The Headmistress of Rosemere (17 page)
She tried to hide her effort, but he noticed. He noticed everything. He extended his arm toward her. She looked ahead toward Rosemere. The walk was still a distance, and with the darkening
night and the insufficient support of her shoes, she hesitated. Not only walking alone with a man, but on his arm?
“I only mean to be of assistance.”
She allowed her eyes to meet his for a moment, and her heart fluttered.
She stepped as close as she dared, kept her eyes low, and tucked her gloved hand in the crook of his arm. Fire seemed to reach up from the touch, and yet, at the same time, it felt natural. Emotions battled within her as she could feel the muscles in his arm twitch, even beneath the thick wool of his coat. She felt safe. Protected. What surprised her the most was the emotion tightening her throat. How long had she missed this? How long had she longed for support, for someone to share her load, even something as simple as offering her their arm?
She stole a sideways glance at him as he pulled the horse into movement with his other hand. Her heart ached at the beauty of him—handsome out of a fairy tale. Quickly her brief romance with Ewan flashed before her. Could it be William Sterling she had been dreaming of? Waiting for ever since that day that Ewan quitted Rosemere?
But she needed to remember he was beyond her reach. She would be a fool to assume otherwise. He was doing her a kindness. Perhaps out of responsibility. Out of pity. She could not know. For did he not have the name of another woman on his lips just days ago? Were she not careful, her heart would pay a price for her folly.
“I remember you, Miss Creighton.”
“Oh?”
“From when we were children. You came with your father to Eastmore. You were sitting in the foyer, waiting.”
She did not recall the incident, but the fact that he did brought a smile to her lips.
“You had a doll with you,” he added, “and you were showing it to my mother.”
“That would have been a very long time ago, indeed.”
“Amazing how quickly the years slip by.”
He sidestepped to lead his horse around a rock in the path, and by doing so he moved closer to her.
“I heard that you spent a great deal of time in London.” She felt brave for bringing up what she had heard of him, but at her words, his lips formed a tight line.
“That is another world away, Miss Creighton. One best left in the past.”
“But do you not miss it?” she asked, suddenly hungry to learn as much as she could about him. “Darbury is so small.”
His steps slowed until finally he stopped walking altogether. He hesitated and then turned to face her. Night’s shadow blurred his features, but his voice was sure. “Have you ever been to London?”
“I have not.”
He looked off to the distance, as if carefully choosing his words. “London is brilliant, but it also has a dark side. Do not doubt it, Miss Creighton. For a number of reasons, London is no longer my home.”
She searched for the meaning behind every word. “So you will be staying at Eastmore, then?”
A smile warmed his expression in the twilight’s bitter cold. “Right now I can think of no reason to leave.”
There could be no mistaking his meaning, for at the words, with lead rope in hand, he covered her hand in the crook of his arm with his other hand. At the simple movement, the blood raced through her ears with unprecedented fervor.
“Miss Creighton, I hope I do not overstep my bounds when I tell you that I admire the work you are doing. I do not question your abilities. I only wish to say that if you are ever in need of assistance, I am at your service.”
“I thank you for that.” Whether it was the darkness of the night or the honest nature of the conversation, she felt emboldened. “I might accept your kind offer. For as much as I love the school, there always is so much to be done.”
“And your mother? Does she help?”
She wondered if she would regret sharing her thoughts, her fears. But as the words started to slip from her lips, her confidence grew. She shared snippets of her struggle, and he listened with earnest interest.
They finally stopped outside the courtyard wall’s wooden gate. Despite the impropriety of the situation, her heart felt light, her soul, free. Her hand slipped from his arm.
Now that they were back at Rosemere, reality pricked her. She suddenly felt anxious about being discovered, painfully aware of how it would appear for her to be discovered alone with him under the shadows of the birch branches. Her eyes flicked nervously to the top of the house, the only part visible over the courtyard wall. “I must go.”
He nodded, but the look in his eyes, the affection in his expression, fixed her to her spot, unwilling to let her go.
Her feet did not seem to obey her command. She tightened her cape around her shoulders, hoping her words did not sound as hopeful as the thoughts running through her mind. “Will we see you at Rosemere soon, Mr. Sterling?”
He looked toward the house and then back at her. A grin dimpled his cheek in the night’s dark shadow. “Nothing could keep me away.”
H
e should not be so eager to see the woman.
Yet William could think of little else.
How was it possible that in such a brief time, memories of her infused themselves into his mind? Miss Creighton’s soft touch when she tended his arm. Her gentle voice as she soothed Emma. The innocence in her expression and the feel of her hand on his arm during their twilight walk on the moors. And those magnificent green eyes.
Ever since the fire he’d been able to entertain no other thought. He had searched for any excuse to visit.
And rebuilding the stable was the perfect reason. Hardly romantic, yet practical. He guessed she would fly away if he should express romantic interest, but the stable and the school were important to her. And with each passing day, they were becoming important to him too.
William knocked sharply on Rosemere’s door.
While he waited for an answer, he reminded himself of
one important fact: their lives were different. At one point, the mere fact that he was master of Eastmore Estate and she was the headmistress’s daughter would have been enough to keep them apart, but recent events were closing that gap. But if he wanted to rebuild his life and restore Eastmore Hall to its former glory, he needed to stay focused on the prize. Any diversion could prove disastrous—or deadly, if Captain Rafertee’s men had anything to do with it.
But one more visit could hardly hurt.
The door opened.
“Ah, George.”
“Good day, Mr. Sterling.” The burly man opened the door wider and stepped back, out of the way.
William walked in and removed his hat and coat and handed them to the servant. “I’ve just been out to see Hugh Strong. He will be by tomorrow with plans to begin work on the new stable.”
George draped William’s coat over his arm. “Good. I’ll be expecting him then.”
“I’ve come to speak with Miss Creighton about it. Is she available?”
George ushered him through Rosemere’s oblong foyer and down a narrow hall to the study.
Last time he was in the building, William had little interest in his surroundings, but as his attraction to Miss Creighton grew stronger, he found himself wanting to know everything about her—even the little details of the home she grew up in and the school she was so devoted to. But today he noticed the wainscoting. The long string of portraits lining the hall. Everything looked so orderly. So tidy. At least in these front rooms, there was no indication that twenty-nine children lived within these walls. In fact, the silence indicated that the children were either amazingly well behaved or still in shock from the fire.
George opened the door to the study and stepped aside. Miss Creighton looked up and smiled when William entered. She was seated next to the fire with a little girl on her lap, who was wrapped in a blanket, book in hand.
“You’ll have to forgive me if I do not rise, Mr. Sterling.” Miss Creighton’s smile was pretty, her expression relaxed. “We have been reading. You remember Miss Simmons, of course.”
Emma stared up at him. Her color was brighter. She looked . . . better. And she clearly recognized him. But the expression of shock that had been on her face when he first saw her was gone. Instead, a sweet smile dimpled her cheeks. “Good day, Mr. Sterling.”
He knelt down to look at her at eye level. “And how are you, Miss Simmons?”
Emma’s light eyes flicked toward Miss Creighton before refocusing back on him. Her voice was still raspy. “Very well, thank you.”
He smiled. “You gave me quite a fright in the stable.”
She cut her eyes back to Miss Creighton. Miss Creighton nodded, and the little girl climbed down from her lap. Her small boots tapped as they hit the wood floor, and she shook the folds out of her gown. Primly, she folded her hands in front of her. “Thank you for saving me, Mr. Sterling.” Her little chin began to tremble, and she looked again toward her headmistress, then back to him. “I am sorry I disobeyed you.”
Taken aback by her sudden apology after such a strong fight, he did not know what he should say. What he should do.
Still down at her eye level, he said, “It is quite all right, young lady. I am happy you are well.”
“Miss Creighton said you hurt your arm.” Her little eyebrows drew together. “Was it my fault?”
It was his turn to look up to Miss Creighton for guidance. He cleared his throat. “Of course not, Miss Simmons. It was an accident. And besides, it is all better now.”
Her thin shoulders seemed to relax, and her words flowed more freely. “And thank you for saving Delilah. She is not really as naughty as everyone says she is. Miss Creighton says maybe when I am all the way better I may go visit her at your house.”
“You are welcome to visit her anytime.”
He stood, expecting their conversation to be over. But the child stepped even closer. “Did you bring your horse?”
Slightly confused, he asked, “My horse?”
“Yes, the big one.”
William had never thought of Angus as a particularly large animal, but he supposed that to someone Emma’s size, the horse would seem massive. “Of course. He is out front.”
She ran to the window, enthusiasm restored, dark hair swinging at her waist. “He is handsome.”
William stood behind her and looked at his mount tied outside. “Yes, I suppose he is.”
“Is he the one that hurt you?”
Miss Creighton rose from her seat and stepped toward the child. “Emma!” She placed her hands on the child’s shoulders and turned her from the window. “Remember your manners.”
Emma pinned him with her gaze. “But he threw you?”
Suddenly, William remembered the conversation he had with the child before the fire. “It was not his fault. It was mine.”
“But he threw you.”
Miss Creighton caught his eye and then nudged the child backward. “I think that’s enough for today.”
“But Mr. Sterling said—”
“You can ask him your question later. Mr. Sterling is a busy man. Why don’t you find Miss Baden?”
A pout formed on the little girl’s lips. “Yes, ma’am.” With her shoulders slouched, she dropped a reluctant curtsy. “Good-bye, Mr. Sterling.”
He bowed formally, surprised to realize that he was smiling. “Good day, Miss Simmons.”
Miss Creighton waited for the door to close behind Emma. “You will have to forgive Emma, Mr. Sterling. The past few days have been upsetting for her. She is still not quite herself.”
“No need to apologize, Miss Creighton.”
“And do you have news of Charlie?”
“He is well. He helped Lewis shoe one of the horses this morning, and he seems quite natural with such tasks.”
An expression of genuine happiness crossed Miss Creighton’s face. “Oh, I am so glad to hear it. Won’t you be seated?”
“I’ve no wish to keep you from your duties. I merely stopped by to inform you that there should be men by tomorrow to begin work on the stable.”
She clasped her hands in front of her. “Oh, that is excellent news! I was so afraid we would have to wait because of the weather.”
“Weather permitting, they should be done relatively quickly. Although the sky is growing dark, I am afraid. Not a good sign.”
Wheels suddenly clamored outside. William leaned over to look out the narrow window overlooking the drive below. A black coach drawn by four matching bays lurched to a stop on the circular drive, leaving behind hoofprints and wheel tracks in the snow.
“It appears you have visitors, Miss Creighton.”
The young headmistress stood and joined William at the window, bringing with her the scent of rosewater. She looked out, and had he not been looking directly at her, he would have missed how her eyes glazed with tears and her color paled.
Unsure of what to make of the sudden change of demeanor, he said, “Who is it?”
Miss Creighton wrung her hands, then looked out the window once again. “It is my brother. It is Rawdon.”
A
strange mixture of relief and apprehension swirled within Patience as she hastened from her father’s study, her guest forgotten, and hurried to the entrance of Rosemere. She could scarcely prevent the quickening of her steps as she flung open the door and stepped into the bitterly cold afternoon.