The Gambler Wagers Her Baron: Craven House Series, Book Four Page 9

  But for this night, Payton was here. And come morning, Joy would find her pretty, pale pink gown laid out for her…with matching pink ribbons for her hair.

  Damon pressed his back into the wood paneling of the hallway, the shoulder-high railing biting into his flesh through his thin linen shirt as Miss Samuels’ voice fell silent in Joy’s room. A stranger was soothing his child’s pain. A governess was the one holding Joy close, rocking her until she fell once more into sleep.

  All because Damon was not strong enough to do it.

  No, he was strong. He just kept his hurt from his children in hopes that they would not fall into the despair that relentlessly clawed at him. He remained distant to protect them. He wasn’t blind, Damon knew how their mother’s death had affected them, how deeply they were both scarred by it. He had hoped to save them from another such event, were he to suddenly be no more. They would mourn their mother, but if they knew him naught, they would be free from pain when he was taken.

  The absurdity of his thinking had never been more apparent than it was in that moment.

  He’d misguidedly stumbled through the last several years genuinely believing his children would heal faster, more thoroughly, without his overwhelming despair shadowing their recovery. He held on so tightly to the belief that he had nothing to offer them on their course to healing that he hadn’t realized that the tie binding their family had frayed and unraveled, sending him plummeting, while his children clung to what little strand of promise was left.

  That minuscule thread was Miss Samuels.

  It should be him holding his little girl, soothing her back to sleep with tales of her mother and promises for the future. Instead, it was a governess that would likely be gone in a month’s time, leaving his daughter to mourn the loss of yet another woman she’d come to care for.

  What would become of them all when the governess left them? Did his children care for Miss Samuels?

  Could her story be true? Surely, she was only saying what needed to be said to calm Joy and return her to bed.

  Damon was the only man who could understand what his children had been through and the loss that plagued his household. His grief seemed wholly and innately his own, not to be experienced or understood by any other person. How could anyone know the depths of losing a woman such as Sarah? Damon had a decade of memories with his late wife. Every moment since his eighteenth year was colored by her presence. She’d been by his side when he gained his majority. She’d held his hand after each of his parents’ deaths, and when Damon took his father’s title. Their quiet wedding, their yearly journeys to Bath and Dorset, their winters at Falconcrest, and the births of their children.

  Those were memories only Damon shared with Sarah. No one else.

  His children ached for their mother just as much as Damon did. Why should this utterly shock him? They’d had fewer years with her, but that did not diminish her value to them or the memory of her.

  The creak of Joy’s bed drifted into the hallway.

  Damon should seek his own chambers before Miss Samuels caught him in the hall, listening to her private conversation. Or, worse yet, take his presence as his belief that she was incapable of fulfilling her responsibilities. Despite everything, Damon needed Miss Samuels—not for himself but for his children.

  He was incapable of being there for Joy and Abram, but despite all of Miss Samuels’ flaws, she was the only one who could soothe his children’s pain.

  “Good night, Joy.” Miss Samuels’ hushed whisper held a quiet compassion he’d never heard in her tone before, especially when she was speaking with his unruly children. “Sweet dreams. I will be waiting in the morning.”

  Damon froze when footsteps started his way. The governess would step into the hallway in but a moment, and there was no place for him to hide, no excuse for his eavesdropping.

  “Miss Samuels?” his daughter’s sleepy voice called out.

  Though he couldn’t see into the room, he knew the governess turned back toward Joy.

  “Yes?”

  “Why doesn’t my father love us?”

  Damon trembled, his knees buckling, barely keeping himself upright, and he leaned heavily against the wall. His fist pressed to his mouth in an attempt to remain silent. He should inch his way down the hall to the stairs and return to his study—and his waiting decanter of scotch.

  Instead, he remained outside Joy’s door, longing to hear how Miss Samuels responded, as if somehow it would answer his own questions about his love for Joy and Abram. He did love them, with all his heart—at least what little was left with Sarah gone.

  He held his breath and listened as Miss Samuels made her way back to his daughter’s bedside, her skirts rustling, and the bed creaking as she sat once more.

  “Why do you think he doesn’t love you and Abram?” she asked.

  “I don’t know about other mums and fathers, but ours only seems irritated at us all the time.” She paused, and Damon could imagine her tiny, angelic face scrunching as she tried to put into words something that was far too mature for her to reconcile. “He is home, but he doesn’t tuck us into bed or eat his meals with us. Even when we are horrid to you, he doesn’t scold us.”

  “Mayhap your father thinks it is my responsibility, as your governess, to handle such things.”

  “But you are not our mum.”

  “No, I am not,” the governess agreed.

  “Soon, you will leave—”

  “I am not leaving anytime soon,” Miss Samuels said. “However, one day, you will be a grown woman—smart, beautiful, and confident—and you will not need me any longer.”

  Damon pushed away from the wall and risked a glance into the room. The embers in the hearth gave off barely enough light to see Miss Samuels perched on the edge of Joy’s bed, stroking the child’s brow. His stomach twisted, knowing it should be him at his daughter’s bedside. The only thing to do was announce his presence and tell Joy that he did love her and her brother. Nothing would change that. But, instead, he sank back against the wall.

  It was best he not disturb Joy. She’d found some semblance of peace, and he was loath to take the moment from her. Tomorrow…there would be time enough tomorrow to speak to the children.

  Damon prayed the governess’s words held truth. She would not leave him…er, his children. She would remain in his home and show Joy and Abram the love they so rightfully deserved. The love Damon had for them but could not bring himself to express. One day, he swore to himself, one day he would be free of his guilt and regret over the past and everything they’d lost because of his actions. One day they would be a family again.

  He wanted that time to come. More than anything.

  For now, he needed to make certain nothing stood in the way of Miss Samuels remaining as his children’s governess for as long as they needed her…for as long as he needed her.

  “You must sleep now. Tomorrow, we will learn all about Egyptian history and the hidden tombs their lands have kept a secret for many of centuries.”

  “I do not want to study, I want to—”

  “You must learn all you can, or you’ll become one of those feather-brained misses who cares for naught but fancy gowns and speaking only of the weather,” Miss Samuels said with a quiet laugh. “Now, to sleep with you.”

  Yes, Damon could use a good night of rest, though he suspected a fitful slumber awaited him.

  He inched back down the hall as Miss Samuels sang an unfamiliar lullaby.

  Damon didn’t deserve the indirect kindness the governess had shown him at Joy’s question. He had neglected his children, he had grown the distance between them, and he despaired that he’d never be able to mend the rift he created. How could he soothe his children’s pain when he was helpless to overcome his own?

  Chapter 10

  Damon had thought his exhaustion could not possibly worsen; however, after hurrying away from Joy’s bedchamber—the melodic melody of the governess’s voice chasing him—he slept late into the mornin
g without a hint of restful respite. He walked briskly down the hall and past the schoolroom door, not risking a peek inside through the portal that stood ajar. Abram’s stern tone warned Joy against knocking his inkwell over. As if in response, Miss Samuels cautioned Joy against her plan by outlining the consequences if she were to spill the onyx ink on the wood floor.

  His steps faltered, but he decided not to interrupt Miss Samuels and his children. They needed to learn to obey their governess, and Miss Samuels must assert her authority over the pair. Otherwise, Damon’s household would continue to be disrupted. After the previous night—the stark honesty between his daughter and the governess—a bond had obviously been formed…or had it been formed long before last night? At the very least, it had been reinforced in their private exchange.

  He took the stairs two at a time, more to hurry to his study than any amount of lightness to his step.

  Mr. Brown nodded when he reached the final step and waited for his master to address him, his face pinched with a certain measure of pain.

  “Good morning, Mr. Brown.” Damon greeted, his voice lacking its usual gruffness.

  The butler bowed, then straightened quickly to glance over his shoulder toward Damon’s study. “My lord—”

  “Out with it,” Damon sighed, glancing at the hall clock. Nearly midday, and he hadn’t even made it to his work yet. “I have a long day ahead of me.”

  “Ummm—” Brown stared at the floor. “You have a visitor.”

  “A visitor?” Damon asked. “Why was I not summoned?”

  Was it Flora again, stopping by unannounced to badger him and create unease in his servants? It had been less than two days since her last visit. Even when she was upset over Damon’s refusal to conduct his daily life according to her edicts, Flora was not known to call on him more than once per week. Had he done something unusual to incur her wrath?

  Mr. Brown cleared his throat as he was accustomed to doing when he was nervous and feared inciting Damon’s ire. “After what happened at the party, I had hoped he would take his leave if you did not attend him directly.”

  The only thing that had happened at the party was…

  “The Duke of Catherton is here?” Any lingering tendrils of exhaustion fled as a new alertness coursed through him. “How long has he been made to wait?”

  “Only ten minutes, my lord.”

  “Thank you, Mr. Brown.” Damon couldn’t be upset with his butler. After Damon had gone upstairs to see to his misbehaving children the night of the party, Brown had been charged with escorting the duke and Miss Samuels to his study. At some point, the governess—still masked—had slipped from the gaming room and absconded into the night, leaving the duke enraged with an unsettled debt.

  “Shall I have tea brought round?” the butler asked.

  “Heavens, no.” Damon had insisted he would send word to the duke as soon as he located the mystery woman who owed Catherton twenty pounds. He hadn’t any notion where she’d gone that night, but he knew where she was now, and handing over her identity to Catherton was not an option. “We shall not endeavor to make the man feel any more welcome than he is.”

  Damon needed the governess to remain in his employ. If not for himself, then for Joy and Abram. With her in residence at Ashford Hall, she cared for his children in a way he’d been unable to all these years—something he longed to learn.

  “Please make certain the children remain above stairs.” He couldn’t risk the duke spotting Miss Samuels, nor chance his children creating a scene his sister would surely hear about.

  “Of course.” The butler nodded stiffly and turned to make his way upstairs.

  There was nothing left for Damon to do but appease the duke.

  With a casual grin, he entered his study to find the duke pouring himself a healthy tumbler of brandy. If his guest had been any other man, Damon would have laughed and asked him to pour him a drink, as well. Though it wasn’t another man.

  “Your Grace.” The greeting was cool as Catherton pivoted to face Damon, his chilling, cold blue eyes nearly cutting him from across the room. “Do have a seat.”

  Catherton ignored his offer; instead, he turned to study the portrait above the sideboard.

  “My father with his favored hound,” Damon offered.

  Still, the duke remained silent. Damon couldn’t help but wonder if it was a tactic the lord regularly used to unhinge his opponents. Not that Damon was in any way the man’s adversary.

  Perhaps it was best to discuss the issue at hand and have it finished. “I thought we decided I would—”

  “It has been over a day, Ashford…over a day.” The duke drained his tumbler and set it on a nearby table then sauntered across the room toward Damon. “I was under the impression you would handle the matter with haste and have the debt paid.”

  “I have been unable to locate the woman in question. My man of business has taken up the search, and will no doubt be contacting me with information soon.”

  Catherton’s stare narrowed on him. “I would hate to think you allow such unsavory characters into your home and go so far as to assist them in bilking your friends.”

  The only unsavory man in his home was Catherton, and friends was something Damon would never be with the duke.

  Reflexively, Damon moved toward his desk, putting Catherton closer to the door.

  Damon stalled himself from running his hand through his hair before pivoting to stare over Catherton’s shoulder and out the open door as a wisp of green ducked from view.

  The duke moved back toward Damon, grabbing his tumbler from the sideboard and refilling it.

  Outside his study, Miss Samuels’ dark hair could be seen as she leaned around the door frame. Was the woman determined to be noticed? If it hadn’t been for the blue dye on her elbow, Damon might have continued on, oblivious to the mystery woman’s identity.

  Damon turned in her direction, his brow raising in question before he sauntered across the room and shut the door in her bewildered face before moving to stand behind his desk.

  “My home—and my gaming tables—are open to many, Your Grace.” The woman was a fool and certainly should pay for her mistake, but never would he allow Catherton to know her identity. He opened the drawer near his elbow and retrieved the small box he kept his household funds in. Each week, he gave Mrs. Brown enough for the market and his servants’ wages. “If I am not mistaken, you received an invitation from Lady Wittenbottom, my sister.”

  “That is of no consequence,” the duke retorted. “I will have the lady’s name and directions immediately. If you cannot be held responsible for those gaming in your home, then I am certain the magistrate will handle the matter swiftly.”

  “My sister informed you of my rules. Identities always remain secret.” Damon opened the box and counted out the twenty pounds Catherton was owed. “Even I do not know all my guests. That is why many come to Ashford Hall. I afford them both privacy and safety. That being said, I do agree you should have your debt settled.”

  The sum was not significant for Damon, nor would it affect his household accounts. However, such a debt for a mere governess would be impossible to repay.

  “Here is your due.” Damon held the notes out to the man. “I will assume the debt marker and collect.”

  “I don’t want your money, Ashford,” the duke hissed. “I want the name of the woman who dared flee before making good on her losses.”

  “Even if I knew her name, I would not give it to you.” Damon straightened, sending his haughtiest glare across his desk. “If I were you, I’d take the money, consider the debt settled, and be gone.”

  Catherton’s eyes narrowed, and his face reddened at Damon’s audacity.

  His brow rose. “And what, may I ask, would you do if you found her name and directions?”

  “That is my concern.” The duke snatched the notes and slipped them into his coat pocket, never removing his cold stare from Damon. “Ashford, do not expect me—or any of my friends—to attend
Ashford Hall again.”

  “I never presumed you would, Your Grace.” There could be no mistaking the intent behind Damon’s retort. “I will bid you good day.”

  Behind them, Mr. Brown opened the study door as if he’d had his ear pressed to the wood and gestured for the duke to follow.

  Catherton swung around and departed the room without so much as a farewell, not that Damon expected one.

  He only hoped Miss Samuels had found her way back upstairs and out of sight.

  Damon rubbed his face as he slumped into his chair. He’d settled Miss Samuels’ debt for a selfish reason. Damon needed a governess, particularly someone who understood what his children were going through, and she was that person. He couldn’t help Joy and Abram. Damon was as lost in his own grief as they were. However, if what he’d witnessed the previous night told him anything, Miss Samuels could help them. And in so doing, she might save Damon, as well.

  If he hadn’t paid Catherton, there was little chance the man would forget the debt or allow Damon to continue his gambling parties without issue. If he could not maintain his gaming evenings, he would need something else to occupy his mind and his time.

  He needed the brief reprieve from what his life had become. It was only when he donned his mask that the pain and anguish did not threaten to overtake him with each breath he took. He did not long for the woman he lost. He did not languish over the void that separated him from his children.

  And he had no need to face his failures, at least for a brief few hours.

  Payton didn’t halt until she was safely returned to the schoolroom, the door closed at her back. When Mrs. Brown had delivered their midday meal to them while they continued their studies, Payton had thought it a good time to speak privately with the baron.

  About their time in his study, and also his children.

  It was a matter she was ill-equipped to handle. The baron’s children were not unruly because they were naughty children. No, they were misbehaving because they were hurting. Payton was disappointed in herself that she hadn’t spotted it before. It had been her recourse when she lost her mother. Joy and Abram needed more than Payton could offer them.