The Headmistress of Rosemere (21 page)

Patience drew a sharp breath, feeling almost sorry for the girl. Lydia was but a child, hardly a woman. Could she be any older than the oldest pupils, still preparing to make their way in the world? “Here, sit here. What is it you would like to help with?”

“Teaching.”

Patience swallowed, unsure how to handle the feeling that the new Mrs. Creighton was treading too far into her world. “Do you like children, Mrs. Creigh—I mean, Lydia?”

Her eyes brightened. “Oh yes. Quite. I even helped teach my young cousins to read.”

Not knowing what else to say, Patience muttered, “You must miss your family.”

Lydia nodded and looked at the floor. “Indeed. But God is good, is He not? He has given me a husband and a new sister in you. I miss my family, but I shall see them again.”

The words of God spoken so freely took Patience aback. “Well then, what is it that you would like to teach? Have you a special area of interest?”

“I play the pianoforte. And I sing. Rawdon says that both of those are taught here.”

“Indeed, they are.” Patience felt a twinge of guilt for not being more welcoming to this young woman who was far from home. She offered a smile. “I will speak to the other teachers. I am sure they will be grateful for the assistance.”

Patience was about to say more, but the study door flew open, as it did nearly every day, and there, in the doorway, stood Cassandra.

Cassandra’s flushed expression changed when she beheld Lydia.

Patience jumped to her feet, fearing that Cassandra would disappear as quickly as she had come or, worse yet, would say something she might regret.

Patience rushed to Cassandra and took her by the arm. Her friend was trembling. Clearly, Cassandra had figured out Lydia’s identity. Patience wanted to soothe the pain that she knew must ache, but at some point, the women needed to meet. As long as Cassandra was at Rosemere, it was inevitable.

“Lydia, allow me to introduce Cassandra Baden, a teacher here and a great friend.”

Lydia stood and smiled, seemingly oblivious to any discomfort, and clasped her hands before her. “How lovely to meet you, Miss Baden.”

Patience winced at Lydia’s unchecked enthusiasm. Her pretty brightness. She cast a quick glance, taking note of the subtle
gathering of moisture in Cassandra’s brown eyes and the slight reddening of her nose. The words felt dry in her mouth, yet Patience continued, “And Miss Baden, my sister-in-law, Lydia Creighton.”

She marveled how Cassandra managed a smile, a proper greeting, and a nod, all before politely dismissing herself.

Lydia gave a little giggle as Cassandra closed the door behind her. “I think I shall be happy at Rosemere, Miss Creighton.”

Patience eyed the empty space where her friend had been standing. Time was changing. Everyone around her was changing, moving in their own rhythms. Could it be that she was changing too?

18

A
few hours later Patience sat across from Lydia in the drawing room while they worked on their embroidery. Her mother had even joined them, and little Louisa, who was feeling poorly, slept on a sofa just across from Patience, her head on Lydia’s lap. As she stole another glance at Lydia, Patience was reminded of the Shakespearean tragedy she had read with the girls so many times—Brutus betraying Julius Caesar.

Cassandra was in an upstairs room, weak from crying and sorrow, and here she sat with the woman who was at the source of her dearest friend’s heartache. Patience had managed, after the awkward interchange between Lydia and Cassandra in the study, to convince Cassandra to remain at Rosemere until she at least found another position. In the light of this new day, Cassandra seemed more rational, but even with this small victory, Patience feared losing her friend forever.

Patience shifted uncomfortably and looked at her mother, enveloped in a wingback chair. She was clad in modest black
bombazine with a widow’s cap atop her graying head. For the first time in months, the older woman’s pudgy fingers worked an embroidery needle. The lines on her face seemed softer today, and her color was decidedly improved. Patience looked down at her own embroidery. Red roses intertwined with ivy with a most intricate backstitch. She had embroidered a verse her father had often quoted:

Trust in the Lord with all thine heart; and lean not unto thine own understanding. In all thy ways acknowledge him, and he shall direct thy paths.

The words, which she had worked with such love, seemed vacant, hollow.

At any other time Patience would have been pleased that her mother was resuming one of the tasks she had enjoyed. But instead, the step forward was bittersweet. Patience remembered how for months she had been unable to rouse her mother from despair. With Rawdon’s return, her mother had joined them for dinner last night and seemed to enjoy Lydia’s company. Patience should be grateful, but her heart would not allow it.

As Patience pulled out an incorrect stitch, she stole several glances at her new sister-in-law. Earlier that morning Lydia had looked pale, fragile. By early afternoon, she seemed much improved. Pinkness colored her cheeks a becoming hue, and her eyes, bright blue, were fixed firmly on her needlework.

“Your work is quite lovely,” Patience said.

Lydia looked up and smiled. “Why, thank you. I fear my governess spent many hours trying to teach me the art. You would think for all of her teaching my skill would be greater than it is.”

Patience lowered her work. “You were educated by a governess?”

“Indeed.” Lydia looked wistfully to the ceiling before turning
back to Patience. “Miss Wimple. She first taught my older sisters. She has been with my family for as long as I can remember.”

Lydia appeared barely old enough to be out of her governess’s care. Even with her hair swept high above her head, her fair skin and fresh expression made her seem so young. “Forgive me for asking, Lydia, but what is your age?”

“Eighteen.” A playful smile curved her lips. “And I can guess what you are thinking.”

Patience bit her tongue. There is no way Lydia could possibly guess what was in her mind.

“I am young to marry, to be sure, but my father was pleased. Rawdon is an impressive young man, and my father has long admired him and found the match most agreeable.”

“And why would he not?” Patience’s mother beamed proudly. “Rawdon is the kindest man. So like his father.”

Patience saw—and seized—the opportunity to learn more. “How did you become acquainted with Rawdon?”

“It was just under six months ago at a ball my parents were hosting, and my father introduced me to him. The first time I danced with him, I knew my heart had been captured.”

Patience drew a steadying breath. Her brother at a ball? So soon after their father’s death? She swallowed her misgivings and looked down at her needlework. “Your courtship was quick, indeed.”

“Yes.” Lydia sighed, and a flush rushed to her cheeks. “However, I fear I am quite a romantic. Some things are meant to be.”

The talk continued until the late-afternoon sun created long shadows across the drawing room’s modest rug. Despite her reservations when she sat down, Patience was surprised to find herself actually becoming fond of her new sister-in-law. The young woman possessed an easiness, an openness. And it was nice to finally hear her mother laugh.

Eventually a comfortable silence settled over the room. Patience allowed herself to enjoy this free time, the diversion of her needlework. But it wasn’t long before a carriage sounded on the drive. She heard a man shout.

Patience looked up. They’d been expecting a new student—a young girl from Manchester.

“That must be the new Sutter girl, although I wasn’t expecting her for another day or two.” Concerned, Patience put down her needlework and went to the window.

On the drive, the carriage rocked to a stop, and a tall, thin man with a tall beaver hat and caped greatcoat stepped down. Patience frowned and squinted, trying to get a better view, but the man’s hat brim blocked his face.

No child exited the carriage. Something about the man’s gait seemed familiar and gave Patience reason to pause. His arms swung in a recognizable manner when he walked.

Unable to contain her curiosity, Patience hurried down to the entrance in time to be present when George opened the front door.

“Can I help you, s—” Her words dissolved into silence as she beheld the man. He was far from a stranger. In fact, no man could be less of one. For before her stood none other than Ewan O’Connell. She could not have been more surprised if the Prince Regent himself stood outside her doorway.

“Ewan,” she stammered, barely able to hear her own words over the violent beating of her heart. Then, realizing she had addressed him by his Christian name, she quickly corrected herself. “I mean, Mr. O’Connell.”

She could not think of an appropriate welcome. Her disciplined etiquette fled. Her wit slowed.

He returned her stare, his light brown eyes fixed on her, as if he were as shocked to see her as she was to see him. He snatched his hat from his head clumsily and held it in midair. Then an easy
smile crept over his lips, crinkling the corners of his eyes. “Patience Creighton. I trust you are well.”

Patience remembered to breathe. Such formality from the person who had shared her schoolroom. Shared her family’s table. Even proposed marriage to her!

Memories of the day she refused him flashed before her. His red-rimmed eyes. The hurt. Today, quite another man stood before her. A much more confident man who now did not seem the least bit affected by seeing her again.

“Indeed, I am.” She suddenly felt dizzy, as if she had seen a ghost.

But Mr. O’Connell was no ghost.

Patience grew uncomfortable under the weight of his gaze, and she finally managed to find her voice. “What brings you to Rosemere, Mr. O’Connell?”

He stepped closer, his smile never leaving. He seemed to tower over her. Indeed, he was much taller than she remembered. “Your brother asked for my assistance.”

Rawdon? Rawdon knew about this? If Rawdon knew Ewan was coming, why did he not say as much?

The grin on Ewan’s face faded. “I see Rawdon did not mention I was coming.”

“I am sorry, he did not.” Patience forced a pleasant expression to her face. She had navigated through difficult situations several times this month alone, and she would manage through this one. “But you are always welcome at Rosemere, Mr. O’Connell.”

She must have looked quite the simpleton, standing dumbstruck, staring at the man as if he were a court jester.

“Dare I presume that my room is still available?” His Scottish lilt was much less pronounced than it had been those many years ago.

His room? She thought of the small chamber on the third floor he had stayed in, the room directly above where she slept. Did he
still think of that as his own after he abandoned them in the middle of the night?

A wave of guilt swept over her. Or, in truth, did he feel pushed out of their family by her refusal?

“Of . . . of course,” she stammered, absently smoothing her hair from her face. “George will take your things up and will see that a fire is started.”

“Thank you.” Ewan adjusted his satchel over his narrow shoulders and turned away as if to follow George, but then stopped and turned back. His eyes locked on her in a manner that was far too intimate. Far too possessive. “It is good to see you again, Miss Creighton.”

Miss Creighton. Never before had he ever called her that. Always Patience. “Let me call for my brother, Ew—Mr. O’Connell. He will be—”

Before her lips could form the rest of the words, Rawdon burst through the front entrance. “O’Connell! I thought I heard a carriage! Good man,” he exclaimed, clasping the man on the shoulder.

“Creighton.”

“I see you have already been reacquainted with Patience.”

“Yes.” Ewan looked at her with those eyes again. The eyes that, even when they had been children, felt as if they could see to her soul. “It has been too long.”

She shifted uncomfortably, wishing that any interruption would come. A girl running in the hall. A pupil needing assistance. But for once, the hall was quiet.

Desperate to end the suffocating silence, she blurted out, “How long will you be staying?”

A flash of confusion darkened his features, then a smile appeared. “Well, that remains to be seen.”