Chapter 20
“My lord.” Mr. Brown stood at his elbow, a single letter on a silver tray in presentation. “This arrived for you only moments ago.”
Damon set the morning Post aside and retrieved the letter, holding it above his half-eaten meal.
Flora’s bold, heavy-handed script was as familiar as his own across the missive as well as her stationery scent—roses.
The offensive aroma of old flowers wafted about the room, and he slipped his finger under the wax to break Wittenbottom’s signature seal.
If anything, a note from his sister would distract him from musings about where Payton had gone.
He’d given her the afternoon and evening off the prior day, and today was Sunday; however, he’d expected her to be around the townhouse.
To his chagrin, he’d been informed by his butler that the governess hadn’t returned since departing the previous afternoon.
“Who is the letter from?” Joy tugged at his sleeve. She’d taken to sitting in Payton’s seat—formerly her mother’s seat—when the governess didn’t join them for meals. “I wish I could receive a letter.”
Damon smiled. “It is from Aunt Flora.”
His day with the children at the museum had been taxing but worthwhile.
Abram and Joy had remained close to his side and listened to his every word as he guided them through the exhibits.
They’d laughed many times. He and Abram had sat before a display of archaic, crude weapons and debated the merits of hand-to-hand combat versus ancient weapons.
They’d even strayed into modern warfare.
The discussion had been inspiring, at least for Damon.
Joy had been less talkative as she remained steadfast by his side while they traversed the museum. Damon suspected her quiet demeanor had nothing to do with boredom, but rather a sense of overwhelming interest.
They’d eaten a simple meal after returning home, and then Damon had walked Joy and Abram to their chambers for bed.
With the children asleep, he had naught to do but pace the halls as he attempted to hide his anxiety.
And now, the children flanked him at the table, with Miss Samuels nowhere to be seen.
Oddly enough, the children hadn’t asked after her either.
Could it be only he who noted her absence, or had the children grown accustomed to caring for themselves on Sundays? Most Sundays, Damon was busy preparing for his gaming evening.
“Open it, Father!” Joy said, falling into her chair as if the excitement of it all were too much for her tiny body to bear.
As soon as he unfolded the letter, she was behind his shoulder, attempting to read.
“Hmmmm,” he mused, holding it close. “Very interesting.”
“What? What?” Though she was behind him, Damon could sense Joy hopping from foot to foot.
“It appears that Aunt Flora has procured a tiger for Abram and an elephant for you, dear one,” he jested, making certain to keep his tone steady and without any hint of laughter.
“I am not interested.” Abram hadn’t taken so much as a bite of his morning meal as he scribbled in his notebook. “Tigers are dangerous and belong in their natural environment, not in London.”
Damon gave up and chuckled at the boy’s oblivious demeanor. Perhaps he’d done a disservice to Abram by not jesting with him more often.
“That is just silly.” Joy swatted his arm playfully. “An elephant and a tiger would never suit in the gardens. Where would they sleep, and what would Cook feed them?”
Damon turned to Joy with a smile. “I am happy to see at least one of you has a sense of humor.” Or more accurately, one of the three of them.
Years ago, he and Sarah had often laughed at inane anecdotes and obtuse ton members.
His merriment was another part of himself he’d thought long gone.
“But, alas, Aunt Flora has not written about anything as exciting as zoo animals.”
Joy pouted, pushing her lower lip forward. “Then what?”
He glanced down at the missive. If he’d been alone when it was delivered, he would have slipped it into his desk and forgotten about it. Unfortunately, his daughter’s zeal at receiving a letter, even though it wasn’t addressed to her, was infectious and impossible to ignore.
“We have been invited to dine with Aunt Flora this afternoon at Wexfestor’s on Piccadilly.” She’d never sent such an invite before and rarely requested the children’s presence.
This did bring Abram’s attention away from his work, his brow furrowing. “Aunt Flora does not ask Joy and me to meals. In fact, I have never heard her speak either of our names. You may go without me.”
Damon had been thinking the same exact thing. He reread his sister’s note. I find myself free this afternoon. You and the children shall attend me at Wexfestor’s for my afternoon meal.
It was everything he’d expect from Flora.
A summons, not an invitation. He was her servant ready to do her bidding, not her brother.
“Mayhap you are correct, Abram,” he mused, refolding the letter. “I am certain you are both very busy today.”
“I have nothing to do,” Joy screeched.
“You want to dine with Aunt Flora?” The girl’s enthusiasm had his chest tightening. Had he neglected to give her something she truly longed for?
She returned to her chair, folding her hands in her lap and tucking her crossed ankles under her seat. “Oh, yes, please.”
Perhaps Wexfestor’s would be another welcome distraction. His gaming night was later that evening; however, Mr. Brown, with the assistance of a couple of footmen, could see the room prepared.
“It is settled,” he said, placing his palms on the table. “We shall go.”
“It is not settled at all.” Abram frowned.
“We will attend your aunt, eat quickly, and return home,” he rebutted. “But you will go.”
“I will stay here with Miss Samuels.”
“Miss Samuels has the day off and is not at Ashford Hall.”
“Then summon her back,” Abram said, crossing his arms as if that were the end of things.
“Did Aunt Flora invite Miss Samuels to join us, too?” Joy asked.
“She did not.” Damon reclined in his chair. It appeared the governess’s absence would not remain unnoticed.
“That is quite discourteous of Aunt Flora.” Joy rubbed her chin. “I suppose we should send our regrets.”
Discourteous? Send our regrets?
The girl was barely six and spoke like a lady thrice her age.
“It is one meal without Miss Samuels,” he argued.
“Three,” Abram said before returning to his notebook once again. “Last night, this meal, and now afternoon dining with Aunt Flora.”
“I am certain Miss Samuels would not want the pair of you to remain indoors just because she is not here to accompany us.” Why had he thought their good cheer from the previous day would extend to the next? “We are going, and that is all.”
“Very well.” Abram collected his notes and stood, leaving his plate untouched. “What time will we depart?”
“One o’clock.”
He nodded before leaving the room.
“What could Aunt Flora possibly want?” Joy mumbled.
“I haven’t any notion.” Damon picked up his fork and speared an egg on his plate, popping it into his mouth.
If she thought to bring up the subject of boarding school—with the children present—she would be sorely peeved when he gave her the same answer he’d given for years now. What other reasoning could she have for demanding they meet her?
Could she know of the disastrous card night with Miss Samuels and the Duke of Catherton? No, the duke would never admit that he’d been swindled and left owed a debt.
Maybe it was long past time Joy and Abram spent more time with Flora.
She was their only other relation besides him.
With Sarah gone, Joy would one day need a woman to guide her in society, and Damon knew of no other for the task.
A relationship between Joy and her aunt would not harm his daughter, and could only do a world of good for his sister.
If there was one thing Flora was gifted at, it was making her way in society.
Indeed, if she spent some time with Joy—and Abram—Flora would come to care for them, much like an aunt should for her niece and nephew.
Joy bent over her plate, her blond hair brushed and hanging freely down her back as she finished her toast with orange jam. The same orange jam he favored.
His heart squeezed with affection. He wanted the best for her—both now and in the future.
If that meant a closer relationship with her only female relation, then it was what needed to be done.
Damon had spent so many years neglecting his children’s needs while feeding his own despair. It had to end.
If—or more accurately, when—Payton left them, Joy would benefit from Flora’s presence. No matter his sister’s aversion to children, at least she could be a constant in Joy’s and Abram’s lives—something he couldn’t expect of Payton or any governess that might follow.
“Do you have a pretty frock to wear?” he asked.
Joy’s sparkling, moss-green eyes caught his as she bit her bottom lip. “Perhaps. Do you think Aunt Flora would prefer a light green dress or peach?”
“I would assume”—he leaned toward her as if captivated by the conversation—“peach. And would you like to know why?”
When she only smiled and nodded, he continued.
“Because you are as sweet as a peach.”
“Oh, Father,” she giggled, slipping from her seat. “I will be ready on time.”
She flitted from the room, dancing the entire way until all he could hear was her humming as she skipped down the hallway to the stairs.
Damon longed for even a fraction of Joy’s lighthearted nature. Perhaps then he would not dwell so much on the past or fret so intensely about their future.
Payton walked briskly down Piccadilly, the early afternoon sun warming her skin and invigorating her spirit.
An entire night at Craven House without any of her siblings in residence had been almost too much to bear.
Quiet, without a thing to attend to, she’d languished about the house with nothing to occupy her time but her own thoughts.
The moment she left Craven House, her spirits had begun to lift.