The Headmistress of Rosemere (Whispers on the Moors)

by Sarah E. Ladd

She waved her gloved hand in the air. “Mr. Sterling! Oh, Mr. Sterling!”

  He froze. It was too late. To leave now would be rude, and if he expected to raise Emma, he not only needed to be on good terms with Mr. Rawdon Creighton but with his wife as well.

  He walked across the street and bowed. “Mrs. Creighton. Pleasure to see you.”

  “Mr. Sterling. Just the man I was hoping to see.”

  He looked past her. “I am surprised to see you without your sister-in-law.”

  “Oh, I am sure you know Patience. So busy with the school, she barely has time for herself. So I thought I would treat her to a new bonnet. What do you think?” She surprised him by opening one of the boxes there in the street and holding a straw bonnet with an emerald green bow. “Should be becoming with her dark hair and green eyes, do you not agree?”

  He was hardly an expert on women’s hats, but he supposed the straw bonnet with a wide brim was nice enough. He allowed his mind to imagine what Miss Creighton would look like, her black hair and full lips.

  Without giving him an opportunity to respond, she tucked the bonnet away. “In fact, I am pleased that I have met you here. You see, I am hosting a dinner tomorrow at Rosemere, just a small gathering, and Mr. Creighton and I would be honored if you would attend.”

  His interest was piqued. Miss Creighton would be there, surely. He could talk to her about Emma. And about . . . other things. “I’d be delighted, Mrs. Creighton.”

  “Good.” She rewarded him with a good-natured smile and returned the hat box to the solemn-faced maid. “You shall be in attendance, and I have invited the Hammonds and, of course, Mr. O’Connell will be there.”

  William thanked her for the invitation, tipped his hat, and walked back across the road to Angus. He shifted and adjusted his collar to guard against the wind. With the twinkle in her eye and the coy smile on her lips, he was certain Mrs. Lydia Creighton was up to something. He could prove nothing, and he knew little of her other than her talent for drawing silhouettes, but there was a motive behind her innocent invitation to dinner.

  William retrieved his horse, mounted, and guided Angus back down the main road. He paused only slightly as he passed the main gate to Rosemere, with its formidable stone walls, intricate iron gate, and bits of ivy. His daughter was in there. He needed a plan. He’d formulate one tonight and then reveal all tomorrow.

  Patience wove through the rows of easels as the girls stood in the library, looking out to the frozen moors. How she had loved painting as a young girl. She’d never had much talent for it, but she had enjoyed studying the details of nature and trying to capture the beauty.

  She placed her hand on Ivy’s shoulder as she passed. “Lovely,” she exclaimed. But as she turned, a sharp cry echoed from in the house, a door slammed, and something crashed to the floor. The girls gasped and looked toward Patience, then a whisper circled among the students. Patience brushed past one of the other teachers, giving her instructions to oversee the children, then hurried from the room.

  She entered the main hall, and Rawdon, face flushed and hair disheveled, was running down the stairs, taking them two at a time. His lips were pinched together in a fine line. When his eyes landed on Patience, he pointed his finger at her. “Of all of the unreasonable women,” he sputtered, “she is the most ridiculous.”

  He stomped down the main hall, and for a moment Patience only stared after him, stunned at the emotional display. She wondered about following him. Their conversations since he had returned to Rosemere had been short. Terse. But regardless of what had transpired, he was still her brother.

  Her only brother.

  She decided to follow him and found him in the library, by the sideboard, pouring himself a glass of brandy. He shot it down his throat and poured another.

  Patience slipped quietly into the room. She wondered if he was referring to their mother or his bride, but she didn’t have to wait long to learn the answer to her question.

  “I thought that she of all people would be pleased to learn she would be a grandmother.”

  Patience sat on the settee and folded her hands on her lap. It appeared as if he had finally realized the change in their mother’s personality in a most personal way. “What happened?”

  He replaced the decanter stopper and paced the room. “I still cannot figure it out. Lydia told you our news, and we went to tell Mother. I don’t know what happened. Mother flew into a rage and accused Lydia of trapping me—as if Lydia could be capable of such a thing. I tried to speak reason to her, but she would not listen. The next thing, Lydia locked herself in our room and is refusing to come out or let me in.”

  Patience was mystified. “Why would Mother make such an accusation? And after showing Lydia such favor?”

  Rawdon shook his head. “Something is different about her. Am I insane? Surely you see it too. She is different.” He studied his hands. “I hardly know her.”

  Patience nibbled her lip. Her brother finally saw what she had been seeing for months. She had thought that once her brother acknowledged the problem, she would feel better about it. That the burden would get lighter, but instead, it felt like a heavy rock, weighing her down. No. It did not make the burden lighter. It only made it more real.

  “Mother has been through a lot over the last several months, Rawdon. I am sure she is simply overreacting to the news. You will see. Give her a day or two. I am sure she will come around.”

  Rawdon’s black eyebrows rose. “Oh, I see. You are siding with her.”

  “I am not siding with anyone. But I do think you need to accept that Mother is not herself right now.” Patience remembered her sister-in-law. “How is Lydia?”

  Rawdon threw up a hand in exasperation. “I have never seen her so angry. Truth be told, I never thought her capable of such a temper. She demanded that we return to London right away.” He snorted. “But where does she think we are going to go? All of our plans are—have always been—to invest her dowry in this school. I am not about to leave because of my mother’s irrational rant.”

  His words sent selfish panic stabbing through her. If Rawdon were to leave, would Mr. O’Connell stay behind? Would he continue to run the school? She forced the feelings in her to settle. Rawdon was finally talking to her in a meaningful way. In a way that suggested their fragile relationship might indeed be strong once again, as it had been before their father died.

  She chose her words carefully, as if each one might sway him. “I could talk to Mother, make her understand that—”

  “Make her understand what? She cannot treat my wife in this manner. I will not tolerate it.”

  “Have compassion, Rawdon. Mother is frightened.”

  “Frightened? Of what?”

  “Consider all the changes that happened in a short time. Father died. The stable burned. You brought home a new wife.” She surprised herself that she was defending her mother. “And you left. For months. We did not know where you were. Or if you’d ever return.”

  He threw out his arms defensively. “So it is my fault?”

  “No. I did not say that.” Her voice remained low. “But consider the toll that this has taken on her. On all of us here.”

  He stared out the window, his lips pressed into a hard line. He rubbed his hand against the back of his neck. “What do you mean?”

  “We were unsure if you were returning. We’d had no letter, no word. So we had to move forward as if you were not. What choice did we have with all these children? So you must understand how difficult it is for us when you come home with all of these changes. Lydia has been nothing but charming, but consider what this has done to Cassandra. And then Ewan’s return. And your decision for a boys’ school, a new cottage . . . it is all too much.”

  He pursed his lips, and his face contorted with annoyance.

  “So be patient with Mother.” She hesitated. “And with me.”

  At this, he finally looked right at her. She wanted to tell him everything. How angry she was with him. How she ached
for Cassandra. Her brother was a matter-of-fact person, rarely swayed by emotion and with little tolerance for sentiment. But how could she continue to carry around the weight of her anger with him? It was tearing at her, and with all of the other worries on her mind, she wanted her brother—the brother she knew and loved—back.

  “Patient with you?”

  “When you left, I threw everything I had into the school. You weren’t here. Mother was ill. And you come home with all of these changes. You even called me nothing more than a governess, a nurse. You have not even asked my opinion! And I have been the headmistress ever since you left. I am not angry, Rawdon. I am hurt. I know you are more acquainted with things of business than I am. But be patient with me too.”

  Rawdon looked down. “I apologize. I did not realize. I thought I was protecting you.”

  For now, just the mere recognition that all those months had been difficult was enough to alleviate some of the pressure building within her. “I will talk to Lydia. She is understandably upset. Once everyone has had an opportunity to calm, a different light will shed itself on the matter. You will see.”

  Rawdon muttered, “I do not see how.”

  “Please. Trust me.” As if drawing strength from her own words, Patience added, “Everything will be all right.”

  30

  Patience stood in the west wing where the family’s bedchambers were. She looked at her mother’s closed door. Across the hall was Rawdon and Lydia’s door. In her hands she balanced a tray of tea, the teapot steaming. She blew out her breath. Her mother must have been upset to have treated Rawdon, her favorite, in such a fashion. But the dismay in her brother’s eyes haunted her.

  She turned and shifted the tray to rest against a hip. She knocked softly on the door.

  Patience held her breath, waiting for a response, but none came.

  She knocked again, louder this time. “Lydia? Lydia, dearest, it’s Patience. May I come in?”

  Again, her request was met with silence. She frowned, torn with the decision of whether she should try again. But just as she was about to turn to take the tea to her mother, she heard soft footsteps on the planked floor. The latch clicked and released, and the door swung open a crack.

  The patter of feet retreated, and with her hip, Patience pushed the door open.

  When she entered the room, Lydia was seated on the tall bed, her feet dangling over the side, making her look more like a child than a grown woman.

  With careful balance, Patience pushed the door closed with her foot. “I brought you tea.”

  Lydia sniffed and studied her hands in her lap. Her muffled response was barely audible above the crackling fire. Patience set the tray down on a table.

  The lackluster afternoon light fell across Lydia’s fair hair and stooped shoulders. Neither the fanciest hair dressing nor the most shimmering silk could mask the young woman’s pain. Her eyes, normally bright, were red-rimmed. The tip of her nose glowed crimson, and the space under her eyes was puffy. A twinge of regret shot through Patience at the sight of the young woman. She should have been more welcoming.

  Perhaps she could start to make things right.

  “I . . . I brought you tea.” Even to her own ears, her voice sounded forced.

  Lydia did not look up. “Thank you.”

  “Shall I pour you a cup? It is hot and strong.”

  Lydia did not respond, but Patience went ahead with pouring the tea, more so to keep her hands busy in the awkward silence.

  Oh, God, give me the words to say.

  She handed the tea to Lydia, who stretched out trembling hands, nearly splashing the steaming liquid on her gown.

  Lydia kept her eyes focused on the teacup. “I take it you talked to Rawdon.”

  Patience nodded.

  Lydia sniffed. “It was a mistake to come here. I see that now.”

  “You mustn’t let Mother make you feel unwelcome. She has not been herself for quite some time. She meant nothing by it, I assure you. Besides, you are Rawdon’s wife. You belong here.”

  The words, once out of her mouth, struck her with profound meaning.

  You belong here.

  And Lydia did belong here, just as much as she did. She was family. Patience needed to start treating her as such. Patience sat next to her sister-in-law, trying to think of comforting words, and was almost relieved when she finally spoke again.

  “Who did Rawdon betray?”

  Patience was startled. “What do you mean?”

  “Your mother said that he betrayed someone here. Who was she talking about?”

  Cassandra.

  Patience hesitated, and Lydia pushed herself off the bed and walked to the window.

  “I do not expect you to tell me.” Lydia’s statement was more a stream of thought than an attempt to communicate. But then she turned with a renewed energy. “There was another, was there not?”

  Patience sucked in a deep breath and tried to find a way to bring comfort without either betraying her friend or overstepping her bounds. “Whatever his past, I know my brother. Probably better than anyone. And he loves you, Lydia.”

  But Lydia would not give up. “There was another, was there not?” she repeated. “You might as well tell me. I will certainly find out sooner or later.”

  The directness of Lydia’s question convicted her.

  Patience lowered her eyes and nodded.

  Lydia’s sharp intake of breath surprised her. The afternoon sun revealed her silhouette through the delicate fabric of her dress. Lydia’s protruding abdomen was evident. Patience’s heart ached for her sister-in-law when she realized the thoughts that must be going through her head.

  Funny how her heart could ache for both Cassandra and Lydia in the same moment.

  “It was Miss Baden.” Lydia’s words were soft but held such a demand that they could not be ignored.

  The women locked eyes.

  Lydia looked away. “Your silence has given me my answer.”

  Tears streamed down Lydia’s pale cheeks. Patience stood and walked over to her and took hold of her hand. “My brother loves you, Lydia. Whatever his past, he loves you. I have watched him.”

  Lydia’s shoulders shook with sobs. Patience wrapped her arms around the young woman. “And for what it is worth, dear Lydia, I am glad you are here. Please forgive me if I have been unwelcoming. I was wrong. You belong here at Rosemere, and you have a sister and a friend. You have me.”

  Lydia pulled back from the embrace. “What of your mother? She said I tricked him into marrying me. She called me a Jezebel. A Jezebel!”

  Patience winced at the word. Yes, she could hear her mother say it. “My mother is unhappy, but it has little to do with you and more to do with her inability to accept the loss of my father. Give her time.”

  Lydia managed a weak smile.

  Patience retrieved the abandoned cup of tea. “Here, drink this while it is hot.”

  Lydia sat down and took a sip of the tea. Knowing of Lydia’s eager anticipation for that night’s dinner party, she said, “You must relax. You have a dinner party tonight. Or have you forgotten?”

  A tiny spark flashed in Lydia’s eyes. “Oh yes. I had forgotten.”

  “Everyone will be expecting you to create your silhouettes again.”

  “I daresay my silhouettes will be the last thing on Mr. O’Connell’s mind.”

  The teasing glance in her sister-in-law’s eyes concerned her. She had hoped to offer her sister-in-law a distraction from her distress, but this was not exactly what she had in mind.

  Her sister-in-law took another sip. “He seems quite smitten.”

  “Our romance ended long ago, Lydia. It is best left in the past.”

  A frown creased her forehead. “Is it? Perhaps your heart belongs to another?”

  Patience stood up. She was ready to discuss Lydia’s romantic life, but hers was off limits. “I must go check on the girls.”

  “I did not mean to offend, Patience, really. But there is information
I must tell you.”

  Patience whirled back around. “What?”

  “I have invited another guest to the dinner. And he has accepted the invitation. William Sterling.”

  She hesitated for only a moment, then hurried from the room.

  Patience felt flushed. Uneasy. For how could she discuss her heart when she herself did not understand it? She hurried down the corridor and flew down the stairs. She paused at the landing and looked down at the new stable.

  How much had changed in her life. Pretty and new, the little stable stood almost as a testament to change. Things would not—could not—stay the same. The fire—and the events leading up to it—robbed her of the security of her past. She would have to be brave and strong and let go of the things that were familiar.

  She turned to continue down the stairs when movement from the window caught her eye. Near the tree line, two figures were talking next to a garden wall. She squinted, clearly making out Rawdon’s black hair, his shoulders. But who was that next to him?

  Cassandra!

  A feeling of dread washed over her. She felt almost faint. She watched, not knowing what to do. Should she look away? Forget she saw them? They appeared to be doing nothing inappropriate. But then why did her heart protest so? Lydia’s tear-stained face flashed in her mind. What was her brother doing?

  But then Cassandra took two steps back. Her eyes were fixed on the ground. Rawdon, dressed in a sharp blue coat, gray breeches, and black boots, gestured toward the house, and Cassandra followed his gaze, causing Patience to dart away from the window for fear of being noticed. When her pulse calmed, she looked back out the window. They were standing farther apart. Rawdon’s palms were outstretched. Cassandra shook her head and then covered her hair with the hood of her dark brown cloak and walked toward the house.

  Heart still pounding, Patience leaned her back against the cool stone wall. She drew a deep breath. She would not jump to conclusions about what she saw. And yet the pain in her sister-in-law’s eyes haunted her.

  Rosemere was alive. Everywhere Patience turned, emotions bombarded her.