Chapter 20 #2
It made little sense. Freedom and independence would mean periods of time spent alone.
Solitude was something she should relish.
Nevertheless, she’d done nothing but think about those she’d rather be with.
Namely, Damon and the children. She’d wondered who’d selected the perfect frock for Joy or if Abram ever left his studies long enough for a spot in the sun.
What of Damon? Had he returned to his study?
Did he wonder where she was and if she thought of him—their kiss.
Damon’s maudlin mood, which had lifted over the last several days, had instead settled on her.
Mr. Curtis had deposited her on Piccadilly and promised to return for her a few hours later.
She hadn’t anything to buy, nor the funds to spend; however, her new gown, along with Joy’s, should be ready at the modiste’s shop. She could imagine the girl’s excitement when she arrived back at Ashford Hall with their new frocks.
Perhaps they would don the finery and dine together in the schoolroom.
Payton laughed, her arm bumping a passing gentleman.
“Pardon, miss,” he called over his shoulder but kept pace as he continued away from Payton.
The walk was busy for the time of day; however, the warm weather was likely a draw to tempt everyone from their residences.
Snippets of conversation floated around her as she walked.
The creak of carriage wheels and the clop of horse hooves passed her on the street.
It was almost enough to keep her mind from wandering back to Damon—errr, Lord Ashford, and his insistence that she take the previous afternoon and evening off.
Never, in the several weeks she’d been the Ashford governess, had the baron given her time off that wasn’t her regular day.
Even more confusing, he planned to spend time with his children—away from the townhouse.
Why should she feel left out? Hadn’t it been her goal to have the baron connect with his children?
She hadn’t expected it to happen so swiftly. That was all.
She took a deep breath. The smell of fresh bread and savory meat drifted on the air, and her stomach let out a loud growl. Glancing around, she set her hand against her midsection, hoping that no one had heard the noise.
Before her were large windows beyond which was a fancy restaurant.
Perhaps a small meal—alone—would take up a bit of her time, and then she could collect the waiting dresses and meet Mr. Curtis. Despite it being her day off, she could have him deposit her at the baron’s house. Joy would be beside herself with excitement.
And, if Payton were being honest, she missed the children.
This evening would be the baron’s gaming party; however, she had no intention of attending. She had yet to gather enough coin to repay her debt to Catherton and the possibility of encountering him at Ashford Hall was too great a risk, even for her.
The clink of fine silverware and jovial, spirited conversations floated out to greet Payton, along with the delicious aroma of food.
Inside, nearly every table was taken.
Cupping her gloved hand above her brow, she scanned the interior of the dining hall.
Eating at such an establishment had been a luxury her elder sister had never afforded them, and Payton had often stopped in front of such places when she and Ellie were out in London to imagine what it would be like to sit amongst the finely dressed patrons.
A large table toward the back of the main room caught her notice, but not because the group sitting at it was causing a scene.
Two blond-haired children sat focused on a young woman.
Her stomach twisted at the sight of Abram and Joy, their heads bent toward a red-haired woman, a few years Payton’s senior, her hair pulled into a tight knot at the back of her head, her dress a muted blue so deep it was nearly black.
Her collar rose to nearly her chin with a line of pearl-white buttons leading down to the sash at her waist. Her mouth appeared an angry slash across her face as she spoke.
The group’s conversation couldn’t be heard from the walk outside, but the woman’s words appeared clipped, and her eyes glared between the children.
What had the baron spoken of at Ashford Hall?
There have been many with likely more to come…
If he’d thought his meaning had escaped her notice, he was gravely mistaken. As he’d been correct to state, a governess was replaceable—simply and swiftly.
Along with Joy and Abram, Lord Ashford sat with an elder woman, her gown and hat richly adorned with lace. Payton had seen the woman at Ashford Hall once or twice, though never at the baron’s gaming nights. But Payton did recall seeing her at Galment’s recently.
When Payton saw the woman at the Ashford townhouse, she’d made a lapse in judgement by questioning Mr. Brown about the woman’s identity.
He’d clucked and blustered, informing her that it was the baron’s elder sister, Lady Wittenbottom—a viscountess, and a deplorable lady, indeed.
The viscountess was rumored to despise the baron’s children, or so the household staff insisted.
All children, in fact. At the time, Payton had sighed and commiserated with Damon’s sister as it was a morning that Abram had decided to switch her salt with sugar, thus causing her to ruin three hard-boiled eggs.
Though if the children’s aunt ever put any effort into gaining familiarity with her kin, she would find Joy and Abram spirited yet sweet.
It had taken Payton some time to gain Joy’s and Abram’s trust and, therefore, their respect.
However, as their family, Lady Wittenbottom was required to care for her kin.
And it was even easier now that everything was different.
The wall Joy and Abram had constructed around themselves had quickly crumbled.
Even Payton had gone against her better sense and grown attached to the children.
Affection for the duo was no longer lacking in the least.
Was Damon aware of his sister’s disdain for children?
In the dim dining area, the baron shook his head with a frown and laid his fork beside his plate.
Payton did not think the family meal progressing well at all until the baron turned to the younger, red-haired woman and…
smiled. Damon spoke to the woman and the children, shifting his seat over a few inches to be closer, and his mood appeared to lighten.
It could not be.
Payton narrowed her glare on the baron, his children, and the two women as a servant appeared and collected their empty plates.
The day was suddenly overly warm, and beads of perspiration broke out on Payton’s forehead at the same moment her lungs ached. She held her breath without realizing it.
Damon said something that had Joy breaking out into a fit of giggles, while Abram cracked into a much more sedate grin. Even the auburn-haired woman eased a bit, and the hint of a smile spread across her face before her expression returned to her previous stern countenance.
There was no other explanation for the meeting, or for giving Payton the prior day off. It had all been a ruse. She was being replaced.
The woman inside the restaurant with Damon, his sister, and the children bore a striking resemblance to every tutor and governess Payton had had in her youth. She had a severe, reserved nature only possessed by those who dedicated their life to instructing the young.
The baron was hiring a new governess for the children, and from how well the meeting was going, it appeared he planned to give Payton no notice of being let go.
There should be a considerable measure of relief at the sight.
The children would fare well without her, and the baron could continue to grow closer to his children if he allowed himself to do so.
However, it was only disappointment…and a sense of coming loss that coursed through Payton.
She’d become too lax and comfortable at Ashford Hall, despite reminding herself daily that she should set her sights on what came next for her.
She couldn’t entertain the option of permanently returning to Craven House and falling once more under Marce’s watchful eye.
Perhaps she could implore Samantha and her husband to allow her to travel with them?
However, that much time with Sam would quickly fray Payton’s nerves.
There was always Jude and Simon, though Jude’s mother-in-law, the Dowager Countess Cartwright, was an ogre of a woman, and even Jude found her tolerable in only small doses.
Payton set off down the street, her aching stomach forgotten as she made her way to the modiste’s shop.
If she remembered correctly, Lord Cartwright’s younger sister, Lady Theodora, was studying at a girls’ boarding school in Canterbury.
What was the school called? Miss Emmeline’s School of Education and Decorum for Ladies of Outstanding Quality.
Such a silly, cumbersome name for a school, but perhaps Payton, with the aid of Jude, could secure a position teaching at the institute.
There was not much in the way of social engagements in Canterbury, though it was something she could become accustomed to if there were no other choice.
She stalked down the sidewalk, her reticule hanging from her clenched fist. Holding her chin high, she swallowed the lump that rose in her throat.
She would not cry over such a trivial matter.
She’d planned to move on, leave the baron and his children behind, and secure a more superior position.
It should please her that Damon had the foresight to do the same.
The bell over the modiste’s door chimed as she pushed through it into the bustling shop.
“Miss Samuels,” Madame DelFortaine greeted her with a smile. “Are you here to collect your gowns?”
“Only my gown, please.” She suppressed her guilt at the modiste’s wide-eyed stare. “Have the child’s dress delivered to Ashford Hall on Saint George Street.”
“Very good, miss.”
Payton waited as the modiste sent her servant to collect the cream-colored, off-the-shoulder ball gown she’d had commissioned on the baron’s account.
The gown had been an extravagant purchase, costing three times as much as the morning dress Joy and Abram had ruined.
At the time, Payton had been taken aback by the modiste’s insistence that she replace the ruined dress with a gown of such fine quality and cut; however, Madame DelFortaine and explained that the baron had given strict instructions as to the cost of the gown.
And now that he’d seen fit to replace Payton, the extreme cost of the dress seemed more of a parting gift than an extravagance.