The Headmistress of Rosemere (Whispers on the Moors)
Page 24
The house that had for so long been her shelter was no longer the protector. Instead of keeping pain and strife out, it kept them locked in.
In the early afternoon, she taught French to her young pupils, but she merely went through the motions. Her mind was fixed on what she had seen outside, near the garden wall. She snapped at a child whose attention was waning.
What was wrong with her? Why could she not rise above these thoughts?
Her mind’s eye replayed the stolen moment she’d observed between Rawdon and Cassandra. Anger she could not explain lurked below the surface. She knew she was jumping to conclusions. But how could she not? As soon as she was free, she marched up to Cassandra’s room and pushed open the door.
“We must talk,” Patience blurted out, pushing the door closed with such force that the window pane rattled in its frame.
Confusion twisted Cassandra’s face.
“I saw you down in the garden with Rawdon.” She took a step closer. “How could you do that? I know you do not care for Lydia, but Rawdon is a married man, Cass!”
Cassandra’s mouth fell open at the blunt accusation. “You don’t know what you are talking about,” she snapped. Her reprimand was more forceful than Patience had expected.
“But I saw you with him, and I cannot stand by and watch you get hurt without speaking my mind.”
“You are mistaken, Patience.” Cassandra’s nose tipped upward. “I should think you would give me more credit not to toy with a married man’s affections.”
“But I saw him. I saw you—”
“You saw us saying good-bye.”
“Good-bye?” Patience felt numb. “I don’t understand.”
“I am leaving, Patience.”
It was then that Patience noticed the gowns strewn across the bed.
Cassandra folded a gown over her arm, preparing to put it in her trunk. “Like I told you before, I don’t belong here. I have been offered a position in Manchester.”
“Of course you belong here! This is your home!” Patience reached out and grabbed her arm. “Will you stop?”
Cassandra expelled a breath and rolled her head around to look at Patience. “Be reasonable. I cannot stay here. Rawdon has made his choice.”
“But you are a teacher here. You can’t just leave.”
Cassandra’s nostrils flared, but her eyes remained dry. “Patience. Please consider my situation. Do you know what it is like to see him, day after day, with another? And not only that, but to know that he has pledged himself to her and started a family with her?” She shoved her dress into her trunk, the force with which she performed the task the only indication of her frustration. “He told me of the child.”
“But do not allow him the satisfaction of seeing you leave because of it.”
“Patience, it is too late. I have already written to accept the position. They expect me within the week.”
“But Manchester? That is too far!”
“It is not that far. You will be able to visit.”
Patience shook her head. “How could you not tell me of this?”
“I received the offer only yesterday. And I tried to find the right time to tell you. But I could not find the words.”
“How can you be so calm? You are getting ready to leave everything you love! And he forced you to it. How can you not be angry?”
Cassandra shook her head. “What makes you think I am not angry? Patience, I gave that man my heart, and he betrayed me. But if I act in that anger, if I let myself stay in that place, I am only hurting myself.”
Patience stared at Cassandra, searching for a compelling reason to give her friend to stay at Rosemere, but could find none. “I could never forgive a man for treating me in such a way.”
“Could not? Or would not? God tells us to forgive when we are wronged. Even if it is difficult. If I choose to be angry, if I choose to not forgive him, then I am in disobedience. God allowed this to happen. I do not comprehend why, but He will not leave me here, Patience. This is part of His plan for my life. If I stay here, if I stay angry, I might miss the plan that He has for me.”
“And you think His plan is taking you away from Rosemere?” Patience shot back. “Away from those who love you?”
“I do. Please do not ask me to stay. My heart is broken, Patience. I need to heal.” Despite the tears gathering in her eyes, a smile appeared. “Who knows what adventure awaits me.”
Tears fell down Patience’s cheeks. Cassandra reached out and smoothed her sleeve. “There could be a dashing stranger waiting to sweep me away.” Cassandra smiled. “This is my path, Patience. I need to follow it, just like you need to follow yours.”
Patience sat on the bed. “Why is everything changing? What is happening? This is not how things were supposed to be.”
“Do not be mistaken about me, Patience. My heart is broken. How will I face a day without you? But if I choose to do nothing but bury my anger and pain, I will be miserable. I need to give it all to God and be free.”
Patience thought of her mother, how her mother could not let go of the anger, the pain. She looked at Cassandra. How she would hate to see her sweet friend dissolve into such pain.
“I believe you are at the start of your own great adventure,” Cassandra said.
Patience lifted her head but remained silent for several moments, then said, “Mr. O’Connell proposed this morning.”
The words should have been a surprise. Should have been shocking, but instead they hung thick in the air.
Cassandra’s voice was soft. “I do not know this for certain, but I think your future is not with Mr. O’Connell. I believe your future is with quite another. Do not let your anger, your frustration, blind you.”
Quite another.
Patience wiped the tears from her cheeks with the palm of her hand and let Cassandra draw her into an embrace. “I will miss you, dear Patience, but you and I will always be together in spirit, regardless of how far apart we may be.”
Patience looked up when she heard a knock on her bedchamber door. Without an invitation, the door opened, and Lydia, with her lady’s maid directly behind her, walked in.
“Lydia!” Patience exclaimed, genuinely pleased to see that her sister-in-law’s face had regained its rosy hue. “What are you doing here? I thought you would be getting dressed.”
“Oh, I have been ready for ages. But with all the conquests you have at present, I thought Fiona could do your hair.”
“My hair?” Patience shook her head in protest, almost a little apprehensive of the French-speaking servant who always trailed Lydia. Instinctively, a protective hand flew to her black tresses. No one besides Cassandra or Mary had touched her hair in years. “No, no, thank you.”
Lydia waved a dismissive hand in the air. “Do not be silly.” She scurried behind Patience and gathered her hair in her hands. “With not one but two men vying for your charms, we must put your best foot forward.”
“Lydia!” Patience scolded, her eyes flicking to Fiona and back to Lydia.
“Oh, do not worry yourself. Fiona can be trusted completely.” Lydia smiled affectionately at her servant and waved a hand excitedly. “Isn’t it divine?”
Patience shifted uncomfortably. “I do not know, Lydia. Mary will be in here any moment to dress my hair. I think—”
But Lydia ignored her plea, and in flawless French instructed the girl on how to dress Patience’s hair. Patience watched her reflection as the young girl, with amazing speed and accuracy, swept her black hair up off her neck and embellished it with pearl pins.
After the maid had completed her task, Patience stared at her reflection.
Satisfied, Lydia released her servant and stood behind Patience. She looked in the mirror. “Delightful.”
Patience smiled. “It does look pretty, doesn’t it?”
“Perfectly elegant.”
Perfectly elegant. Patience was pretty sure that nobody had ever called her “elegant” before, but looking at her reflection was lik
e looking at someone else. She touched the top of her hair just to make sure she was actually seeing the true reflection.
Lydia went to the wardrobe. “Oh dear.” She riffled through the clothes. “All these mourning clothes.” She dove into the back and pulled out a gown of light lavender. She smiled.
“Mother would never approve,” Patience said.
“You must look toward your future tonight, Patience, for I believe your future is near.”
She held the gown up beneath Patience’s chin.
“Who will win your heart, Patience? Will it be the clever and intelligent Mr. O’Connell? Or the dashing and dangerous Mr. Sterling?”
At the sound of Mr. Sterling’s name, a shadow seemed to gather over her thoughts, and yet, at the mention of his name, her pulse quickened. “You shouldn’t say such things. Mr. Sterling has given no indication of any feelings.”
“Oh please, Patience.” Lydia dropped the gown on the bed. “The man cannot remove his eyes from you the moment he walks in. And honestly, how many times must he check the status of the stable?”
Patience felt a flush on her cheeks. She had allowed herself to hope that she had not been imagining such things, and to hear her sister-in-law say them aloud did give her reason to wonder. She nibbled her lower lip and returned her attention to her reflection.
“And back to my question, Patience. Who will win your heart?” A cunning smile curved Lydia’s lips. “I daresay you already know.”
31
William looked at his reflection.
He was a father. The more he thought about it, the more the idea filled him with optimism.
He didn’t necessarily look like a father. He looked like the same man he’d always been. And yet he was certain he was changing.
Initially, the idea that a child—a girl, no less—would belong to him was frightening. But as the days passed and the idea settled, he grew comfortable with it.
And it made the decision to sell his land—or at least a small corner of it—that much easier.
He adjusted the snowy folds of his cravat and smoothed his thick hair into place. Tonight he would talk with Miss Creighton and inform her that he is Emma’s father. He patted his pocket, just to make sure the brooch was still there.
The door opened and Lewis stepped in. “Angus is ready.”
“Good. How’s the foal?”
“Strong. Ornery. Good sign. Any word from Bley?”
William shook his head and retied his cravat. “No. Doubt he’s had time to read it yet, if it has even arrived.”
“It’s still early to tell, but that horse looks fine. Won’t be long before the other foal arrives. Good grief, how many times are you going to tie that?”
William passed a look of annoyed indifference and looped the fabric through.
“Wouldn’t be a certain reason why you are looking extra dapper, would there? Pretty lady at Rosemere, if I am not mistaken?”
William ignored his reference to Miss Creighton. “Hand me that letter, will you?”
Lewis walked over and picked up the letter on the table. He handed it to William, who promptly tucked it in his pocket. “What is it?”
“I have decided to sell Rosemere to Rawdon Creighton, if he’ll have it.” William had expected the words to sound strange, but when he spoke them, they almost sounded reasonable. Responsible.
All sense of humor fled from Lewis’s expression. His eyes narrowed. “You’re serious?”
“With the mill deal fallen through, it is too risky to rely on only selling the horse. Even if Bley bought it, it would hardly cover my debt. At one point, after my father died, Edmund Creighton asked if I would be interested in selling. And I am. I don’t see any other way around it.”
William omitted the detail that he had a long-lost daughter. And he also left out the detail that the headmistress of the school had captivated him beyond explanation. “I am going to try to sell Rawdon Creighton the Rosemere land and Latham Hill.”
“Are you sure you have thought this through?”
“I’m sure.”
“I mean, are you sure you are doing it for the right reasons? You aren’t letting your, er, feelings for a certain young woman play into your decision?”
William shot a warning glance at Lewis, who shrugged.
William fussed with his cravat—again. He’d not try to hide his regard for the headstrong headmistress. Not from a person who knew him as well as Lewis did. “Creighton told me of his desire to expand the school, and if his father had enough money to offer to buy the land, one would hope that money is still available. If Creighton is as eager to see to his father’s work as he claims, he should jump on the offer.”
“How much will you sell it for?”
“Enough to get out from under the debt. Buy a few more broodmares. Reinstate the staff.”
“Well then, I will be eager to hear what he says.”
“Ready yourself to travel, for if he agrees to the arrangement, I will have you go pay Rafertee as soon as the funds can switch hands.”
William arrived especially early to the dinner at Rosemere. With the clouds hanging thick in the sky, the night would be dark. Even the light from the full moon would not permeate their murky curtain.
With all the excuses he had used of late to visit Rosemere, both he and his horse knew the path over Wainslow Peak quite well. The letter with the offer to sell the Rosemere land and buildings was in his pocket. Rawdon Creighton was a sensible man. The price was reasonable, considering the value of the property. How his father had stubbornly fought to keep the estate intact. His father would likely say William had failed, for to his father, land meant security. But at least the money from this sale, should Creighton choose to take him up on the offer, would fund so many things that could lead to Eastmore Hall’s prosperity once more. To future generations, he would either be regarded as the man who divided the property or the man who made it thrive.
After arriving at Rosemere, William stabled his own horse before turning his attention to the house. It was so alive. Yellow candlelight winked from the windows. Children’s voices wafted on the wind. Once inside, he handed his things to George and inquired after Rawdon Creighton.
George’s voice was as gravelly and raspy as ever. “He is in the study.”
“Is he alone?”
“I believe so.”
“Good. I will show myself in.”
George stepped back, allowing William space to move down the hall. William knocked on the door before pushing it open. Creighton was sitting at the desk that Patience frequently occupied.
“Ah, Sterling.” He closed the ledger on the desk and leaned back in the chair. “I was not expecting you until later.”
“I have business to discuss with you and thought it best to tend to it before the other guests arrive.”
He looked surprised. “Business? All is well, I hope?” He waved a hand toward a chair in front of the desk.
“Definitely. But knowing of your plans to expand the school, I have an offer to extend to you.” William sat down and adjusted his coat. “I have come up with a plan that I think will be beneficial to us both.”
William had thought the words would be harder to say, but the desire for his future burned stronger than his regret. “In the past, your father has inquired about purchasing the Rosemere property and Latham Hill. You yourself mentioned plans for improvements and a new building. I wondered if you would have any interest in purchasing both the Rosemere and Latham Hill properties outright.”
Creighton sat up straighter. “Well, that is an idea. I thought you were set on building a mill on the land. Saw the men working there myself not two days past.”
“Turns out there were business practices afoot that I could not, in good conscience, align myself with. I realize the plot of land is not large, but it would include the property that abuts Rosemere and runs down to Thaughley River.”
Creighton studied his tented fingers. “That is a nice bit of land.”
Just then O’Connell, without knocking, entered the study. O’Connell’s pale eyes narrowed as Creighton and Sterling looked expectantly at him. “Good evening, Sterling.”
William cleared his throat. “You are well, I trust?”
“Tolerably.” He turned his attention back to Creighton. “The ladies are ready.”
“Then let us not keep them waiting.”
32
At dinner, Patience sat next to Mr. O’Connell. Again.
She didn’t want to, and yet he had managed to occupy the chair intended for Mr. Hammond.
Patience glanced up at Mr. Sterling. The desire to be by his side, to feel his strength support her, distracted her so much she barely noticed when Mr. O’Connell spoke to her. So many questions for Mr. Sterling made it impossible for her to concentrate on anything else.
“I hope you are not unwell.”
She jumped at O’Connell’s voice, so close his breath tickled her ear and sent little shivers down her back. She inched away and put her fork down. “I am well.”
“You’ve barely eaten.”
“I’m not hungry.” And that was the truth.
“You should eat. You’ll fall ill.”
Patience shot him an annoyed glance, to which he seemed oblivious.
In a sudden action, Rawdon, at the head of the table, stood. “I have an announcement,” he said, his eyes bright and his smile broad. His words quieted the room. Patience leaned forward and looked at Lydia, who stared at her husband, eyes wide with excitement.