Page 78 of The Gambler Wagers Her Baron

“Miss Samuels.”

“Ah, yes, thank you, Primrose.” Flora returned her attention to Damon. “Whatever have the children done this time to send another governess running?”

Damon could not lay the burden at his children’s feet this time, nor could he admit that it was his mistake that’d sent Payton running. “The decision was mine, as it were, not Miss Samuels’.”

Flora stiffened. “I see, now.”

Dread laced through him at the thought of Flora seeing anything where Payton was concerned.

“She was unqualified,” Flora said with a confident nod. “I suppose I should have seen it long before this point.”

Damon breathed a sigh of relief. It was difficult to keep anything a secret in London; however, his connection to Payton would need to remain just that—a secret.

“I would not say unqualified, dear sister,” Damon mused as if it were of little importance why Miss Samuels was no longer his children’s governess. “Mayhap unprepared for such a daunting role. She is rather young herself.”

“And rather handsome, too.” Flora slapped her knee with a chuckle. “Girl should be setting her sights on finding a suitable husband before she grows long in the tooth. If you ask me, Damon, I’d say you did the woman a grand favor.”

Damon wasn’t asking Flora, although it was difficult to deny. Payton was at the age when a woman should be setting her sights on starting her own family, not watching after another’s children. There was no need to close his eyes to visualize her with a dark-haired babe on her hip and a smile upon her face. She’d been wonderful with Joy, and supportive of Abram’s rather eccentric tendencies. She would do the same for her own children.

His heart squeezed until his chest ached at the very real possibility that he would not see her again, let alone happy and content with a family of her own.

A soft knock sounded on the door, and they all turned when the butler entered.

“Miss Darby has arrived to see you, my lady,” the Wittenbottom servant proclaimed.

“Very good, Vernon. Please show her to the green salon.” After the butler had vacated the room, Flora turned to him with a smile. “I am certain Miss Darby will not disappoint with her selection.”

She said selection as if the decision had already been made—a governess found.

“I do look forward to speaking with her choices.”

“I doubt that will be necessary.” Flora stood, Miss Primrose bolting to her feet to follow, but his sister shook her head. “Please wait here. Damon and I will see to Miss Darby.”

Flora’s companion sat on the lounge, and Damon longed to change places with the woman. “Yes, my lady,” she mumbled.

Damon held out his arm for Flora, and they departed the room, making their way to the green salon. His sister, seemingly at ease, strode confidently at this side, while Damon had a sinking feeling that he was being led to the Tower.

Chapter 25

Payton sat rigidly in the high-back chair, her hands resting on the armrests on each side as she attempted to remain silent. Garrett, in opposition, toyed with the cloth napkin on his lap as they waited for Marce to join them for their meal.

Payton had been foolish to think that the situation she’d entangled herself in with Damon was the only debacle afoot. In less than two full days, she’d witnessed a parade of men coming and going from Craven House: Mr. Adams, who handled Marce’s financial investments; a gentleman called only by his given name, Miles, who clearly worked in trade; and the tall stranger Payton had seen at a ball the previous year.

Something big was afoot, and Marce was tight-lipped as usual. Her eldest sister was also withdrawn and solemn, not seeming to notice that Payton hadn’t left Craven House since she’d arrived the previous morning.

For brief periods of time, Payton had even been able to put Damon from her mind as she slunk around the house, hoping to overhear her sister and learn what was going on.

“Good evening,” Marce said, her tone ringing across the room.

Payton glanced at Garrett, taken aback by Marce’s jovial mood after their difficult conversation the previous day, and the constant flow of guests in and out of Craven House.

“What has you in such fine spirits?” Garrett stood and pulled Marce’s seat out for her to sit. “You were quite dour when last we spoke.”

Marce retrieved her napkin and draped it across her lap, signaling for Darla to serve their meal—a light fare of duck soup, roasted pheasant, and fresh bread—before addressing them.

“I am never in a dour mood,” she retorted. However, her tone rose a note. “My place as head of this family is one of great responsibility.”

“Go on,” Payton prodded, tiring of her sister’s tendency to remain furtive when she suspected that Payton desperately wanted to know something. “Do not keep us in suspense. Who is the mystery man, and why have you been strange of late?”