Chapter 2
Miss Payton Samuels closed the baron’s study door behind her—with a bit more force than necessary or proper truth be told.
However, she refused to add any further embarrassment to her situation.
Was it not enough that Lord Ashford had spoken harshly to her in front of her charges?
The last thing she desired was Abram and Joy overhearing their father lecturing her on the proper conduct of children and her duties as their governess.
She’d been at Ashford Hall for an entire month, and this was the first time the baron had troubled himself enough to address her or interact with his children.
Payton could only imagine what would have happened if her mother had left her and her siblings to fallow for such an extended period of time.
It was surprising the children were not far more lawless than they were.
When she took the position as their governess, it had been explained by the housekeeper that Payton would be responsible for the children from the time they woke until they found their beds each evening, with one day off per week.
She’d viewed the post as a spot of fun. She’d be away from her elder sister’s watchful eye and staying in a grand London home.
Unfortunately, spending most of her days teaching two young children was a chore she’d quickly discovered she was not exactly qualified to handle.
The baron’s absence from daily life only seemed to make matters worse.
He stalked the halls during the night and slipped unseen into his study during the day.
Once, earlier that week, Payton had sensed someone watching her as she worked with Joy on her ciphering.
When she glanced toward the open schoolroom door, a shadow had been the only thing she saw, but it too had disappeared in an instant.
She glanced down at her saturated dress and apron, praying the blue dye hadn’t splashed higher to blemish her neck and face.
Since taking the post, she’d tried to understand the baron’s children, to attain a companionable relationship with them; however, they resisted at every turn.
After an entire month, she no more understood them than she did their absentee father.
The troublesome duo was mischievous and exasperating.
Her elder siblings would no doubt find immense satisfaction in the sheer amount of frustration—and the limitless problems—Joy and Abram inflicted on Payton on an almost hourly basis.
Most nights, Payton barely made it to bed without falling asleep at their evening meal first. Forget all the evenings she’d thought to enjoy herself about London without having to answer to her siblings regarding her whereabouts.
This morning, early as it was, had gone from unpleasant to completely dreadful, and all before they’d even settled down for their morning meal.
First, Abram had tossed something at her as she escorted them toward the dining hall.
Payton was one to anticipate such things, coming from a family of five children herself, and had deftly caught the object…
only to discover it was a mud-soaked toad.
Her skin crawled at the very thought of the large, lumpy, slimy creature wiggling from her grasp as it leapt to the floor and attempted its escape.
Despite Mrs. Brown scooping up the toad and hurrying with it to the kitchen, the damage had been done, and her new gloves were utterly ruined by the mud.
The children had taken off back up the stairs, laughing the entire time, leaving Payton to strip her stained gloves from her hands and tuck them into her pocket as she shouted for the children to return.
In the next instant, glass had shattered at her feet, sending a cascade of wetness up the length of her.
Payton wished to flee from her charges and escape her responsibilities at Ashford Hall, but she kept the picture of her future at the forefront of her mind. She would do her job, save her wages, and would one day be free to live where she wanted, do as she pleased, and answer to no one but herself.
But now, Payton had to deal with Lord Ashford’s wrath.
The baron’s anger was not that of most men she’d been told by several servants; instead, it was a quiet, seething disappointment.
Much akin to Marce’s way of dealing with Payton when she misbehaved in her youth.
Through the years, she’d learned how to deal with her sister, and Lord Ashford would likely be no different.
Why couldn’t he still be abed? Or better yet, not home at all to witness her humiliation.
Why had he chosen today, of all days, to leave his study?
Joy and Abram were little more than children, and yet they foiled her at every turn.
Even in the classroom, they openly and mercilessly jested and teased her.
Payton had behaved no better in her younger years.
However, her mother, and then her sister, had been there to chastise her unruly ways.
The Ashford children did not have that—they only had Payton.
She lifted her gaze to the baron as he took his place behind his desk, sinking into his chair, his head falling into his open palms. He sighed as he scrubbed at his freshly shaven face.
Disappointment. As if it should be Payton’s sole purpose at Ashford Hall to not disappoint the baron. Yet, he’d not given her the benefit of a proper meeting before now, and she suspected that this conversation would not come close to the appropriate discourse.
How was she supposed to keep from disappointing him when he’d never spoken of his expectations?
But with him sitting still and silent, Payton had no choice but to wait, her bare hands clasped before her. How should one look in this situation? Contrite? Apologetic? Stern? Downright furious?
When she vexed Marce, contrition worked the quickest to dispel her sister’s anger.
But what did the baron expect?
Payton looked within. Unquestionably, at present, it was fury coursing through her, her skin blazing hot under her soaked, stained gown.
She was here for a purpose, and the baron’s children sought to thwart her at every turn.
Her employment should be simple: tend the children, tutor them, and put them to bed.
After that, she was free to come and go as she pleased during the late-evening and nighttime hours, and receive two pounds per month as her compensation.
It wasn’t an excessive amount, but it did allow Payton enough funds to join many card games—with the hope of growing her savings quickly.
But the torment she was forced to undergo daily seemed worth far more than a mere two pounds.
“Miss Samuels…” His voice was deeper than she’d assumed it would be, his eyes more intense. And his presence…it was large, for lack of a more suitable term.
She waited for the baron to continue, but he remained silent, his brow furrowed, creating thin lines at the corners of his eyes and mouth.
She halted from proclaiming aloud that the action made him appear far older than she’d heard him to be.
Heavens, the baron was only four years older than her brother Garrett, yet his shoulders held the weight of a man thrice his age.
Perhaps that was his reason for hiding in his study all day, only to depart for his bed.
She knew it was only after the children had found their beds that he left the solitude of his office for his private chambers because she heard his footsteps outside her own quarters as he paused before each of the children’s rooms.
If she’d known about the baron’s ragged and seemingly exhausted demeanor before now, she might have thought twice about accepting a position in his household.
There was little doubt there was more beneath the surface than she knew.
Likely, a troubled man hiding from a household in shambles.
But she hadn’t suspected anything before joining his employ, and it was only after a week at Ashford Hall that she’d questioned the housekeeper about the baron’s aloof nature.
She’d been told it was the way of things, and that she should complete her tasks and accept her wages without further question.
She would be lying if she said the mystery behind the man didn’t pique her interest. However, the man sitting behind the desk presently was not hiding some grand secret, he seemed to be wallowing in solitude.
Honestly, it was none of her business what burdened him, nor if anything could be done to alleviate the weight.
The other servants at Ashford Hall had been clear about that from her first hour of employment.
Meddling in the master’s personal affairs was not done—under any circumstances.
Which suited Payton well enough as she would not relish anyone interfering in her business either.
His shoulders straightened, and his vexation returned. She couldn’t help but notice the hardening of his jaw, a distinctly aristocratic jawline that only served to highlight his full lips and large, green eyes.
She pushed those thoughts from her mind.
She had every right to be as angry as the baron right now.
Payton’s position within the baron’s home had been rather difficult to adjust to.
This was not Craven House, her sister was not the master at Ashford Hall, and Payton was nothing more than a paid servant—the lowly hired help, as it were—without even the courtesy of an audience with Lord Ashford before this moment.
“Do you find yourself unqualified to serve as my children’s governess, Miss Samuels?” he asked.
Miss Samuels. Another thing she’d been forced to acclimate to.
Anywhere else, she was Miss Payton, or more commonly, simply Payton—no prefix or surname at all.
If her brother, Garrett caught her cheating at the gaming tables or swindling her sisters, it was merely Pay.
A moniker of familiarity, and also a demand for his coin to be repaid.