Page 28 of The Gambler Wagers Her Baron

She shivered at the thought of Lord Ashford handing her over to Catherton. She’d been a fool to allow the duke to bait her into such a grand wager. And now the baron was involved. She’d ruined an advantageous situation and lost her meager savings in the process. Her chest tightened at the thought of starting over—without her money or her post at Ashford Hall.

Hopefully, Marce would return from her trip by her next day off so Payton could throw herself on her sister’s mercy and beg for the funds to settle the debt. Never again would she gamble…at least not more than she could afford.

But she couldn’t tell Marce that part. It would be akin to giving up a large portion of her newly found freedom—a piece of herself. She would need to promise never to ply her hand at cards or any wager again. Perhaps it was time she put her gambling behind her, find a new way—a sensible way—to secure the future she intended for herself.

“Miss Samuels?” Joy stuck her head into the room from the sitting area. “Are you going to eat with us?”

She smiled at the child, her mood lightening at the sight of the young girl, free from her nightmares. “Only if Cook sent enough for us all.”

“Cheese with jam and fresh bread.”

She didn’t normally luncheon with the children, favoring a brief few moments to herself before their afternoon lessons commenced; however, Joy had awoken in a delicate mood—finding Payton straight off and remaining close all morning.

“Oh, that sounds delightful,” Payton accepted.

They hadn’t spoken about the previous evening, but from the soft pink that blossomed in Joy’s cheeks each time Payton noticed the girl watching her, Payton knew she too was thinking about the private moment they’d shared. But how to bring up the subject?

Was it better to leave the topic alone for now?

If the child had more she longed to talk about, she would eventually bring it up when she was ready. It was undoubtedly a difficult thing to speak about with someone as unfamiliar as a governess. It had taken years for Payton to accept that Marce could help her heal; that losing their mother did not mean the end of their family.

The loss of Baroness Ashford shouldn’t have meant the end for Joy and Abram. Yet each day, she witnessed their father pulling further and further away from his children. Where Payton and her siblings had banded together, the baron and his children had drifted apart, allowing a void as vast as the English Channel to open between them.

“Hurry up!” Joy shrieked.

“Or what?” Payton countered, pushing away from the closed door. “The cheese will turn moldy and the bread stale?”

With a giggle, the child spun on her heels, her long braids whipping behind her as she fled back to the table and her meal.

Something was different about the child today…more to the point, everything was different. Before, Joy had been a child with the weight of the world’s troubles upon her. Holding her down and dispelling any sense of calm. Maybe it was Payton who’d changed, not Joy. She’d told a story, her own personal nightmare, for the first time—ever. There had been no expectations surrounding her confession, nor had she believed that Joy was fully awake and listening; however, the simple retelling of her past heartbreak had shifted something within Payton. It had brought back the importance of her mother’s words—the truth of them.

Payton followed the girl into the adjoining sitting room. A table had been set up by a footman with the meal atop. She watched in stunned silence as Joy bounced to her brother’s side and gave him a loud kiss on the cheek.

“Yuck!” he exclaimed, wiping the offending spot. “I do not want to think about where your lips have been.”

“I kissed a horse’s rump,” Joy teased. “A mangy horse’s behind.”

Payton covered her mouth to hide her smile and stifled a chuckle. Odd that such a ruckus would have irritated her before, but now she saw the endearing connection between the pair. It was the same kinship she shared with her own siblings.

“Miss Samuels,” Abram whined. “Make her stop.”

She swallowed, morphing her face into an impassive stare. “Joy,” she scolded, her tone rising a notch to betray her mirth. “Apologize to your brother and sit down.”

Joy plopped down into her seat, her elbows landing on the small, circular table with a thud. “Sorry you are more sensitive than Auntie Flora.”

“That’s not an apo—”

“Joy, that is quite enough,” Payton warned, taking her own seat. “And, Abram, it would behoove you to tamp down your gullible side, or you will surely be taken for every shilling you have.”

“I am not gullible.” Abram crossed his arms with a huff and slunk down in his chair.

“Elbows off the table,” Payton said in Joy’s direction, mildly surprised when the girl complied. “And you should sit up straight, Abram, or you’ll end up with a crooked back by the time you are my age.”

“I don’t plan to live past forty,” he scoffed.

“Forty?” Payton said, allowing her laughter to fill the room. “How old do you think I am?”

“With how dour you are, certainly as old as Father.”