What could her brother possibly have to say in such a dramatic fashion? Across the table, Mr. Sterling shifted, glanced in her direction, and then turned his attention to Rawdon.
“I have news that I think will please everyone here.” Rawdon waited for the excited chatter to again dissipate before continuing. “Or, rather, I have arrived at a decision. Just this hour, prior to dinner, Mr. Sterling approached me with a most intriguing offer. Knowing that I wish to expand the school and that I am interested in building a cottage, Mr. Sterling has offered to sell Rosemere and the land extending over Latham Hill to me. I did not require much time to arrive at my decision, for it is already made. Mr. Sterling, I accept your offer and your generous terms.” He laughed, a merry laugh, the merriest that Patience had heard from him since his return.
Patience felt her jaw drop in the most unladylike of manners. All around her, voices chattered, but she fixed her eyes on William Sterling. He looked shocked at first, then a cautious smile curved his full lips, and he glanced at her. A strange expression replaced his normally confident grin. He looked at her almost as if to gain her approval on the decision.
Patience was pleased. Wasn’t she? But his change of heart confused her. Why, after all these years, would he sell? Her father had tried in vain for decades to purchase the land and building that had become their home. She turned expectant eyes toward him, trying to decipher the meaning she saw there.
She was finally distracted when her mother dissolved into tears. But for once, there was happiness in her tears. Margaret Creighton stood and rushed to embrace her son, as if their argument from earlier in the day had been forgotten.
Patience looked back at Mr. Sterling. His expression conveyed something . . . but what?
Ewan bounced eagerly at her shoulder, reminding her more of a zealous puppy than a grown man. “Isn’t it wonderful, Patience? This is it. This is what we have worked for. This is our dream!”
She was so flustered by his linking the two of them together that she barely noticed when Ewan stood up next to her.
Patience’s blood turned to ice. She sensed what he was about to say even before his pouty lips formed the words. She tugged at his sleeve as discreetly as possible, imploring him to sit back down, but with a shrug he pulled his arm away.
Heart racing, she sank back against the chair, wishing it would swallow her completely. She could not tear her eyes away from him. Seconds slipped by, slowed by dread.
“In the light of this good news, I have some of my own.” Ewan turned to her, latching his eyes on hers. She shook her head, trying to communicate the need to stop, but his smile was too wide, his intentions too plain.
He reached for her hand. Her legs wobbled as he pulled her to her feet. She looked at Lydia, silently pleading for an intervention, but her sister-in-law only stared at them with her mouth hanging open.
Once standing, Patience focused on the uneaten veal on her plate. Every ounce of blood in her body seemed to sink to her toes. She felt certain she would faint before this humiliation passed.
After all were once again quiet, Ewan said, “This is a day for news, is it not? You must all know that I asked dear, sweet Patience, friend of my youth, for her hand in marriage. She has not yet given me an answer, but in light of this excitement, I find I can wait no longer.”
He took her other hand in his and pulled her closer. “This news is a fresh start not only for the school but for us.”
Her mouth went dry, and she felt certain everyone could hear the thudding of her heart. She forced herself to look at him.
His eyes were eager, his chest puffed proudly. “Patience, dear. Give me your answer in the presence of our friends and family, once and for all. Will you do me the magnificent honor of becoming my wife?”
Her arms felt as if they were made of lead . . . as unmoving as the stone peaks that surrounded this land. She opened her mouth to speak, but her chin quivered. No sound would come. Every eye in the room was on her.
She dared not look at her brother.
Or Lydia.
Or, heaven help her, William Sterling.
Her foolish fairy-tale dreams. Why had he come into her life? Mere months ago she would have accepted O’Connell’s offer as a practical decision. She had given up the dream of ever finding romantic love. She would have accepted a loveless marriage in exchange for the stability a life with a man as constant as Ewan would have brought her. But since her heart had glimpsed the emotion, the anticipation of seeing him, the dream was once again alive.
And the man who incited such feelings in her, William Sterling, bore witness to the entire farce.
Ewan tugged her hand, as if to not only pull her closer but to extract an answer from her. Force her to say the words she was not ready to say because he had put her on the spot in such a public forum.
She stumbled back, nearly knocking her chair to the floor. Her cheek twitched. Tears blinded her vision. “Forgive me. I . . . I cannot.”
His expression of shocked disbelief was the last thing she saw before she turned and ran from the room.
And she did not stop.
33
Patience ran up the stairs to the dark west wing and stumbled down the corridor. Tears streamed unchecked from her eyes. Uncontrollable sobs racked her body. It was as if the emotions of everything bad that she could not handle rushed at her with equal force.
She jiggled her door handle. It would not open fast enough. She thrust it open and slammed the door behind her. Her father’s death. Her mother’s distance. Her brother’s betrayal. The stable burning. Cassandra’s impending departure. Ewan’s ridiculous ploy to make her respond to him favorably in front of others. It was not to be borne.
She fumbled in the dark for a handkerchief, but gave up and fell across her bed. The bedclothes were cold and foreign. How she wanted to be anywhere but here! She would, eventually, have to face the people downstairs and account for her ridiculous behavior of running out like a child.
But no one’s opinion mattered as much as that of William Sterling.
After the initial onslaught of tears subsided, she was left with a few stray tears and a throbbing headache. She sniffed and wiped her face on the sleeve of her forgotten, elegant dress. How foolish she had been. Getting dressed up for a man who would never think twice about her. He’d been nice to her because he wanted to sell them the land. Nothing more.
She lifted her hand to begin removing the pins from her disheveled hair, fighting the urge to burst into tears once more. Once her hair was free and flowed around her shoulders, she curled up in a ball in the still darkness. Perhaps, if fate were on her side, sleep would envelop her.
Then came a soft knock on her door.
She did not respond.
The knock sounded again. “Patience?”
Mother.
Of all the people who might come to see her, her mother was the one person she could not send away.
She sat up on the bed. “It is not locked.”
The door opened, and her mother slipped through and closed the door behind her. She placed the candle she had been carrying on a bureau, and in the faint light, Patience could imagine that it was her mother the way she used to be, coming to check on her and tuck her in at night. By this light, the graying of her hair was not as noticeable. The wrinkles in her skin not as pronounced.
Patience did not speak. For what would she say?
“It has been months since I have been in this room.”
“You used to hear my prayers each night.” Patience had not intended her words to sound like an accusation, but the look of hurt on her mother’s face indicated that she interpreted them as such.
Her mother sat wordlessly next to her on the bed, and as each moment passed, the discomfort seemed to dissipate.
Her mother stared into the blackness. “When you were born, your father insisted upon naming you Patience.”
Patience swallowed, thinking the statement odd, but in the shadowed room and her darkened s
tate, she simply listened.
“I wanted to name you Mary, after my mother, but your father would not hear of it. He said he wanted to name you with a virtue so that every time you heard it you would be reminded of God’s providence.” She looked at Patience. Her smile seemed weary. “You know your father and his ideas of self-improvement.” She looked down at her hands, as if reliving moments of long ago. “I do not need to remind you that you were not a patient child. Nor a patient youth. You were so eager to see what was around the next corner. To embrace the new instead of enjoying what you have today.”
She took Patience’s hand in her own. “Before your father died, we talked of you. He admired your strength, but we laughed at how you seemed to have completely missed your namesake. And when I see you, Patience, I believe you have begun to understand.”
But Patience did not understand. Her mother’s words did not make sense, and her head ached so that she could not seem to decipher their meaning. She fell back against the bed.
“I have not been there for you, Patience, and I am sorry for it. My heart is so weary.”
As is mine. The words hovered on Patience’s lips, begging for release, but stayed frozen, unsaid.
“You have been so strong. And I . . . I have . . .” Tears trickled down her mother’s cheeks, communicating more than a thousand words ever could.
Patience sat up and wiped her hair from her own wet face.
Her mother sucked in a breath and then blew it out. “Your father is dead, but just as you have told me so many times, our lives . . . yours, mine, and Rawdon’s . . . are not over. And I gather, from your words downstairs, that Mr. O’Connell does not fit into the rest of your life.”
Patience moved her head from side to side. “He does not. My opinion cannot be altered.” She closed her mouth. She knew the full reason why he did not fit in her life. There was no room left in her heart. “Is he upset?”
“After you left, he quitted the room in quite a fury. I have not seen him since.”
“Do you think that is the real reason why Rawdon brought him here?”
“I think your brother is concerned for your welfare. As am I.”
“Well, now that Rawdon will own this property, we do not have to worry. The school will continue on as it has been. And if he expands it, it can only be successful. And our family will, no doubt, continue to live here as we have always done.”
Patience expected that fact to bring her more comfort than it did.
Her mother smoothed her hair. “I must correct you. This is where I shall live out the remainder of my years. You, my dear, are meant for other things. Your father had grand plans for this school, and he would be proud of the work you have done here, how you have kept it going with little to no help. How you handled the stable’s burning.”
Patience looked up. Her mother had not mentioned anything to her about the school in ages. Nothing of the work she had done. A welcome warmth spread from her middle to her limbs, momentarily pushing out the cold and dread.
“But this was your father’s dream, Patience, and you have contributed to it. Do not let it blind you. Do not sacrifice your personal happiness for someone else’s dream.”
“But it is my dream, it is—”
“I am simply saying not to fool yourself into thinking that there is nothing else for you.”
Overwhelmed by the glimpse of the mother she had missed for so long, Patience put her arms around her mother. “I have missed you so.”
Her mother seemed to understand, for she kissed Patience on the forehead. “I know, dear. My heart has been heavy. But you said something that stuck with me. Father would not want me to continue in this way. I see you working, fighting. Rawdon is dealing with the loss in his own way. And I want to live again.”
As dawn broke over the moors the following morning, Patience stood outside, her shawl pulled tight around her. The drizzle from the gray canopy of clouds dampened her shoulders and face and hair. Emotion tightened her throat and tears threatened to spill.
Standing next to the carriage, Patience took Cassandra’s gloved hands in hers. “Promise me you will write as soon as you are settled.”
Cassandra sniffled, her smile trembling only slightly. “The minute I arrive.”
She wanted to say anything to convince her friend to stay, but Patience knew all too well that once her friend had made up her mind, she was unwavering. “Are you sure you will not say good-bye to Mother?”
Cassandra squeezed Patience’s hand. “It is better this way. I have said my good-byes to the other teachers, but I think, in light of my reasons for leaving, the less said, the better.”
Cassandra stepped toward the open carriage door, but then stopped and turned. “Do not dislike the new Mrs. Creighton on my account. And, Patience, there are two men who are both in love with you. Do not let your anger blind you to what may be waiting for you.”
And with that, Cassandra accepted George’s hand and stepped into the carriage. Patience watched her through the tiny carriage window as she settled into her space and turned to wave a farewell.
Patience smiled back and waved, but inside, her heart was grieving. Crying. The carriage rumbled down the drive and disappeared through the iron gates.
She shivered. The dampness permeated her plain dress, and she brushed a lock of hair, still in a curl from last night’s festivities, away from her face. She turned back to Rosemere and studied it with a sigh.
With the exception of Cassandra, everything and everyone she loved was tucked safely inside these walls. Her girls. Her staff. Her family.
But her heart did not find peace. For there was something missing.
Had she never met William Sterling, she might never have noticed. Ever since that day when he lay motionless and still in George’s bed, she had felt a stirring in her heart. Every emotion concerning him was heightened, and now that she had rejected another, she understood why. She was in love with William Sterling.
With most of the house still asleep and the early-morning darkness blanketing the grounds with its silence, Patience retrieved a lantern, her bonnet, and a crimson cloak and went for a walk before the weather grew too intense.
The freshness of the morning air beckoned her. It was as if it carried with it the wind of change, a promise of a new beginning, and by simply being out in it she would find clarity of thought. The rain had turned to snow and fell in uneven patterns, gathering like a velvet carpet on the frozen ground. The air invigorated her. The wind stung her eyes. As uncomfortable as it was, the sensations made her feel alive. With a sigh, Patience climbed Wainslow Peak’s smooth incline. The wind was strong here but carried with it the spicy, earthy scent of the frozen moors. It felt comforting. Like she belonged.
She could finally breathe. She filled her lungs. Today all would start anew. Whether Mr. O’Connell would stay after his display the previous evening, she did not know, but regardless, she could start fresh, throw herself into her work. Maybe even embrace the idea of a school for young men. Develop a relationship with a sister-in-law who could become a dear friend. And for all the practicality in her plan, perhaps she could leave room in her heart and mind for a little dream.
William was up before the sunrise. How could he sleep?
The dinner at Rosemere, which at first held such promise, quickly fizzled. It had taken every ounce of restraint he possessed when he heard O’Connell’s proposal and beheld the humiliated expression on Miss Creighton’s face. Even now, he could not shake the memory of it. He’d wanted to confront O’Connell, but the man disappeared shortly after Miss Creighton left the room. The other guests departed immediately after dinner.
After a sleepless night in bed, he rose early, before the dawn. Without a formal staff, there was always work to be done. He lit a lantern and headed for the stable.
Inside, the familiar sweet scent of hay and the comforting sounds of the horses soothed him, but only a little. When he stepped back outside into the bleak morning, gray streaks of light sp
read like ribbons over the steely sky, and he breathed in the scent of cold and snow. He was about to pick up a bucket when he looked toward Wainslow Peak.
A glimmer of light caught his attention. A fire? A lantern? It moved, then lowered and was still.
He squinted, unsure of what to make of it. The knowledge that Rafertee’s men had been on that path not so long ago nagged him. He shifted his weight and looked again.
Rafertee’s men, he decided, would hardly light a lantern. He went back in the stable, tossed the rope he had been carrying to the side, grabbed his coat from over the stall wall, and began the long trek up the hill.
The sound of the wind through the barren branches drowned out all other sounds of the morning, and with every step, his heart seemed to beat harder. For as he drew closer, he knew he saw a person. The only ones he had ever encountered on the hill prior to this were a nearby farmer and someone from Rosemere. As he got closer, his anticipation grew.
Could it be? But why this early? And alone?
Had he only imagined that her eyes had been on him at times at the gathering the night before? No, he was certain he had read her correctly. Her encouragement had been clear. And the fact that she rejected O’Connell, and in such a public manner, gave him reason to hope.
As he was deciding how best to proceed, he stepped on a twig and it snapped. The woman gasped and turned.
A thrill rushed through him, unsettling him, yet infusing him with strength. In the light from the lantern was Patience Creighton.
He stepped free from the brush. “Do not be alarmed, Miss Creighton. ’Tis only me.”
She jumped to her feet, the expression in her eyes turning from fear to recognition. A nervous laugh escaped. “Mr. Sterling! I did not expect to see anyone here. Not at this early hour.”
“I was in the stable and saw your lantern.” He stepped closer. “I was concerned something was wrong.”
She smiled up at him. “I know you warned me of being out on the moors while it was dark. One of our teachers departed this morning for Manchester, and after saying farewell, I thought I would take advantage of the silence to clear my mind.”
The Headmistress of Rosemere (Whispers on the Moors) Page 25