Chapter 13 #2
He walked into the night, realizing that this was his first jaunt out of Ashford Hall in nearly a week.
The cold air burned his lungs as he breathed deeply and pulled his coat tighter around himself to ward off the chill.
There was little telling how far Miss Samuels planned to travel, or if she’d spoken the truth to Mr. Brown.
She could easily make the short walk to Grosvenor Street, hail a hack, and disappear into the night.
Lamplight from the row of townhouses on either side of Saint George Street cast a hazy glow on the walk, making it easy to spot Miss Samuels walking briskly toward the main street.
Her steps were sure, and she kept her eyes trained straight ahead as if she hadn’t a care in the world.
It was entirely possible that she departed his townhouse each evening and embarked on these suspect walks about the square every night.
Merely strolling to and fro, no matter the time of day, was not the gravest sin one could commit.
Hanover Square was as safe a neighborhood as to be found in London proper; however, that did not mean that cutpurses and thieves did not lurk in the passageways, waiting for an unsuspecting victim to happen down their walk.
Did the woman not possess even an ounce of self-preservation? And why hadn’t his butler insisted that a footman accompany her?
Damon waited until she reached the sixth townhouse down from his before he began his pursuit, hoping the noise from Grosvenor Street would be loud enough to drown out the ring of his boot steps on the walkway.
His apprehension lessened when she reached the main street and didn’t hail a hack but instead turned right and continued on down Grosvenor Street on foot.
When Damon reached the corner, he paused as she crossed the street at the next intersection and disappeared between a row of houses on Mill Street.
Where in the bloody hell was she going at this time of night?
As the hour grew later, so would the frigid London cold settle across the town, burrowing into every alley and thoroughfare. She’d been in his employ only a short time, did she know her way about the area? Would she grow lost or be targeted by a vagabond up to no good?
He darted down Grosvenor and hurried between two slow-moving carts to the corner of Mill Street, where he lost sight of her. Pushing up against the stone facade of the corner house, he crept along in the darkness, making sure to keep his steps light.
As much as he kept to the shadows, the governess walked in the little light that could be found from the street lamps and uncovered windows to her right—no hiding, no sulking, no fear.
Damon could never imagine allowing Joy to traverse the dangerous London streets, no matter her age. The risk, even in Mayfair, was too great—the late hour notwithstanding.
Miss Samuels slowed her pace, forcing Damon to crouch low to remain unseen.
Glancing up at a townhouse, she pulled something from her pocket and held it close in the dim lighting before returning it to her cloak and walking up the two steps.
Before she even had a chance to knock, the door opened, casting a bright light over the governess and onto the walk below.
Whoever resided inside had been expecting her.
“A simple walk,” Damon scoffed.
Common sense told him to turn around and return to Ashford Hall.
His ineptness at listening to his own good sense had Damon moving swiftly down the walk to stand before the townhouse at 10 Mill Street.
It was nothing as grand as the townhouses in Hanover Square or Grosvenor Square, with no overhang and only an unlit sconce above the single door.
The rough stone wall was worn from years of London drizzle, marred by the soot from the tall chimneys dotting the tops of every home.
All in all, this townhouse was no different than the ones that flanked it on both sides.
A voice cleared behind him. “Pardon, my lord.”
Damon pivoted to catch an elderly gentleman approaching on foot from behind him, his smile wide and his footfalls matching the strike of his cane against the walk.
When he stepped to the side, the man continued up the steps to 10 Mill Street and, once again, the door opened without the newest arrival knocking.
This time, Damon was afforded a quick glimpse inside as the footman paused to take the gentleman’s coat.
The interior was lit by a massive silver chandelier, the walls covered by rich, orange silk swaths trimmed in silver.
A servant passed the open doorway, a platter held close to his chest. The newly arrived guest took a flute and moved farther into the townhouse.
Miss Samuels had already moved out of view, deeper into the dwelling.
Laughter and music floated out into the night before the door swung shut.
Damon was left alone, in the cold of night.
He hadn’t but a moment to wonder what his children’s governess was doing at 10 Mill Street before an expensively adorned, enclosed coach halted at the curb.
With two footmen at the rear, a driver high atop his perch, and four blazing lamps swinging at each corner, the conveyance’s occupant was undoubtedly a lord of means.
Damon’s own unkempt, wrinkled attire was not only unsuitable for the chilly night but also made him appear the ruffian.
He pulled the collar of his great cloak high to mask his lack of neckcloth and to hide his wrinkled linen shirt.
The driver remained on his perch as the footman at the coach’s rear hopped to the ground, straightened his coat, and brushed the dust from his uniform before opening the carriage door.
A lady grasped the footman’s outstretched hand as the servant assisted her to the walk.
“Flora?” Damon asked.
“Brother?” His sister’s stare met his, and her face paled as if she were seeing a ghost—or, more accurately, as if he’d spotted her in a place she was not supposed to be. “What in heaven’s name are you doing here?”
She looked him up and down, her stare settling on his bare neck.
“I was—am”—he swallowed, collecting his senses—“I thought a brisk walk would do me well before bed.”
“It is several blocks to your townhouse.” She couldn’t disguise her suspicion.
“Yes, well, once I was out of Ashford Hall, I continued to walk. The evening air does wonders for my mind.”
Flora’s gaze traveled over Damon’s shoulder to the door of 10 Mill Street.
“Where is Wittenbottom?” Damon made a display of glancing toward his sister’s waiting carriage. “I should say hello before I am on my way.”
“He, um,” she said, “he is having a meal at his club before meeting me later this evening.”
Damon glanced over his shoulder to where the door stood ajar, waiting for Flora to enter. “I can accompany you inside,” Damon offered.
“You hardly appear presentable,” she retorted. “Besides, it is not necessary. I am only here for an hour or two, then I will be on my way to meet Wittenbottom.”
Miss Samuels had said the same thing to his butler. That she should be gone for only an hour or two.
“Whose residence is this?” he asked. “Someone I know?”
Flora huffed, her patience with his questions expired. “Sir Galment hosts a few select…ladies…for evening entertainment. Music, lectures, and the like. Wittenbottom, as you know, is not the most educated man.”
Educated, no.
Wealthy as a Prussian prince, yes.
“And the evening is for women only?” he prodded. A man had entered directly after Miss Samuels. He waited for Flora to deceive him and for a reason as to why his governess would attend such an affair, let alone who she secured an invitation from.
“Heavens, no,” Flora laughed. “There are spirited debates and cultured conversations. Sir Galment invites several scholarly men to lead the discussions.”
“Ladies attend such gatherings?”
“With zeal, I can assure you.” She waved her hand as she said, “As a boon, Galment offers a spot of cards for those interested. I do not waste my time or funds at the gaming tables but find interest in the conversations to be had.”
Gaming tables.
Damon should have suspected as much. However, what Miss Samuels chose to do during the hours she was not caring for his children should not concern him.
If she were determined to set upon such a path, it was hers to take.
Squandering her meager earnings at the card tables only involved him so much as it interfered with her duties as the Ashford governess.
If he’d known her tendency to frequent the tables before his children grew attached to her, Damon would have relieved her of her position.
But now, what option did he have but to overlook it?
“I must get inside, Damon.” Flora stepped forward and pressed her lips to his cheek. “I will call on you and the children in a couple of days.”
He was helpless to do anything but watch as his sister entered Galment’s townhouse, and the door closed in her wake.
He’d done his best to keep his position on the outskirts of those around him, and now Damon had the sense to realize that he’d achieved precisely what he set out to do.
Any malcontent with his life was solely due to his choices.
He worked tirelessly, pushing others away—and now, it appeared, he’d succeeded.
Slipping his hands into the warmth of his coat pockets, he stared up at the house before him. A home he would not enter. A place that did not want him.
Joy and Abram had one another.
Flora had society involvements and her husband.
And Miss Samuels had her secrets—not well-kept secrets, but secrets all the same.