This was what he wanted, after all. Damon had become far too attached himself, and that did not bode well for anyone.
Damon ate his meal slowly and in silence, waiting for the tension to release within him.
It did not happen.
He’d let Payton walk out of his house without even attempting to change her mind. He’d languished over the idea of going after her, but he feared it would only make matters worse and push her farther away.
Perhaps it would take time for normalcy to return, just as it had taken time for his children to latch on to their new governess.
Damon shook his head to dispel any thoughts of Payton, their kiss, and the draw between them that had grown so powerful he could no longer ignore it.
With time, the attraction and memories would fade until she no longer came to mind at all.
Much like…
Betrayal twisted his heart with a vise-like grip as he realized he’d gone nearly an entire day without thinking of Sarah, his loss, and the sorrow laced with despair that always followed.
How had he allowed his pain to lessen and slip away unnoticed? When had he begun to change without even realizing it was happening?
He couldn’t focus on why his mind wandered to Payton nearly as much as it had been absorbed all these years by losing Sarah.
No, the children would be devastated by Payton’s withdrawal, and it was his fault.
This time, he was determined to be there for them instead of shutting himself away in his study.
It was the one lesson he was more than qualified to teach them: people left, and life was full of disappointment, resentment, and anguish. It was a fact of life, and sometimes, there was no rhyme or reason to it all. It hurt. It changed a person. It left loved ones reeling in their wake; questioning their every decision, their every move, their every belief.
Perhaps he was to blame for allowing Payton to become such an integral part of their lives and standing by when she walked away. Since her arrival in his household, she’d been more than simply Joy’s and Abram’s governess; she’d been their constant companion, a friend and confidante. She’d spent countless hours with them in the schoolroom, having meals with them, doing Joy’s hair, and selecting Abram’s clothes.
Thankfully, Abram and Joy had believed his excuses—for now.
Damon had to accept that Payton was gone, as well. It was what she wanted. Which meant he needed to focus his time and energy on something other than the feel of her soft lips against his.
His gaming night…it had been his distraction for years.
Now should prove no different. He would help with the setup and organization alongside his servants. There was also Catherton and his acceptance of the invitation to take up space in his mind.
Mrs. Brown shuffled into the room, much like her husband had shuffled down the hall earlier, collecting their empty plates at the same time she pinned Damon with a sorrowful stare. A look that should have been reserved for his children, but the servant had turned it on him. There had been no witnesses to his kiss with the governess, except a sleeping Joy. No one had invaded their private moments in his study. Was it possible that Payton had spoken of their intimacy with another servant?
It would be wise to speak with the children about Miss Samuels, but he was still at a loss for how to tell them.
Today, he would act as if nothing had changed. Governesses had come and gone, some in quick succession. Miss Samuels was no different.
Damon slipped from Ashford Hall as soon as Mr. Brown had the carriage readied. He’d been able to avoid Joy and Abram the entire day, but when the sun rose anew, and Miss Samuels hadn’t returned, they’d begged him to check on her. He’d been faced with either admitting that she wasn’t returning or bending to the children’s pleas.
It was just before lunch when Damon could resist them no longer and left, though he had no intention of seeking out Payton. She’d been clear that her decision was made, and her fury at his unappreciated meddling with Catherton had also been evident.
He’d had no choice but to throw himself on Flora’s mercy and beg her to assist him in securing a new Ashford governess. When he hadn’t heard back from her, he assumed she’d insist the children were ready to venture outside London for schooling. Surprisingly, Flora had sent a note saying she’d contacted Lady Devonshire, whose younger sister ran a school outside London that professed to training the most skilled governesses. Mayfield Academy. Lady Devonshire insisted that she’d write her sister, Miss Darby with all due haste and have several women journey into town to meet with Damon.
It hadn’t been difficult to convince Flora to host the potential governesses at her home while Damon assessed each.
He was determined not to make the same mistakes he had with Payton.
His children’s next governess would be prim, proper, and above reproach—and of a mature age. Her pedigree didn’t matter overmuch as long as she did not admit to any vices or unsavory habits.
In another stroke of favorable luck, Catherton had sent his RSVP and would attend Damon’s card evening. Things were back under control, and it would only be a matter of time before a new governess was secured, and Damon would convince Catherton to relinquish his quest to discover Payton’s identity.
The journey through town to Flora’s townhouse in St. James’s Square passed in the blink of an eye, and before Damon was aware, he was ushered into the Wittenbottoms’ salon where Flora waited with her lady’s companion, Primrose. Damon hadn’t known of the companion’s existence before he dined with Flora and the children at Wexfector’s.
He suspected that there were other aspects of his sister’s life he was unaware of, just as he kept much from her.
“Good morning, Flora.” He nodded before turning to her companion. “And to you, too, Miss Primrose.”
Flora’s companion hardly noted his greeting, her head bent low as she plied a needle with red thread through sheer white fabric, working on what appeared to be the petals of a rose.
“Damon,” Flora greeted hoarsely as if she hadn’t spoken in some time. “Miss Darby will be arriving any moment. Can I offer you a refreshment before they arrive?”
Miss Primrose set her stitchwork aside and hurried to the tea cart to pour two steaming cups before Damon could respond. She dropped one lump of sugar into each along with a quick pour of milk before returning to hand Flora and him their cups.
“Thank you.” Damon took a nearby chair, selecting it because it did not directly face his sister but the windows at her left, affording him a view of the roof lines across the street where a chimneysweep lugged his pail and broom toward a waiting stack. “And, thank you, Flora, for assisting me.”
“What happened to the dark-haired lass you hired last month?” she asked. He felt, rather than saw, her glare narrowed on him as if she were assessing him for weakness. “She was all the children spoke of the other day. What is her name?” Flora tapped her chin and glanced toward her companion.
“Miss Samuels.”
“Ah, yes, thank you, Primrose.” Flora returned her attention to Damon. “Whatever have the children done this time to send another governess running?”
Damon could not lay the burden at his children’s feet this time, nor could he admit that it was his mistake that’d sent Payton running. “The decision was mine, as it were, not Miss Samuels’.”
Flora stiffened. “I see, now.”
Dread laced through him at the thought of Flora seeing anything where Payton was concerned.
“She was unqualified,” Flora said with a confident nod. “I suppose I should have seen it long before this point.”
Damon breathed a sigh of relief. It was difficult to keep anything a secret in London; however, his connection to Payton would need to remain just that—a secret.
“I would not say unqualified, dear sister,” Damon mused as if it were of little importance why Miss Samuels was no longer his children’s governess. “Mayhap unprepared for such a daunting role. She is rather young herse
lf.”
“And rather handsome, too.” Flora slapped her knee with a chuckle. “Girl should be setting her sights on finding a suitable husband before she grows long in the tooth. If you ask me, Damon, I’d say you did the woman a grand favor.”
Damon wasn’t asking Flora, although it was difficult to deny. Payton was at the age when a woman should be setting her sights on starting her own family, not watching after another’s children. There was no need to close his eyes to visualize her with a dark-haired babe on her hip and a smile upon her face. She’d been wonderful with Joy, and supportive of Abram’s rather eccentric tendencies. She would do the same for her own children.
His heart squeezed until his chest ached at the very real possibility that he would not see her again, let alone happy and content with a family of her own.
A soft knock sounded on the door, and they all turned when the butler entered.
“Miss Darby has arrived to see you, my lady,” the Wittenbottom servant proclaimed.
“Very good, Vernon. Please show her to the green salon.” After the butler had vacated the room, Flora turned to him with a smile. “I am certain Miss Darby will not disappoint with her selection.”
She said selection as if the decision had already been made—a governess found.
“I do look forward to speaking with her choices.”
“I doubt that will be necessary.” Flora stood, Miss Primrose bolting to her feet to follow, but his sister shook her head. “Please wait here. Damon and I will see to Miss Darby.”
Flora’s companion sat on the lounge, and Damon longed to change places with the woman. “Yes, my lady,” she mumbled.
Damon held out his arm for Flora, and they departed the room, making their way to the green salon. His sister, seemingly at ease, strode confidently at this side, while Damon had a sinking feeling that he was being led to the Tower.
Chapter 25
Payton sat rigidly in the high-back chair, her hands resting on the armrests on each side as she attempted to remain silent. Garrett, in opposition, toyed with the cloth napkin on his lap as they waited for Marce to join them for their meal.
Payton had been foolish to think that the situation she’d entangled herself in with Damon was the only debacle afoot. In less than two full days, she’d witnessed a parade of men coming and going from Craven House: Mr. Adams, who handled Marce’s financial investments; a gentleman called only by his given name, Miles, who clearly worked in trade; and the tall stranger Payton had seen at a ball the previous year.
Something big was afoot, and Marce was tight-lipped as usual. Her eldest sister was also withdrawn and solemn, not seeming to notice that Payton hadn’t left Craven House since she’d arrived the previous morning.
For brief periods of time, Payton had even been able to put Damon from her mind as she slunk around the house, hoping to overhear her sister and learn what was going on.
“Good evening,” Marce said, her tone ringing across the room.
Payton glanced at Garrett, taken aback by Marce’s jovial mood after their difficult conversation the previous day, and the constant flow of guests in and out of Craven House.
“What has you in such fine spirits?” Garrett stood and pulled Marce’s seat out for her to sit. “You were quite dour when last we spoke.”
Marce retrieved her napkin and draped it across her lap, signaling for Darla to serve their meal—a light fare of duck soup, roasted pheasant, and fresh bread—before addressing them.
“I am never in a dour mood,” she retorted. However, her tone rose a note. “My place as head of this family is one of great responsibility.”
“Go on,” Payton prodded, tiring of her sister’s tendency to remain furtive when she suspected that Payton desperately wanted to know something. “Do not keep us in suspense. Who is the mystery man, and why have you been strange of late?”
“The man is of no consequence.” Marce glanced down into her bowl of soup, and Payton feared she’d not say another word on the matter. “I wanted to share with you both that I am in the process of purchasing property near Kent. I will require your assistance packing up Craven House before it is time for the women and me to relocate with the servants.”
“Moving?” Garett sat forward, knocking his water goblet over, rendering his food inedible. “You cannot.”
Fear coiled in Payton’s stomach. She’d never wanted to face the possibility of not having Craven House to escape to or what she’d do without Marce close—though she’d longed for it often enough. “Outside London? Where will I go when I need to”—Payton swallowed as both her siblings turned to her—“get away from the baron’s hellions?”
“What of Jude and Sam when they return?” Garrett continued. “They will think we abandoned them. You will be gone, and they will have nowhere to go.”
Marce held up her hand to silence Garrett. “Yes, I’m moving. Payton, you can just as easily go to Ellie’s townhouse as this one. I will inform both Sam and Jude of the change. Besides, they are both wed now. They have no need to stay here, and neither do either of you.”
Payton hadn’t seen her friend—her only friend—Ellie, now Lady Ellington Chastain, since she took the position at Ashford Hall. How could she seek her out now only to beg for shelter?
“But—” they started in unison.
“This grand house is too much for me alone,” Marce cut off their protests. “The new property is surrounded by open land with a beautiful garden and even a small lake for rowing.”
Garrett pulled a frown of disgust. “You do not row.”
“Nor does she swim,” Payton added.
“I think I would like to learn how to row—and swim. I’ve always enjoyed baths. Swimming cannot be much different.” Marce paused, her shoulders straightening with assurance. “But that is beside the point. This new house will give the women I help a place to rest and heal from their pasts, and time to decide where to go from there. And it will also be somewhere you both can come when you need to be away from town.”
“I adore town life,” Payton argued, hollowly.
Marce snorted. “You enjoy the ready access to the gaming hells.”
“London is my home,” Garrett proclaimed, pushing his flooded plate away.
“Only because you’ve never known another”—Marce sighed—“and that is no one’s fault but mine.”
It had been one of Marce’s admitted faults from the day before. Payton wanted to dispel her sister’s false belief. Both she and her other siblings knew the extent of Marce’s sacrifices in raising them. They rarely agreed on many things, but now, especially after her time employed at Ashford Hall, Payton truly understood what her sister had given up to keep their family together.
“Regardless, shortly, Craven House will no longer belong to me, and I’ve chosen a fitting location with adequate space for everyone. You can choose to come with me or visit during the Christmastide season or whenever the time allows. That is your choice to make, but neither of you will instruct me on my course.”
Garrett had the good sense to at least appear remorseful for his outburst, but Payton couldn’t help but glare at her eldest sister.
“If there is anything of sentimental value here, I suggest you remove it promptly.” Marce pushed away from the table and stood. Her fingers gripped the edge until her knuckles turned white. “I will bid you both good evening. I have much to attend to elsewhere in the house.”
With a final hardened glare, Marce pivoted and stalked from the room.
“And she thinks I lack proper manners,” Garrett huffed before draining his wine goblet and pulling Marce’s plate to replace his ruined meal. “What plans have you tonight?”
“I will return to the baron’s house and—”
Payton suspected her ruse while working admirably with Marce due to her distracted nature, had not escaped Garrett’s notice.
His raised brow was enough to stop her lie.
“Lord Loughton is hosting a soiree this evening,” he mused. “I
have heard the Earl of Haversham will be in attendance, as well as Chastain and Maddox. The tables will be plump and ready for us to ply our skills.”
Fear spiked within her, her palms growing moist at the possibility that Catherton could be in attendance, as well. Payton pondered the amount of money she’d be able to collect if such endowed lords were indeed seated in the card room. But a soiree? She hadn’t attended a proper society event since before Sam and Jude were wed.
Images of the cream evening gown with its lace overlay hanging in her dressing closet came to mind. When would she have another excuse to don the dress? If Marce moved, Payton had no doubt that she’d have little other choice but to accompany her, and there were not many balls held in the rural countryside.
“When are you leaving for Loughton’s?” she asked.
Garrett clapped his hands in triumph. “Ten o’clock sharp. There is little reason to arrive before the men at the card tables are rightfully and properly befuddled from drinking Drummond’s fine brandy…unless you want to dance or some other such silly thing girls do.”
If they’d been sitting next to one another and not across the table, Payton would have punched him in his arm; instead, she settled for throwing her piece of bread at this head. Garrett, swift as usual, caught the crusty lump and tossed it into her soup bowl, splattering the front of her gown and her exposed neck with duck juices.
Payton leapt from her seat, brushing the front of her dress with her napkin as Garrett chuckled.
“You beef-witted buffoon!” Her outrage matched the sound of her chair toppling over. “You’ve ruined my dress.”
“Do not whine,” he chuckled. “You were going to change anyways.”
“I do not discard my gowns every time I change, Garrett,” she seethed. “I am not one of your wealthy consorts.”
“Am I to act affronted by your words?” Garrett pressed his hand to his chest and rounded his eyes. “Miss Payton Samuels, I will have you know that the ladies who occupy my time have sparkling personalities and are superb conversationalists.”
The Gambler Wagers Her Baron: Craven House Series, Book Four Page 24
