Chapter 4
Payton crept from Joy’s room on silent, slippered feet, careful not to disturb the slumbering child.
With her golden tresses and moss-green eyes, the girl would one day be a true beauty, a diamond of the first water.
London—and likely all of England—would know Miss Joy Kinder.
Whether for her beauty or her hellion ways, Payton was not certain.
Often, she wondered how a child so peaceful at rest could cause the sheer amount of chaos Joy did while awake.
Had Payton been the same in her youth? An angel while abed but a hellion when awake?
She couldn’t help the hint of a smirk that pulled at her lips. Likely, she and Joy had more in common than either thought, though the difference was that Marce had known how to deal with Payton, while Payton was still learning how to handle Joy and her brother.
Pulling the door closed behind her, Payton hurried toward her own room, pausing outside Abram’s chambers to listen.
No sound escaped. Both children were tucked in and had found their rest. Payton’s duties for the day were complete, and it was now her turn to escape, though not into slumber.
She had a long night ahead of her. Thankfully, the following day—Sunday—was her day off.
The room next to Abram’s had been assigned to Payton when she took the position as the Ashford governess.
The chamber was sparse, previously given to Joy’s wet nurse, but it suited Payton well enough.
They were her own quarters, and no one intruded on her.
The most welcome advantage to her room was the view.
The drapes hadn’t been drawn for the evening, and Payton hurried to look out the double windows to the street below.
Saint George Street, nestled in one of the finest squares in London, was nearly always quiet—unlike her own home, Craven House, which resided in the far less desirable neighborhood of Leicester Square.
The carriages coming and going in the Saint George Street area were well maintained and driven by livery in the colorful uniforms of the local households.
Her windows faced the street, giving her ample view in both directions.
This night, she did not linger at the window, relishing the sights of the cityscape, nor did she focus on the clouds drifting in to cover the moon.
She searched for only one thing; namely, the Craven House carriage.
As it was each week, the enclosed landau with Mr. Curtis holding the reins, waited outside the townhouse three doors down from Ashford Hall.
Mr. Curtis, the only male servant employed by Craven House, was tasked with all duties ranging from tending the grounds to attending the door and even driving Payton and her sisters about London in the family’s decrepit coach.
Payton collected her cloak and her wages for the week and rushed from her room, heading down the servant’s stairwell and out into the hall leading to the foyer, which kept her far from the baron’s study.
She paused outside the ballroom, watching as two footmen adjusted palm plants close to the dais.
In a few short hours, the room would be teeming with lords and ladies—and some wealthy businessmen—as Lord Ashford hosted an evening of cards.
Nothing about the baron’s townhouse felt the same during those hours when its normally empty halls filled with the sounds of merriment, laughter, and good cheer.
Once a week, this was not a home shrouded in despair and eerie silence.
A shadow shifted in the recesses of the large room as the baron himself came into view.
Payton took a step back, the frame from the doorway blocking her as she watched Lord Ashford assess the room.
He appeared as out of place here as he had in the foyer that morning.
Odd that he could give his time to something so trivial as preparing his ballroom, but couldn’t be bothered to see to his children’s upbringing.
In fact, after she’d left the baron’s study that morning to change her dress, Payton hadn’t seen him again.
She’d fully expected him to seek a word with his children, perhaps during their morning studies or at their noonday meal, but he hadn’t come.
Things had continued as they had each day before: she tended to the children, and he retreated to his study.
Lord Ashford had proven gruff, contrary, and distant.
At times, Payton wondered if he even remembered that he had children.
Despite her mother’s early passing, Payton had never gone a day unloved by her older siblings.
Marce had also seen to their discipline and upbringing.
If not for Payton, who would take responsibility for Joy and Abram?
It appeared she needed Abram and Joy as much as they needed her, despite everyone acting to the contrary. She could at least give them a bit of the notice that should come from their father, not a governess.
As he walked around the ballroom, the baron called instructions to the footmen, pointing out a lopsided table and questioning the placement of the refreshment stand. The men hopped to each task given by Lord Ashford, each seeming happy to do the baron’s bidding.
The servants at Ashford Hall had made no attempt to gain any familiarity with the baron’s new governess, and she’d overheard the whispers surrounding her presence more than once.
Payton would tend the children for several weeks, perhaps a couple of months at most, and then she would leave—either relieved of her position by the baron or run off by the children.
That was what everyone at Ashford Hall predicted for her.
Payton had little doubt she would see the same fate as the last half-dozen governesses; however, she planned to leave of her own accord.
And that would happen as soon as she saved enough money—for housing and…other things.
Working tirelessly for a mere baron with two quarrelsome, unmanageable children was not all her future held.
Her sisters, Judith and Samantha, had wed an earl and a marquis respectively.
While Payton hadn’t set her sights on marriage, she was confident that she would do better than living as a servant in a baron’s household.
There were places she longed to see, people to meet, and experiences to have.
Though she didn’t have it all figured out, Payton knew she longed for a place of her own, like her mother before her.
She knew that living under the edicts of another was not in her future.
But beyond earning enough to secure a suitable residence, Payton was still figuring everything out.
Her mother had bidden her to strive for something better, yet she hadn’t imparted to Payton precisely what something better was.
Was it mere independence? A home of her own? The means to travel the world at will?
She feared if she allowed herself to remain in Lord Ashford’s employ—to gain a sense of comfort—those accomplishments would be stifled and eventually forgotten altogether.
Over the last month, a small amount of comfort had been found in the lavishness of Ashford Hall and the continued presence of Joy and Abram.
Unless Payton sought out solitude, she was never alone.
The clock down the hall chimed, eliciting a startled yelp from Payton. She’d spent too long lost in her thoughts, staring at Lord Ashford. The baron pivoted toward the door just as she hurried by the opening and continued to the foyer and out the front entrance.
There was nothing better to regain her focus than the crisp, cold London air. As heavy with soot as it was, it reminded Payton of her goals. Much like her mother before her, Payton was confident great things lay in her future.
She pulled the collar of her cloak high to ward off the breeze as she hurried down the street to her waiting carriage.
Her time at Ashford Hall was not all her future held. It was merely a few hard months of work that would enable her to live the life she truly desired.
And that future would begin all the sooner if she could win a few sizable hands at the baron’s card tables tonight.
Payton didn’t try to temper her grin as she arrived at the Craven House carriage.
“Good even’n, Miss Payton,” Curtis called as he hopped down from his perch to open the door for her, a bit too agile for a man of his age. “How ye be this night?”
“Wonderful.” She gave her trusted servant a wide smile. Why could the mere anticipation of a night spent gambling fill her with such good cheer, even after her disastrous day? “Let us be off for”—Payton hesitated to call it what it had always been: home—“Craven House.”
Payton stood behind Marce’s desk in her private study where the madame of Craven House conducted all her business. The cabinet doors were all open, and the desk drawers nearly pulled from their places.
Her sister’s money box was gone.
The key not in the top drawer.
“Bloody bad nuisance,” Payton mumbled to the empty room.
The red and gold chamber had always been a sanctuary of sorts for Payton.
When her elder siblings had taken to teasing her during her childhood, she would escape to this very room.
She would bring her deck of cards and practice her shuffling and dealing skills for hours.
She’d play loo, piquet, and even vingt-et-un, challenging herself to be each player.
When her brother, Garrett, stumbled upon her hiding behind the long, low lounge one day, he’d joined her and instructed her in the art of whist, though they needed another team of players to have a real game.
Today, Marce was gone, away on another of her mysterious trips, and Craven House was empty.
Payton had thought to borrow ten pounds from their household’s funds box kept in Marce’s desk, but after searching the entire room, it was nowhere to be found.
There was nothing left to do but collect her gold mask and be off on her way back to Ashford Hall. The four pounds and several shillings she’d managed to save over the last month would have to do. Perhaps a few well-won hands would double—or triple—her meager savings.
Payton hurriedly closed the drawers and doors on the cabinet.
The hour was growing late, and if she did not arrive soon, many of the men would have already lost their coin to other players.
“Whatever are you doing, dear sister?” Payton spun around to see Garrett, brow raised in question, standing in the open doorway. “I imagined you’d be at Lord Ashford’s by now.”
“I was hoping to borrow a few pounds from Marce, but Mr. Curtis told me she is not in residence.” There was no doubt that Garrett saw right through her lie; however, Payton would rather perish in a fire than admit any such fib.
Besides, if she borrowed the funds for gambling, she always made sure to replace it before anyone noticed it missing.
“I was just leaving, actually. Will you be joining me?”
She sincerely prayed that Garrett had other plans this evening, and her luck—the little she’d had of late—held.
“No, not this evening.” He glanced over his shoulder, and Payton couldn’t help but wonder what distracted him. “I have other matters to attend to this night.”
“Very well.” Let him keep his secrets, especially since Payton preferred to keep hers, as well. “I must collect my cloak and be on my way.”
She started for the door, prepared to push past Garrett and find her escape, but his hand landed on her elbow, halting her.
With a firm tug, she attempted to sidle around him, but his hold did not give. “Are you forgetting something?”
Payton turned, fearing she’d left open a drawer or cabinet, betraying her real purpose for being in Marce’s private study.
Her mask, gold with a red ribbon to keep it secured, lay on the desk where she’d forgotten it.
“Dear brother,” she smiled. “Whatever would I do without you?”
“Do not even speak the question.”
Collecting her mask, Payton gave Garrett a quick peck on the cheek. “Are you certain you cannot come with me?”
“Fear not, you will survive without me for one evening.” He stared into the room, and for the first time, she wondered what he was doing at Craven House.
As a second son and therefore without benefit of a title and the coffers that came with it, Garrett had insisted upon setting up lodging at the Albany not long after he reached his majority.
With Marce away from London and Payton living at Ashford Hall, there was no reason for him to be home.
“Do enjoy yourself. I will come round tomorrow during your day off.”
It had been Garrett who’d told Payton of the baron’s masked gaming evenings, even risking Marce’s wrath to escort her to her first proper event.
The night, nearly a year prior, had gone off without a problem, and Payton had returned with pockets brimming.
Garrett’s only rule: no cheating. She would not use her card counting skills nor her sleight of hand tricks.
She’d promised and kept her word.
In return, Garrett had made certain Marce never learned of Payton’s late-night adventures.
“What is that on your arm?” He pointed to her elbow, where her glove had slipped when he’d held her arm. Blue tinted her skin, one of several spots she’d hoped to cover with her full-length gloves and wide sleeves. “Why is your arm blue?
Despite thirty minutes spent scrubbing the area, the dye had held fast to her skin.
“Just a small mishap.”
“A small mishap?” He chuckled, and Payton remembered her discussion with her sibling from the week before—an hour she’d spent in this very room complaining about Lord Ashford’s headstrong, rebellious children.
“Truly, brother, it is nothing of consequence.” Yet certainly something he would find great merriment in hearing. “A vase broke, and the contents splashed me. That is all. Besides, I must be off…or risk all the fat purses being won.”
He waved his hand as she moved past him, her mask in hand.
Glancing over her shoulder as she strode away, Payton watched Garrett enter the study and close the door behind him. She would question him about his presence at Craven House when he visited her on the morrow. At the moment, she had a card game to attend—and money to win.
Or fear being stuck in the baron’s employ for far longer than she could bear.