The Headmistress of Rosemere (24 page)

Patience looked down and twisted a ribbon around her finger. “What do you mean?”

“Nothing.” Cassandra shrugged and tucked an ivory comb in Patience’s hair. “That is to say, Mr. Sterling is an interesting man.”

Her throat felt dry. She’d told no one of their walk together on the moor and doubted anyone would have seen her, and yet Cassandra seemed to know something. “He is our landlord, nothing more.”

Cassandra smoothed one last lock of hair into place and then touched the pleated shoulder of Patience’s gown. “I know you just dressed, but in light of our new guest, I think you should wear something different tonight.”

Patience looked down at the lightweight fabric. “But this is my best mourning gown.”

“It has been six months, Patience.” Cassandra shook her head with a
tsk
. “I am not suggesting that you wear pink or yellow, but consider.” She scurried to the wardrobe. “Here, this lavender . . . or this dark blue would be appropriate.”

“Mother would never approve.”

“Well, the choice is yours, not hers, and you cannot wear black forever.”

Patience tilted her head to the side and studied the fabric. It shimmered in the candle’s light, and as much as she tried to deny it, the idea of wearing a gown made of a color other than dark mourning colors appealed to her vanity. “I suppose it would not hurt. Mother will likely be too preoccupied with the guests to notice.”

“Good. Then that is settled.” Cassandra selected the gown of midnight blue. “What of this one?”

Patience reached out and ran her hand down the fabric. It was a simple gown of sarcenet with a lace overlay on the bodice and long sleeves. A wide ivory ribbon circled the gown’s high waist. It had been her favorite last winter, and she had not touched it yet this season.

“Here, we can cover the light ribbon with a black one, and no one will be the wiser,” Cassandra said.

Patience removed her gown. Cassandra helped her adjust her petticoat and slip into the gown. Then she fastened the back. They turned to look in the mirror.

Patience had to admit the change of color, while still dark, was enough to make her appear not so pale. Even though the neckline was lower and the bodice more fitted, it was still a simple gown. Nothing, she imagined, that William Sterling was used to seeing on the ladies in London. But she was far from the type she imagined he was used to associating with. And they were far from London.

And yet, perhaps it was these differences that intrigued her so.

“I have just the thing. You stay here.” Cassandra hurried from the room as Mary reentered.

Mary’s eyes opened wide as she assessed Patience’s gown. “Look at that! So nice to see you out of all that black, Miss Creighton. Pretty young woman like you should not be in mourning for so long. Not with so many attractive men dining here. Imagine, two young and available men at Rosemere!”

“Mary!” The scold was out of Patience’s mouth before she could prevent it. “The idea!”

Mary raised her shoulders in an innocent shrug. “What? Do I not speak the truth? Just what a man needs, a little competition.”

Patience could feel the blush rising to her cheeks. Surely Mary remembered the circumstances that surrounded Mr. O’Connell and her those many years ago. Why would she bring it up? “I assure you, Mary, that that is the furthest thing from my mind.”

“If I were a young lady, it would certainly not be far from my
mind.” Mary’s face reddened and she looked down. “My apologies. I did not mean to offend.” Mary slipped out the door and closed it quietly.

Patience immediately regretted the sharpness of her tongue. Mary may be the housekeeper, but she had been a part of the Creighton family for so long that topics that would usually be improper for mistress and servant to address were often openly and easily discussed. Normally, Patience would take Mary’s lighthearted teasing in jest. But tonight every muscle in her body felt ready to snap, and her nerves felt as raw as the wind over the moors.

Alone in the room, she drew a deep breath and pressed her eyes shut. She could almost hear her father’s voice. He’d had an uncanny way of saying verses from the Bible instead of offering his own advice. He believed that God’s Word could solve problems and soothe pains. At this particular moment, she was wishing she had listened more closely. What wouldn’t she give to hear his rich baritone voice tell her the verse she needed to hear.

Cassandra returned, eyes bright. She extended a necklace with a small sapphire pendant. She held it up to the light. “See, this will be perfect! Turn around.”

Patience turned and stood still while Cassandra fastened the jewelry. She tried to feel happy, tried to feel pretty, but her concern for her friend pressed on her. Would the heaviness in her heart, the quiver in her stomach, ever subside?

Once Cassandra was finished with the clasp, Patience pivoted and assessed her appearance one last time. Her life was changing, shifting before her. For the first time in months, she breathed a prayer.

21

O
nce settled inside the parlor at Rosemere, William tried to relax. Creighton and O’Connell did not know of his struggles—or at least they gave no indication of such.

He looked down at the crystal goblet in his hand, the fire’s light catching on the intricate angles and sending out slivers of light. The dark liquid swirled in the glass. In the chair opposite his, Ewan O’Connell took a long swig. William searched his memory, but nothing about this man looked familiar. O’Connell was not a tall man, and with dark hair and pale brown eyes, his person was quite plain. And yet he moved about the room with an air of authority, a fact that William found interesting.

William set the glass down on a side table next to him. “I have not had the opportunity to congratulate you on your recent marriage, Creighton.”

“Thank you. I am a lucky man, indeed.”

“I hope I will get the opportunity to get to know both of you. Do you intend to stay in Darbury?”

“Yes, if Mrs. Creighton takes a fancy to it. If the past few days are any indication, I would say we plan to stay for quite some time. My wife is very fond of my sister and mother.”

William nodded. “Do you intend to teach?”

Creighton huffed, as if amused with the idea. “No. I was not blessed with the patience it takes to teach, as my father was and my sister is.”

“I see.” William cast a glance toward O’Connell. “With your sister in charge, I am sure you feel quite comfortable with her running things. She has greatly impressed me with her ability to stay calm in the midst of trial.”

“My sister is a capable woman, indeed, but I fear she has been burdened with the responsibility for long enough. She should pursue more feminine pursuits. And that is why I have persuaded O’Connell here to stay on as headmaster.”

William shifted his attention from Creighton to O’Connell. He could not put his finger on it, but something did not feel right. The man appeared too comfortable. Too relaxed. He looked back to Creighton. “So what is it you plan to do?”

“I have plans to expand the school.”

William shifted his position, his interest piqued. “Do you?”

“Yes, and in fact, that is the business matter I wanted to discuss with you. It is my intention to open a boys’ school.”

William rested his elbow on the chair’s padded arm. “That is ambitious.”

“Yes, and I believe we have the capacity to make this more profitable. But in order to do that, we will need to expand. It will be imperative that we keep the boys and girls completely separate, with separate living quarters.”

“Sounds reasonable.”

“We will, obviously, be making modifications. With your approval, of course, I intend to have a cottage built on the grounds
for my family so we can move out of Rosemere and use the west wing for the living quarters and the school rooms for the boys. There is plenty of room for such an undertaking. It will only take time.”

William considered the plan. The idea seemed sound in theory, but the logistics were another matter. “The grounds here are not that extensive. Where is your proposed location to build a cottage?”

“I was considering the space of flat land west of our front gate, where the main road breaks to the right of the river, next to Latham Hill.”

William raised an eyebrow.
Latham Hill
.

He decided to keep his plans for Latham Hill silent at present and turned to O’Connell. “And you? Do you intend to reside at the school? Or let a place in town?”

O’Connell’s smile seemed overly eager. “Here at the school, of course. I intend to run the school exactly as Mr. Creighton would have seen fit. ’Tis no secret that I owe my every success to Mr. Creighton. He became like a father to me. His family became like my family.”

“How is it that you were fortunate enough to end up under his tutelage? I was under the impression that Rosemere has always been a school for young ladies.”

“My father, who was a great friend of Mr. Creighton’s, died when I was but twelve. Mr. Creighton was kind enough to take me in and educate me alongside his own children. I left for London many years ago for personal reasons, yet I confess, I’ve long wished to return.”

William was about to open his mouth to speak when he heard the door creak open behind him and recognized George’s gravelly voice.

“The Hammonds have arrived, sir.”

William froze. Of all the names that could have possibly passed
the servant’s lips, this was the last name he would have expected.

The room suddenly seemed cold. Unwelcoming.

No, hot. And suffocating.

William licked his lips and glanced behind him, calculating exactly how many steps it would take to escape. Ever since Isabelle left, Hammond was the man William had vowed to avoid. Vowed to never speak with again. And he had been successful at it. But at the sound of boot heels on the bare wooden floor, he knew it was too late.

William diverted his eyes as the Hammonds embraced first Rawdon Creighton and then Ewan O’Connell. The obvious friendship immediately irked him.

It had been a mistake to come here. A mistake to believe that he could fit into any other world than the one he had been a part of for so many years. He waited in near agony for the man to notice his presence and watched as he walked around the room.

Thomas Hammond’s eyes, even though they were now behind spectacles, were much softer than he remembered. For after Isabelle’s sudden departure, William remembered Mr. Hammond’s eyes were dark and mere slits, his face red with anger. Today he appeared relaxed. Calm.

William blew out a breath. He was in the situation now, there was no escaping it. “Mr. Hammond.”

The older man’s smile was irritating. “William Sterling. My, but it has been a long time. How many years? Ah, but it does not matter. How you do look like your father.” William grew even more uncomfortable under the man’s obvious assessment. “It’s been too long, Sterling. Far too long for two men who live in such close proximity.”

How could the man act as if nothing had transpired between them? Act as casual as if they had met in town at the inn or passing on the street? William decided to remind him. “Eight years.”

Hammond did not seem fazed by the intentional hardness in William’s tone. “That’s a long time, to be sure.” William stiffened as the older man patted him on the shoulder before taking a seat on the opposite settee.

He was about to sit again himself and reassess his situation when another door opened. He almost didn’t recognize Miss Creighton when she stepped into the room. But at the sight of her, his breathing slowed. The angry pounding in his chest calmed. He forgot about Hammond. She smiled, and even though her smile was not directed at him, it was like a soothing balm that pacified his mounting anxiety.

She spoke to her brother. There was something different about her, and it took William a few moments to realize what it was: she wasn’t wearing black. Or gray. With the exception of the fire when she was wrapped in a blanket over her robe, she’d been dressed in black or dark gray, right down to a black shawl. But tonight a gown of deep blue hugged her slender form. The change of hue was becoming. Her complexion seemed brighter, rosier. The rich color enhanced the green shimmer of her eyes, and the dark blue made her hair, which now hung in soft ringlets to her shoulders, appear even blacker. The candlelight bathed the smooth skin of her chest and neck.

And then she looked at him. Gone was the careful reserve that had kept her at a distance in their previous interactions. For now her smile held warmth, her eyes held their secret. She looked at him boldly, almost expectantly. Energy surged through him, infusing him with courage and optimism.

He stood, remembering his manners, and managed a bow. A greeting.

“Mr. Sterling.” She gave a little curtsy.

She said something to O’Connell, who had approached when she entered, yet William could not take his attention from her smile. He wanted to recapture the Patience from the moors with the light touch of her hand on his arm and the hushed tone of her
voice. How he wished everyone else in the room would disappear so he could have these moments alone with her.

“I hope you brought your appetite, Mr. Sterling.”