“I did not mean to interrupt your solitude. I should leave you—”
“No, no!” Her words were immediate, and she raised her hands to stop him. As if suddenly realizing the haste of her response, she smiled and dropped her hands. “That is to say, there is no need to leave on my account. Please, join me,” she said as she returned to her seat.
He sat next to her on the boulder, acutely aware of how close she was—the way the breeze blew a long lock of ebony hair across her cheek, the redness of her nose in the morning chill.
“Are you all right?” he asked.
“Oh yes, I am fine. Thank you.”
Always proper. Always polite. But he noticed how the light illuminated the tear tracks on her smooth cheeks, and her eyes were wet and rimmed in red.
Perhaps she misunderstood his question. “I meant to inquire if you were all right after last night. I . . . The situation you were in last night was a difficult one, Miss Creighton. O’Connell is intolerable.”
Her smile faded and she sat in silence, looking out at the awakening valley below, and then she switched the topic. “I was surprised . . . pleasantly surprised . . . to hear that you sold the land to my brother. Such news would have so pleased my father.”
“In truth, Miss Creighton, that house should belong to the Creighton family. It is long overdue.”
“I remember my father trying almost every spring to purchase the house and the land from your father, but to no avail. He always said he would not give up.” She paused. “Rawdon has great plans to improve the school. He plans to expand to a school for young men and—”
“And you, Miss Creighton? What plans do you have?” Perhaps it was the faint hint of the morning light, of a new beginning, that made him bold. Or the vast open space. Or the intimacy of the dawn. But at this precise moment in time, he had little desire to speak of her brother. Or of schools. He wanted—no, needed—to know about her.
She tightened her shawl and diverted her eyes. She stuttered her words. “I . . . I plan to continue on as I have been.”
“Without Mr. O’Connell?” He needed to be sure.
Even in the morning’s shadow, he thought he saw the stain of a blush on her cheek. She studied the fringe on her cloak. “Yes. Without Mr. O’Connell.”
The acknowledgment sent a rush of relief through him, energizing him and emboldening him with an unusual fervor. Words jumbled within him, waiting to be spoken, but she spoke first.
“I must know, what was it that made you decide to sell the land?”
Her question could have been innocent enough. She turned her eyes to him. But he sensed she was asking a far different question than the one merely on the surface.
He let his shoulders slump a little and stretched out both legs. How he wanted to share all. Unburden his heart and declare all wrongs. But where would he begin? “Everything is not as it seems, Miss Creighton.”
“What do you mean?”
The truth was difficult, but if the lapses in his judgment had taught him anything, false pretense could cause more damage than revealing the truth. “I did want to see the house in your family’s possession, that is true. But the whole truth is that I need the money.”
“Oh.” She nibbled her lip. “But you rebuilt the stable for us. I thought the money wasn’t—”
“You needed it. That is to say, the school needed it.”
She stood up and walked away from him, the cold air putting even more distance between them. She stood with her back to him, the moors spread out before her. “I . . . I’ve heard a report that the fire in our stable was not an accident.”
He felt both anger and embarrassment at her statement. Where she heard it was not important. What she thought about it was another matter entirely. “You heard correctly. It was recently brought to my attention that foul play did have a hand in the fire.”
Miss Creighton’s eyebrows drew together.
“But why did you not say as much?”
William hesitated. Did she think he had a hand in the deed? “If I had known earlier, I certainly would have.”
She whirled around to face him. “So you sell my brother land that is targeted?” Her voice remained soft. Calm.
“You are painting an inaccurate picture, Miss Creighton. The people who were responsible for the fire were attempting to coerce me. I only regret that you and your family were brought into it.”
“But how can you be certain they will not try again?”
He sat for several moments, his eyes locked with hers. If, by some miracle, she returned his regard, she deserved to know the truth about him. All of it. “Do you recall how I said that I had plans to build the textile mill on Latham Hill?”
She nodded.
“Apparently my colleagues had their sights set on the plot of land where Rosemere sits. I told them repeatedly I would not sell. They thought that if the stable burned, I would be unable to fund repairs and you would leave the land for more suitable accommodations. Then I would not have qualms about selling the land and Rosemere.”
Her voice held skepticism. “If that is the case, then why did you sell it to my brother?”
“Because I have debt, Miss Creighton. Significant debt that I cannot repay. The sale of the land will conclude my responsibility in that matter.”
The words were out. His shame was out.
She looked away, again scanning the moors. He slid off his coat. “Here, put this on. It is too cold.”
“But you will be cold,” she protested.
“I will be fine.”
She slid the heavy woven work coat over her shoulders. She looked so fragile. So small. So perfect.
He pulled the brooch from his waistcoat pocket. His fingers felt cold and thick as he held it out to her. “Do you recognize this, Miss Creighton?
She reached out and took it from him, her bare fingers briefly touching his. “Why yes! This belongs to one of my students.” She looked puzzled. “Wherever did you find it?”
The jewel glimmered in the lantern’s light as she turned it over. He cleared his throat. “I saw it in your study after you left me the other day.”
She frowned. “How did it come to be in your possession?”
“I took it. I had to be certain.”
“Certain?” Her confusion was obvious. “Of what?”
William was finding it difficult to look her in the eye. “I know whose brooch that is.”
“You do? Well, that is wonderful! I have been trying for weeks to learn more about this student’s family.”
He lifted the lantern from the ground and held it close. “Turn it over and look at the engraving.”
She turned the brooch over to catch the light. “EAS.”
“Elizabeth Ann Sterling. My mother.”
Miss Creighton shook her head. “But I don’t understand. Why would your mother’s jewelry be in Emma’s things?” She tucked the brooch in her pocket. “Please tell me.”
“Perhaps you had better be seated.”
William waited for her to sit back down. “Several years ago I was involved with a young woman named Isabelle Simmons, a niece of Mr. and Mrs. Hammond’s.”
“I remember her.”
“Eight years ago I was very much in love with Miss Simmons. I made an offer of marriage, and she accepted. But when a gentleman from her past learned of our engagement, he made an offer as well. She chose him.”
Miss Creighton cocked her head to the side but remained silent.
“Regarding the brooch, I had given it to Miss Simmons just days before she left Darbury. I never saw her again, and to be quite honest, I had forgotten about the brooch until I saw it in your study.
“What I did not know, Miss Creighton, is that when Isabelle left Darbury, she was with child. My child. And when her husband learned of her deceit, he forced her from their home. Isabelle passed away four years ago, but before she did, she placed her daughter in the care of the Hammonds, who in turn placed her at Rosemere.”
Miss C
reighton stared at him, her eyes not leaving his face. “Emma.”
“Yes.” He paused, trying to interpret her expression, and when he could not, he continued. “I am not proud of my actions after Isabelle left. I made many bad decisions. Did things I am not proud of. Isabelle had made Mr. Hammond promise not to reveal that the child was mine, and Mr. Hammond, aware of my decline, decided not to tell me.”
“What made him change his mind?”
“I am trying to change my course, and I believe Mr. Hammond recognized that. He and I agree that no child deserves to not know her father.”
A cautious smile played on her lips. “Well, I, for one, am pleased. I think you will make an excellent father.” She swallowed, and he thought he saw tears in her eyes. “I see the resemblance. Your eyes are like hers. And you both share the dimple in your cheek when you smile.”
Excitement surged through him. “With your blessing, I would like to tell her as soon as possible. I have a lot to make up for.”
“Of course. This is the best news, Mr. Sterling.”
“And I will reimburse the school for the tuition.”
“But her bill is paid. We receive money regularly. Every month.”
William frowned. Hammond did not say anything about who had paid for the child to attend the school. He would find out and repay them.
“Mr. Sterling, I have to say that Emma is special to me.”
“I know. And I am glad my daughter was not alone during these years. I am anxious to get to know her, Miss Creighton. But this will be quite a shock for her.”
“Yes. But surely you do not intend to take her away from Rosemere.”
The woman’s love for the child was evident. Miss Creighton had been selfless and had been his daughter’s family when he could not be. “You have cared for my child in a manner in which I never could. I shall never take her from you.”
William tried to interpret her silence, but her breathing seemed to quicken and she sank into his coat. Now was the time. He needed to tell her the rest. Tell her how she had captured his thoughts. His mind. His heart—
A shout sounded from Eastmore Hall. Horses neighed. More shouting. They both stood up to look down at Eastmore.
William tried to see through the branches down to the courtyard. He saw nothing, but alarm took hold. Another shout. Was it Lewis calling him? Then the frantic neighing of the horses told him all was not well.
He did not want to leave Miss Creighton, but every instinct screamed for his return to Eastmore. “Excuse me. I must see what that is. I cannot imagine what it would be at this hour.”
“Can I be of assistance?”
“No, no, Miss Creighton. Please, return to Rosemere. Quickly.”
He bowed slightly, then headed back down the hill. Shouts carried on the wind. Horses neighed.
Something is not right.
34
William reached the clearing in front of the stable, his mind having played out every possible scenario. But even his imagination had not prepared him for what he saw. In the courtyard stood Lewis, dressed only in linen shirt, breeches, and boots, hair disheveled, his hands up in the air.
Then he saw him. Jonathan Riley. Intoxicated. Sloppy. Pointing a pistol directly at Lewis.
“What are you doing?” William shouted, stepping between Lewis and the gun. “Put down that pistol. Have you gone mad?” He stepped to one side, hoping to distract Riley and get closer to him.
Riley’s inebriated words slurred into each other. “You sold the land.”
The gun now was pointing right at him. William’s heart thudded. The land. He’d forgotten about Riley.
Riley spat out each garbled word. “I know about it. You deceived me!”
“You burned my property!” William hurled the words back. “Don’t be a fool. Put down the pistol. We’ll talk about—”
“No!” Riley shouted, eyes wild, staggering back a step in his intoxication. Riley recovered his balance and widened his stance. He tipped his head forward like a bull ready to charge.
“Ewan O’Connell was at Griffen’s End last night. Told me everything. How you seduced Creighton’s sister. How you masterminded the entire plan.”
When Lewis stepped to one side, Riley swung the gun in his direction. “Don’t move!”
Lewis stopped and kept his hands in the air.
Keeping his head still, William looked for anything he could use as a weapon. A rope next to the stable door. A pitchfork leaning against a rail.
William tried to make eye contact with Lewis. Riley was drunk. They should be able to overpower him . . . if only they could get the pistol from his hand. Lewis finally blinked with the slightest nod.
A scuffle, a rustling sound made William turn. Standing in the clearing was Patience Creighton, her eyes full of fear, in the tight grip of Cyrus Temdon. Anger exploded within William at the sight. One of Cyrus’s dirty hands was on her arm, and the other was around her waist. His work coat was still about her shoulders. She winced when Temdon adjusted his grip on her arm.
William whirled back around to Riley. “This has nothing to do with the Creightons. Your issue is with me, not with her.”
A greasy laugh slid from Riley’s mouth. “That was a happy accident, finding her, don’t you agree?”
“Release her, Riley!” When he did not respond, William changed his tactic. “What is it that you want? You must have come here with an idea.”
“You have cost me a great deal of money, friend. I am tired of your games, your excuses. I offered to buy the land, pay you a good price, and you betrayed me and offered it to Creighton. I want that land, Sterling. I think you know me well enough. I am a man who knows how to get what I want.”
“Fine. I’ll sell you Latham Hill, but the land that Rosemere sits on is bound in a lease. I’ve told you that. It cannot be sold now. It would do you no good. Not now.”
“I think that Rawdon Creighton will reconsider that lease when he realizes who his sister has been cavorting with.”
William sucked in a deep breath. He needed a diversion. Something to distract Riley long enough to make a move. Long enough to get the gun away from him.
Angus. It might work. Angus was in the pen and had wandered to the far side.
William whistled. As if on cue, the horse trotted around to the paddock gate next to the stable, distracting Riley just enough so that he turned his head.
William seized the break in Riley’s concentration. He lunged at Riley, knocking him to the ground. William slammed his fist against the man’s jaw, and the pistol flew from Riley’s hand. Both scrambled for it. Riley grabbed it first, but William pushed the barrel away.
“Give me the gun!”
They continued to grapple on the ground. Riley was sloppy. Uncoordinated.
William freed the pistol from his hand and kicked it away.
William stood up and pulled Riley to his feet. He steadied his target and again slammed his fist into Riley’s jaw. His neighbor staggered backward. William punched him again. And with this blow, Riley crumpled to the ground.
Chest heaving, William whirled around.
Patience.
The skirmish with Riley had happened so quickly that Cyrus had not yet responded. His eyes were red with drink’s effect. William scooped up the pistol and walked toward Cyrus. Lewis was beside him.
“Release her, Temdon.” William pointed the pistol right at Cyrus.
Like a cornered animal, Temdon licked his lips. His eyes shifted from William to Lewis and then back to William. Then he shoved Patience away from himself with such force she fell to the ground.
William did not move or take his eyes from Temdon. “Get off my property. And if you ever set foot on this property or that of Rosemere, be prepared to meet this pistol again.”
William heard Patience scurry behind him, but he kept his eyes on his enemy.
Lewis moved toward Temdon, who bolted in the opposite direction. Lewis chased him.
William turned and saw that
Riley was still in a heap.
He tucked the pistol in the waist of his breeches and put an arm around Patience. She did not pull away. Instead, she leaned into him. His anger intensified when he looked down and saw her frightened eyes and the tear tracks cutting through the smudges of dirt on her face. “Are you all right? Did he hurt you?”
She looked up at him and offered a weak smile. “You warned me that the moors were dangerous. I should have listened.”
But her attempt to lighten the mood was lost on him. For nothing could be more serious—more important—than to keep her safe.
The expression in her eyes would be the undoing of him. He touched her face and tried to rub away the smudge of dirt on her cheek.
She drew in a shaky breath and tears filled her eyes again. “What happened?”
He stepped even closer, so close that he could not tell if she leaned into him, but suddenly, she was against him. Her body, so delicate. She was trembling. He wrapped his arms tightly around her and pressed his lips to her smooth forehead before resting his cheek on the top of her head. “Oh, Patience.”
Strong emotion gripped him, commandeering his senses and all rational thought. She deserved a suitor who was steady. Smart. Wise. He was no good for her. But why did it feel like she completed a place in him that had been empty for as long as he could remember?
The harder he tried to step back, the stronger her lure. The sensation of her in his arms had the power to reach within him and unlock the part that had remained closed off for so many years.
His raspy words came out in but a whisper. “So help me, I promise I will never allow anyone to hurt you again.”
She pulled away. Her hands covered her mouth. So many questions were written in her expression. “I . . . I don’t know what to say.”
He took her hands in his own and looked down at her face. Her beautiful, lovely face.
He could feel his own eyes fill with tears. Not from just the effect of this moment, but the effect of every moment leading up to it. Slowly he put his hands on her shoulders and ran them down the rough wool of his coat that she was wearing.
The Headmistress of Rosemere (Whispers on the Moors) Page 26