had it been since he’d been afforded a single night of uninterrupted slumber?
Perhaps he should inform his butler that he would not be eating his evening meal and retire to his room early. A long night’s sleep—even a fitful one—would see his mood improved by morning.
The Gambler Wagers Her Baron Page 10
