Page 60 of The Gambler Wagers Her Baron

The transformation had been something he’d been proud of, though that did not stop him from wondering if Sarah would have felt the same had she still been alive. Were the colors too drab, the furniture too masculine, or the books not arranged as she’d like? She’d been a learned woman with a family who prided themselves on knowledge, similar to Damon’s way of thinking.

Joy leaned over her primer book, sounding out words as her finger traced the letters. He could almost picture an older version of the girl, diligently bent over some large tome, reading aloud the new progressions in medicine or the sciences.

Abram, on the far side of the room, had abandoned his desk for a cushion on the floor, three books open and spread out before him as he hastily made notes on a piece of paper before glancing at one of the books, turning a page, and nodding as if he’d found something unexpected yet enticing.

Damon’s sister might think that his children would flourish if given a chance to study outside their home; however, Flora was not their parent. Damon was their father, and despite all the years of uncertainty, he knew they belonged here, with him. At least for another few years.

Once Miss Samuels taught them all she knew, he would hire other tutors. They would study the ancient languages, foreign lands, and more of the sciences. Perhaps music and art if they desired.

Speaking of the governess, she paced at the front of the room, her own nose stuck in a book. He could not tell from the distance if the volume were of an educational nature or for pleasure. He lurked in the shadowy hall outside the door, confident that his presence wouldn’t be noticed.

After he’d ventured out the previous night, demanding Rigby drive him around town for several hours, Damon was pleased to hear that Miss Samuels had arrived home before him—safe and unharmed. It was inconceivable that he’d been forced out of his home for the simple fact that he couldn’t seem to collect his thoughts with Payton close. One moment, he desired nothing more than to go to her. And the next, he remembered the hardship of loss when someone he cared deeply for was no longer there. It was a constant struggle between his wants and his needs.

He wanted to hold her, touch her, kiss her.

However, he needed to remain separate and not allow his emotions to dictate his actions. Letting her close, allowing her in, would only make the hurt of her leaving more piercing.

Damon’s emotions were at war with his common sense—with neither finding clear victory.

He’d tiptoed down the hall housing her room, pressing his ear to each door as he passed, but no sounds had been heard. He knew she was within; however, a part of him needed the comfort in confirming it for himself. In the end, he’d continued to his own chambers and fell into a fitful slumber. Truly, he wondered if there were ever to be any other type of sleep for him.

They were all awake now.

Had Payton wondered about his whereabouts the night before? Had she fretted when she came home and found him still out?

He scoffed. It was likely she hadn’t noticed his absence at all.

The noise brought a trio of stares to him—Payton’s questioning glance, Joy’s excited bouncing, and Abram’s suspicious glare.

He deserved each reaction. He’d acted uncouth and pompous the previous night, and now he desperately wanted to make it up to his children…and their governess. He was at a loss for how, but he couldn’t allow that to stop him from attempting to make amends.

“Father.” Joy rushed from her seat and threw her arms around his legs, burrowing her face against his side. “Come, see my letters.”

It appeared his youngest had already forgiven him and completely recovered from her ordeal at the pond. From Payton’s and Abram’s reserved watchfulness, Damon had no doubt they would not be as easily persuaded.

He allowed Joy to lead him to her small desk, where she pointed to her slate. In a delicate hand, she had written the first five letters of the alphabet. The curve of the B precise, while the E was a bit less neat.

“Wonderful,” he marveled. He turned to Abram. “What are you working so diligently on, Abram?”

He wasn’t as excited to share his studies as Joy had been, but he pushed to his feet, bringing his stack of papers with him. “I am outlining the movements of soldiers during the Trojan War.” He held out his notes. “In Greece.”

Damon accepted the paper, impressed with Abram’s detailed accounting, as he kept his expression serious in an attempt to hide his grin. “I am well informed about the Trojan War—I am older, but I remember my studies at Eton well enough.”

“Miss Samuels was telling me all about Helen of Troy.” Joy closed her eyes, clutching her hands to her chest and swaying from side to side. “Ever so romantic. She was married to a great king but loved by many. She caused the war, did you know?”

“Helen of Troy cost her people many lives.” Abram snatched his papers back and slunk back to his place on the floor. “Besides, I am not convinced the woman ever existed. She is a fabled Greek myth, that is all.”

Damon remained quiet. He hadn’t sought out the schoolroom to partake of their lessons but invite them on a lesson of his own.

“I thought today might be a good day for the pair of you to discover all the hidden wonders of the museum.” He rocked back on his heels and waited for their ready excitement at the prospect of another excursion…and so soon after the disaster at the park. “I thought we might leave within the hour. Spend all day studying the exhibits.”

Damon glanced between the pair. From Joy’s vigorous nodding, she was prepared to depart that very moment; however, Abram stared between his books and his notes.

“I am in the middle of my lesson,” Abram mumbled. “I do not think—”

“Come now, son,” Damon prodded. “It will be great fun, and you can finish your lesson tomorrow. I’m certain your governess will allow you an extra day.”

Abram narrowed his stare at his father. “Great fun? The museum is a place of learning, not a playhouse.”