Chapter 24
“Mr. Brown.” Damon strode down the hall after his butler. “A word, please.”
The servant turned with an even smile, his hands clasped behind his back. “Yes, my lord?”
Damon sat in his study for nearly an hour after Catherton had left, worrying over Miss Samuels and whether the duke was skilled enough—or perhaps, paid enough—to have Payton located and brought before a magistrate. Until his plan solidified.
As the governess had so kindly thrown in his face, her personal dealings were not his concern. She was no longer part of his household; therefore, he shouldn’t fret over her.
What he should do and what he actually did were two very different things.
“I would like to host a gaming night tomorrow evening.”
The butler’s brow rose in alarm. “It is not your usual night.”
“Is that a problem?” Damon gritted his teeth, immediately regretting his harsh tone.
“Of course, not, my lord.” Mr. Brown glanced past Damon, his welcoming smile returning.
“Master Abram and Miss Joy, you are both looking wonderfully rested this morning. Mrs. Brown has laid out your morning meal in the back salon. The gardens are lovely right now.” The man’s stare hardened when he turned back to Damon.
It was highly uncharacteristic of the butler to take any liberties with decorum.
“I will arrange everything for the gaming night—tomorrow.”
His butler certainly knew of Payton’s resignation and departure…and he blamed Damon.
It appeared he also blamed Damon for changing his usual gaming night.
But he was committed enough to him and Damon’s children to soften the blow by allowing them to dine in the sunny salon that was usually reserved for esteemed guests. Not that there had been any noteworthy guests in years—with the exception of Payton, that is.
“Thank you, Mr. Brown.” Damon paused for a moment, wondering if his plan would be seen to fruition or bring Catherton to his boiling point. “One last thing.”
“Yes, my lord?”
“Can you have a footman deliver this to the Duke of Catherton’s residence?” He held out the personal invitation addressed to the duke and signed by himself. Damon had to convince Catherton his plot to chase down Payton would get him nowhere.
The butler collected the letter, followed it up by giving a curt bow, and hurried toward the kitchens. His bow was not as deep as it once was, and his hurried steps were more of a shuffle nowadays.
Once the butler had departed, that left Damon to face his children.
Alone.
“Good morning,” he greeted, meeting them at the bottom of the stairs. Joy’s hair looked as if it hadn’t been combed in days, while Abram wore two stockings that didn’t quite match. “May I join you for your meal?”
Joy giggled. “Of course, Father.”
Abram ignored his greeting and pushed past his sister, starting for the back salon. “Where is Miss Samuels? I have something of grave importance to speak with her about.”
Damon took Joy’s tiny hand in his as they followed Abram. Her grip was tighter than he’d expect for such a young child.
He’d hoped to put off speaking about Payton’s absence, at least until he could determine a reasonable explanation that did not include gaming debts and late-night kisses, not to mention scotches in his study. He couldn’t bear the children laying the blame at his feet.
There was no denying that he was the cause of Payton’s resignation.
Admitting as much to Joy and Abram was something he longed to avoid.
It would be wise to find an explanation that fit his reasoning: that it was for the best that she’d left his employ.
He would hire a new governess, perhaps one with a more impressive background in history, while Miss Samuels would find a household she was better suited to serve in.
“Miss Samuels has fallen under the weather,” he said as they entered the back salon, the windows were open, and light streamed into the room, brightening every corner. He wished the morning sun reached within him, not only kissing his skin. “Is there something I can help you with?”
Abram halted and turned toward Damon, a hopeful glint in his eyes. “Do you know William Drummond?”
“The poet?” He searched his memory for any other Drummond, but none came to mind.
“Yes,” Abram said as he sat. “Miss Samuels thought it best I expand my educational goals and study poetry. I thought it nonsense, as there is little reason for a historian to study such things as literature; however, I promised her.”
“And how are you faring at the task?” Damon pulled Joy’s seat out for her to sit and then pushed it in when she was ready.
“Admirably, I assure you. Though I find literature is unlike history. Or science.”
Damon took his own seat, and a footman hurried forward with an extra place setting for him. “How so?”
“Well, in the poem To The Nightingale, I suspect Drummond is not speaking of a feathered bird at all, but something wholly different…and scandalous.” Abram’s cheeks flushed red at his insinuation, and he glanced nervously toward Joy as if he’d misspoken in mixed company.
“But I cannot think of any reason Miss Samuels would think I have something to learn from poets and their convoluted, misleading poems.”
Damon averted his stare by filling his and Joy’s plates with fruit tart pastries and plump cherries with pudding.
Pastries and pudding instead of boiled eggs and toast. There was little hope that the news of Miss Payton’s departure had not already spread through the servants’ quarters. Cook was coddling the children in preparation for the disappointment to come when they learned of their governess’s departure.
“When will Miss Samuels be well again?” Joy asked.
“Soon, I hope,” Abram replied, filling his own plate.
“I shall visit her after our meal.” Joy turned to look out the window at the garden below. “Mayhap a bouquet of posies will brighten her day.”
Damon’s spirits sank further. “I am afraid Miss Samuels is not at Ashford Hall. She is resting at her own home.” At least Damon hoped she had a home to return to.
“Where is it?” Joy prodded. “After I fell into the pond and nearly drowned—”
“Do not be overdramatic, Joy,” Abram chastised. “You merely swallowed a bit of water when you thought yourself an adequate swimmer.”
Joy stuck out her tongue at her brother before continuing, “As I was saying, when I nearly drowned, Miss Samuels remained by my bedside. I should do no less for her. Isn’t that correct, Father?”
Her shining, green eyes looked up into his, and Damon was hesitant to extinguish the light in the girl’s face.
“That will not be possible.” Damon shook his head, all his nerves failing him at Joy’s upturned face.
They couldn’t be there to comfort Payton—Payton had left them.
However, breaking his daughter’s heart would be his undoing.
“Miss Samuels’ note said the sickness is contagious, and we mustn’t visit for fear of falling ill ourselves. ”
The lie fell from his lips far too easily, though that did not stop the guilt from pooling in his stomach. At some point, sooner rather than later, he’d need to tell them the truth—hopefully, before they overheard the news from one of the servants.
Yet, Damon lacked the courage to speak the words, for when he did, things would be final.
He’d thought he would feel a sense of relief with Payton’s parting. No longer did it matter what had transpired between them—and what hadn’t. What had been said, and what remained unsaid. As was always the case, it was only him and the children. Their small family of three.
The children had gotten on well with Flora and her lady’s companion the day before when they dined together. They’d appeared happy and content, while Flora had taken an interest in Joy’s love of horses and Abram’s habit of comparing anything and everything to a battle from years past.
In time, Damon would find a new governess for the children, and it would be like Payton had never come into his household. She’d been their governess for a mere six weeks. Certainly, that was not enough time for the children to form such an affection that they would mourn her.
This was what he wanted, after all. Damon had become far too attached himself, and that did not bode well for anyone.
Damon ate his meal slowly and in silence, waiting for the tension to release within him.
It did not happen.
He’d let Payton walk out of his house without even attempting to change her mind. He’d languished over the idea of going after her, but he feared it would only make matters worse and push her farther away.
Perhaps it would take time for normalcy to return, just as it had taken time for his children to latch on to their new governess.
Damon shook his head to dispel any thoughts of Payton, their kiss, and the draw between them that had grown so powerful he could no longer ignore it.
With time, the attraction and memories would fade until she no longer came to mind at all.
Much like…
Betrayal twisted his heart with a vise-like grip as he realized he’d gone nearly an entire day without thinking of Sarah, his loss, and the sorrow laced with despair that always followed.
How had he allowed his pain to lessen and slip away unnoticed? When had he begun to change without even realizing it was happening?
He couldn’t focus on why his mind wandered to Payton nearly as much as it had been absorbed all these years by losing Sarah.
No, the children would be devastated by Payton’s withdrawal, and it was his fault.
This time, he was determined to be there for them instead of shutting himself away in his study.
It was the one lesson he was more than qualified to teach them: people left, and life was full of disappointment, resentment, and anguish.
It was a fact of life, and sometimes, there was no rhyme or reason to it all.
It hurt. It changed a person. It left loved ones reeling in their wake; questioning their every decision, their every move, their every belief.