Chapter 9 #2
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?