Page 46 of The Gambler Wagers Her Baron

“Hmmm.” He dropped down to his back, lacing his fingers behind his head.

That her mother was once wedded to a marquess was of little import to this conversation. It did not make her nobility, nor did it make her lofty.

“Do you not believe me?” She couldn’t help her eyes widening. She’d never spoken of her lineage with another, besides her siblings, and to have Lord Ashford pushing the information about the circumstances of her birth aside like it meant nothing in the grand scheme of things was…startling, to say the least.

“I said nothing of the sort,” he said with a chuckle.

The man seemed to enjoy angering her.

“So, tell me, why does the peerage baffle you?” He returned to their original topic, and Payton had a difficult time remembering why, exactly, they puzzled her.

She bit her bottom lip and sank to the blanket beside the baron. “They only leave their homes to parade themselves before others to make certain all and sundry know their status. They select gowns of the latest fashion, not because they are taken by the cut and color, but to show that they have the coin to afford extravagant things. Lords gamble away their fortunes to prove money means nothing to them because they possess far more than any man needs. All of this while so many in London and beyond go without food, without proper education, without things as simple as shoes or a warm coat.”

Her ramblings were more akin to her sister Judith’s thoughts. However, telling the baron that being surrounded by lords and ladies satisfied to strut before their peers much like peacocks seemed a juvenile thing to say. And completely out of the ordinary for her, especially after the fine gown she’d selected at the modiste’s shop earlier that day. She was not prone to fits of hypocrisy, or at least she hadn’t thought so. The baron was certain to rebuff her jaded outlook on societal life; his position within it demanded that he defend his peers.

He turned his head toward her. “You are very wise, Miss Samuels.”

“Thank you. I think,” she murmured, eyes turning to him to see if his words were truth or a way to placate her churlishness.

“If there is one thing I pray you teach my children, it is compassion.”

They’d never, even once, spoken of his wishes for Joy’s and Abram’s education. “You can, just as easily, teach them.”

While many nobles she’d met lacked compassion, Payton wasn’t certain Lord Ashford did.

They both fell silent, lost in their own thoughts as the warm afternoon sun shone down on them. The baron’s light brown hair had golden strands weaved through it. His cheeks, pale from spending too much time indoors, were already turning a rosy pink from the sun.

His ability to relax galled her.

Was it his position as a baron, a wealthy one at that, which gave him the ability to look thoroughly at peace? Since they’d departed the townhouse, he’d released the tension that normally bound him at home and even appeared several years younger. Perhaps gaining distance from his burdens was a benefit.

Payton huffed, closing her own eyes, determined to not allow the baron to distract her from enjoying her time outside Ashford Hall. The park was not the place she would pick to spend her afternoon, but at least they were not shuttered in the schoolroom.

Anyone on the outside looking in would think them a normal family.

A father. A mother. Two children.

But they were not a family, normal or otherwise.

No matter how many outings they went on, no matter how many meals they ate together, no matter how long they all resided under one roof. Longing filled her, a wholly unfamiliar longing to belong to something great, something permanent.

Payton had never been part of a typical family unit. Her mother, after falling from grace, had become London’s famed madame of Craven House. Her sisters’ reputations, while intact now, had been similarly tarnished not long ago.

What would it have been like if she’d followed in Sam’s and Jude’s footsteps and found a suitable man to wed? It had been easier for them; their father wasn’t a lowly blacksmith, he was a viscount. At that thought, a familiar feeling coursed through her: determination. She would rise above her circumstances, just as her mother had.

No, Payton was on a clear path to follow in their mother’s footsteps. To live each day waiting for the chance to better her circumstances. Today, she was a mere governess; but tomorrow, she could earn enough coin at the gaming tables to afford her own townhouse and be free to explore her choices for her future, beholden to no one.

The children’s laughter floated toward her, followed by a loud splash.

Heaven help her if Joy had pushed her brother into the filthy pond. It would mean a swift end to their day. A day she was loath to admit reminded her of her own childhood—the ease with which they’d traversed the menagerie, their stop at the Piccadilly modiste and bookshop, and now, their time in the park.

She squinted into the bright afternoon sun, turning her head toward the pond where she hoped to find the children playing. But all she saw was Abram, holding a stick extended over the water.

“Abram?” she called loudly to be heard over the pedestrians on the carriage path.

The boy turned to her, dropping the stick and waving his arms wildly.

Payton pushed to her feet, her gaze darting from the edge of the water back to the carriage path. No sign of Joy anywhere.