“You are not the young girl you once were. With time, I have no fear you’ll figure things out without having to return home.” He shrugged. “Beyond that, it is not my concern. Men only at the Albany. Do not think to cast yourself at my feet for housing.”
Her brother jested, as was his defense when conversations took on a serious tone.
“Thankfully, I’d rather throw myself on Sam’s mercy than request lodging with you, dear brother.”
He wiped his forehead in mock relief. “That is wonderful news, as my paltry funds would not last long with both of us at the tables.”
Payton had thought several times of taking her fifteen shillings and returning to 10 Mill Street in an attempt to triple her savings, but since her kiss with Damon, the thrill of a high-stakes game had lost its luster. Perhaps the allure hadn’t diminished, per se, but she longed for something entirely different. Not the adventure that came from laying all she’d acquired on the line with the threat of losing it all. Perhaps she’d discovered other activities—or people—who gave her the same thrill…posed the same risk.
“If you have your own funds, my friend Davenport and I are attending a party this evening—with a card room. I am certain he wouldn’t mind if you joined us.” His eyes widened. “In fact, you might lend an air of respectability.”
“That is ever so kind of you, but I should be returning to the baron’s house.” She pondered remaining at Craven House for the night and having Mr. Curtis return her before first light. “The butler, a most kind man, does not take to his bed until the entire household is accounted for.”
“If you must,” Garrett mused, pushing to his feet.
“Who are you hiding from?” she asked, almost as an afterthought.
He eyes flitted toward the door—his escape—before he turned back to her with an easy smile. “Did I say hiding earlier? I meant picking up an old coat I left here a few nights ago.”
“Good evening, Garrett,” she called as he departed the room.
“I’ll inform Mr. Curtis you are ready to return to Ashford Hall,” he tossed over his shoulder.
Suddenly, she longed to be back at Damon’s residence, if only to make sure he arrived home safely.
Chapter 19
Damon stood outside the schoolroom doorway. The room had initially been Joy and Abram’s nursery, but it had been converted for their use as a classroom as soon as they were old enough to no longer need a wet nurse. The pale-yellow draperies had been replaced by muted grey fabric. The twin cradles were moved to the Ashford attic, and the chest of toys transported to Falconcrest for future generations of Ashford children. Even the charcoal drawings and the neat row of nursery books had been done away with in favor of two desks, a tall shelf full of textbooks, and a chalkboard mounted on the far wall.
The transformation had been something he’d been proud of, though that did not stop him from wondering if Sarah would have felt the same had she still been alive. Were the colors too drab, the furniture too masculine, or the books not arranged as she’d like? She’d been a learned woman with a family who prided themselves on knowledge, similar to Damon’s way of thinking.
Joy leaned over her primer book, sounding out words as her finger traced the letters. He could almost picture an older version of the girl, diligently bent over some large tome, reading aloud the new progressions in medicine or the sciences.
Abram, on the far side of the room, had abandoned his desk for a cushion on the floor, three books open and spread out before him as he hastily made notes on a piece of paper before glancing at one of the books, turning a page, and nodding as if he’d found something unexpected yet enticing.
Damon’s sister might think that his children would flourish if given a chance to study outside their home; however, Flora was not their parent. Damon was their father, and despite all the years of uncertainty, he knew they belonged here, with him. At least for another few years.
Once Miss Samuels taught them all she knew, he would hire other tutors. They would study the ancient languages, foreign lands, and more of the sciences. Perhaps music and art if they desired.
Speaking of the governess, she paced at the front of the room, her own nose stuck in a book. He could not tell from the distance if the volume were of an educational nature or for pleasure. He lurked in the shadowy hall outside the door, confident that his presence wouldn’t be noticed.
After he’d ventured out the previous night, demanding Rigby drive him around town for several hours, Damon was pleased to hear that Miss Samuels had arrived home before him—safe and unharmed. It was inconceivable that he’d been forced out of his home for the simple fact that he couldn’t seem to collect his thoughts with Payton close. One moment, he desired nothing more than to go to her. And the next, he remembered the hardship of loss when someone he cared deeply for was no longer there. It was a constant struggle between his wants and his needs.
He wanted to hold her, touch her, kiss her.
However, he needed to remain separate and not allow his emotions to dictate his actions. Letting her close, allowing her in, would only make the hurt of her leaving more piercing.
Damon’s emotions were at war with his common sense—with neither finding clear victory.
He’d tiptoed down the hall housing her room, pressing his ear to each door as he passed, but no sounds had been heard. He knew she was within; however, a part of him needed the comfort in confirming it for himself. In the end, he’d continued to his own chambers and fell into a fitful slumber. Truly, he wondered if there were ever to be any other type of sleep for him.
They were all awake now.
Had Payton wondered about his whereabouts the night before? Had she fretted when she came home and found him still out?
He scoffed. It was likely she hadn’t noticed his absence at all.
The noise brought a trio of stares to him—Payton’s questioning glance, Joy’s excited bouncing, and Abram’s suspicious glare.
He deserved each reaction. He’d acted uncouth and pompous the previous night, and now he desperately wanted to make it up to his children…and their governess. He was at a loss for how, but he couldn’t allow that to stop him from attempting to make amends.
“Father.” Joy rushed from her seat and threw her arms around his legs, burrowing her face against his side. “Come, see my letters.”
It appeared his youngest had already forgiven him and completely recovered from her ordeal at the pond. From Payton’s and Abram’s reserved watchfulness, Damon had no doubt they would not be as easily persuaded.
He allowed Joy to lead him to her small desk, where she pointed to her slate. In a delicate hand, she had written the first five letters of the alphabet. The curve of the B precise, while the E was a bit less neat.
“Wonderful,” he marveled. He turned to Abram. “What are you working so diligently on, Abram?”
He wasn’t as excited to share his studies as Joy had been, but he pushed to his feet, bringing his stack of papers with him. “I am outlining the movements of soldiers during the Trojan War.” He held out his notes. “In Greece.”
Damon accepted the paper, impressed with Abram’s detailed accounting, as he kept his expression serious in an attempt to hide his grin. “I am well informed about the Trojan War—I am older, but I remember my studies at Eton well enough.”
“Miss Samuels was telling me all about Helen of Troy.” Joy closed her eyes, clutching her hands to her chest and swaying from side to side. “Ever so romantic. She was married to a great king but loved by many. She caused the war, did you know?”
“Helen of Troy cost her people many lives.” Abram snatched his papers back and slunk back to his place on the floor. “Besides, I am not convinced the woman ever existed. She is a fabled Greek myth, that is all.”
Damon remained quiet. He hadn’t sought out the schoolroom to partake of their lessons but invite them on a lesson of his own.
“I thought today might be a good day for the pair of you to discover
all the hidden wonders of the museum.” He rocked back on his heels and waited for their ready excitement at the prospect of another excursion…and so soon after the disaster at the park. “I thought we might leave within the hour. Spend all day studying the exhibits.”
Damon glanced between the pair. From Joy’s vigorous nodding, she was prepared to depart that very moment; however, Abram stared between his books and his notes.
“I am in the middle of my lesson,” Abram mumbled. “I do not think—”
“Come now, son,” Damon prodded. “It will be great fun, and you can finish your lesson tomorrow. I’m certain your governess will allow you an extra day.”
Abram narrowed his stare at his father. “Great fun? The museum is a place of learning, not a playhouse.”
“Abram,” Miss Samuels warned. “I think the pair of you will have a wonderful time at the museum with your father. He can teach you many things.”
He huffed, crossing his arms. “I much prefer your tutelage, Miss Samuels. Father holds such archaic notions about history.”
“Well, I only visited the museum under duress when my sisters forced me to accompany them. In this matter, the baron is far superior.” She smiled. “I will remain here and prepare your lesson for tomorrow.”
Damon’s heart sank when he realized Payton would not be accompanying them.
“You do not mean to come with us?” Joy turned away from Damon, but he’d already spied her disappointment.
Damon met Payton’s stare. Did she seek to escape their outing, worried it would be as calamitous as the last? Or was she avoiding him?
“Miss Samuels works tirelessly every day with the pair of you.” Damon leaned down and swooped Joy into his arms. It was such a foreign gesture that his daughter stiffened in his hold for a moment before clasping him around the neck with a giggle. “I think she is very deserving of a day off, even if it is only an afternoon. What say you, dear one?”
Joy’s expression turned serious as she nibbled her bottom lip. When had the girl taken on such a habit? “Oh, I think that is a positively lovely idea.”
“Unless Miss Samuels wishes to accompany us to the museum…”
Damon trailed off, hoping she’d indeed insist on joining them.
Utterly shocked, he realized he wanted her to want to accompany them. His stomach twisted as they awaited her response. Since the moment he’d seen her in his foyer doused in blue, he’d struggled with his need to be close, yet keep his distance from her. Had his internal war been won without him noticing?
Payton closed the book in her hands with a sharp snap. “I do have a few personal matters to attend to, if you do not mind, my lord.”
His chest seized with disappointment, but his smile remained. Even if Payton didn’t wish to accompany them, it would still give him precious time with Joy and Abram, in a place Damon much enjoyed.
Abram appeared downright dejected at the prospect of being alone with him.
They had become too attached to the governess…which would eventually make her departure all the more damaging to them all. That did nothing to stop him from desiring her company, despite the damning consequences he knew would follow. He’d been too long in his grief to know where to go, what to do, and, most importantly, what to say to convince her to remain at Ashford Hall.
“Very well.” The baron set Joy back on her feet and tapped the girl’s button nose with a familiar affection Payton had never witnessed from him. “It is settled. I will take you two to the museum while Miss Samuels attends to her own affairs.”
Tucking the book under her arm, Payton smiled and nodded.
What other choice did she have? She could have accepted Damon’s invitation, voiced her opinion that the baron was not suited to an outing without her, yet it was obvious he could care for his children without her present. He was a capable man despite his reserved nature.
Time alone with his offspring could not do anything but strengthen the baron’s bond with Joy and Abram. It was what she’d hoped to achieve and would leave fewer feelings of guilt when she left Ashford Hall. It was what they needed, all of them. The three of them were a family, after all.
When the time came, they needed to hold strong together after she moved on.
Payton could not always be there between a father and his children. Someone shouldn’t have to be there to keep Damon connected to his offspring. She was not the tie that bound their family together. Payton was an outsider—one destined to leave.
She notched her chin higher. “I know you and your brother will enjoy the museum, Joy, even more so without me tagging along.”
It shouldn’t hurt that Damon had insisted she take the afternoon off, but the truth of the matter did not make the spike to her chest any less painful. In fact, she’d turned down his invitation to accompany them because she was uncertain if it were a genuine offer or if it had only been made to appease the children.
It was Saturday. Tomorrow was her usual day off, and perhaps some distance and time to evaluate her precarious position in the baron’s household would do her good. She’d thought she’d come to terms with the circumstances separating her and Damon and the implications of their shared kiss; Damon was her employer, and his children were her charges. But each time she saw him, it only brought more questions to mind. When he first suggested taking the children to the museum alone, she’d thought she’d seen a question in his eyes. Almost as if he silently pleaded with her to reject his offer and accompany them. However, the look disappeared, and Payton wondered if she’d imagined it entirely.
“I suppose nothing will change with the Trojan War timeline if I do not complete it today.” Abram slipped his papers into one of the books and closed it, trapping his notes and saving his page. “I will collect my coat.”
Abram departed the room, pausing to take Joy’s hand and lead her out.
Payton turned toward the chalkboard, busying herself by rubbing the wall with a rag to remove their daily lesson. They would not return to the schoolroom until Monday, and that left her plenty of time to explore lesson planning.
“Payton?”
She lowered her head and let her hand fall away from the wall.
She’d prayed the baron would follow after the children, leaving her to her own devices, but he remained behind.
She cleared the lump from her throat before she spoke. “Thank you for escorting the children, my lord.”
When there was no sound behind her, Payton lifted her chin—and the rag—to continue with her chore. She didn’t need an explanation of why he preferred that she remain at the house while they went to the museum. She did not need to see the regret in his stare over their brief, intimate encounter outside Joy’s room. Blast it all, but she could not be made to forget the entire night if he continued as he was.
She was not part of their family, would never have that luxury—nor did she want it.
Her place at Ashford Hall was merely temporary.
She was replaceable to the baron and his children, just as she could replace them and her position as a governess with another household—if she so chose.
She’d been begging herself to believe all this, to grasp the truth of it and hold it close, if only for her protection. For her, it didn’t matter what her place was with the baron and his children, nor that it was temporary. Never in all her years had she dreamt of a future as a governess. There was no freedom in that fate, and if she accepted that her life held nothing else, then it was where she would remain.
She sensed his eyes on her back, watching…waiting.
What was he waiting for? Her approval at his decision to leave her out of their outing even though it had been her idea to take the children?
The baron didn’t need her approval on any matter, least of all his children, and especially his comings and goings.
She squeezed her eyes tight, remembering her foolish idea from the night before. Directly upon returning to the townhouse from Craven House, she’d sought out the baron in his st
udy, thinking if they spoke—really discussed what had happened in Joy’s room—they could put it behind them. Marce had always been a firm believer in communication. If a person spoke of something enough, clarity would follow. In this case, Payton would listen as he admitted that their kiss had been a mistake, that any private time between them was best avoided, and they’d both laugh with relief and go on about their duties.
Unfortunately, or fortunately depending on how she looked at it, that hadn’t happened.
Damon hadn’t returned from his evening out.
Worse yet, Mr. Brown had caught her leaving the baron’s study. The butler’s knowing look had made Payton wonder if news of their master kissing the hired help had spread through the servants’ quarters already.
What if Joy and Abram heard the rumblings of scandal?
She could not bear to hurt them any more than they’d already been harmed by their mother’s death.
“Are you certain my taking the children without you is wise?” he whispered, suddenly closer than she’d expected. His footsteps had made no sound as he walked across the schoolroom. “They would prefer you join—”
“My lord.” She pivoted, and the book slipped from under her arm and thumped to the floor. Neither made any move to collect it. “I agree it is best that I allow you to take the children.”
“I never said it was best,” he sighed.
He was a mere two feet from her. So close, his scent traveled toward her, a familiar blend she’d come to expect when he was near.
“Payton, I…”
“Miss Samuels,” she sighed. It had to be Miss Samuels to him. There were no more private moments, no more stolen kisses in the dark. She was his children’s governess—nothing more. “Joy and Abram are your children. You are quite competent to escort them to the museum without my accompaniment, I assure you. Do enjoy your day.”
His shoulders sagged. Had he expected something different from her?
She had expected something entirely different from him, as well. Going on about his usual tasks, especially taking Joy and Abram out was nearly unbelievable. Life was not always what a person expected, though. She knew that well enough, as should the baron. Life was unfair and normally unpredictable.
The Gambler Wagers Her Baron: Craven House Series, Book Four Page 19
