He leaned close and whispered, “Believe me, Patience Creighton, when I say that I promise to see to it that you never have need to cry again.”
William was pulled from his trance when he noticed Lewis running toward them, unshaved cheeks ruddy from the cold.
“Well, that was a fine ‘good morning.’ ” Lewis adjusted his shirt and shoved a shock of hair from his forehead. “I don’t think we’ll be hearing from Temdon anytime soon. Miss Creighton, are you all right?”
Patience tightened William’s coat around her shoulders and nodded.
“Good. Do you want to go for the magistrate, or shall I?”
William wanted to be the one to bring Riley to justice, but he could not leave Patience. Not after what she had been through.
A sharp wind gusted from the moors, and Patience leaned in close. Instinctively, he put an arm around her and drew her closer. He looked over at Riley, who was still sprawled out on the ground, unconscious, and, considering the state of him, would likely be out for a while longer.
“Prepare the carriage. We’ll return Miss Creighton to Rosemere and then we will visit the magistrate.”
35
Patience hurried to the window, hoping to catch a glimpse of William as he departed from Rosemere to transport Riley to the magistrate, but the courtyard and the drive were empty. He was gone.
Her shoulders slumped. She never wanted to be apart from him again.
In the solitude of her bedchamber, with great reluctance, she removed Mr. Sterling’s—William’s—coat from her shoulders. It smelled of him . . . the scent of sandalwood soap . . . of the outdoors and leather.
The events of the morning had blurred, seeming more like a dream than reality. Her fear after being snatched by Cyrus Temdon had lost some of its clarity. Its horror. And yet this coat, hugged now in her arms, was a tangible confirmation of the morning’s happenings, of her protector making all things right again.
Upon their return from Eastmore Hall, William explained to Rawdon and the rest of her family what had occurred. But it was what he didn’t say that touched Patience. For as he spoke of the morning’s happenings, he kept his hand tenderly and protectively on the small of her back. With such a public display, there could be no doubt of his intentions.
Now she just needed to hear him say the words.
Lydia knocked, opened the door, and peeked in. Her eyes were big and her cheeks were flushed. She scurried in and closed the door. “I still cannot believe it. Mr. Riley is a wretched, evil man! You must have been so frightened! Tell me everything, again, and don’t you dare omit a single detail.” She sat on the bed. “Here, sit down.”
Patience sat next to Lydia and thought about how much Lydia felt like the sister she had never had. “Well . . . after Miss Baden left, I—”
“Oh, for mercy’s sake”—Lydia waved her hand in dismissal—“Mr. Sterling told us all that already. What I want to know is what of Mr. Sterling?”
Patience smiled. For how could she not smile? He’d defended her. Embraced her. Pressed his lips to her forehead and promised her that she would never again be in fear.
But Patience did not need to say a word, for Lydia prattled on about how brave Mr. Sterling was. How handsome. How noble. Yet Patience heard little of it, so lost was she in her own recollections.
Lydia motioned for Patience to turn. “Rawdon was so angry. I don’t know who made him angrier, Mr. Riley or Mr. O’Connell.”
The mention of Mr. O’Connell drew Patience from her thoughts. “Mr. O’Connell?”
“His behavior last night was atrocious! Unforgivable! Rawdon tried to confront him immediately after the dinner last night, but Mr. O’Connell had already quitted Rosemere, and he never returned. He stormed out of the dining room immediately after you left. Then, first thing this morning, a letter arrived stating Mr. O’Connell would be returning to London. Permanently.”
At the news, Patience knew she should feel compassion for her brother now that his plans had been thwarted, but all she felt was relief. Freedom. It was like waking from a nightmare and knowing it is finally over. She’d been so worried about another confrontation with Ewan, and now that obstacle was gone.
And William Sterling did care for her! She had not misinterpreted his attentions.
Her heart felt as if it might burst at the happiness she felt for little Emma. William Sterling—Emma’s father. Suddenly, the mystery of the name—Isabelle—that he shouted out that frigid dawn after George found him in the stable made sense. It was Isabelle Simmons, Mr. Sterling’s past love and Emma’s mother.
Patience could look to the future with confidence. There could be no denying the events in their lives that had brought them both to this place. Whatever their differences in circumstances no longer mattered. Mr. Sterling had made clear his affections for her.
And Patience understood that her great romance was spread out before her. Her heart had made its choice.
At the close of the day, pink ribbons were strung across the broad expanse of the darkening sky. Twilight was settling over the snow-covered moors.
After depositing Riley with the magistrate, William returned to Eastmore Hall to make himself presentable. He had left Patience with a promise that he would see her soon. He bathed, shaved, and dressed in fawn breeches, navy coat, and snowy cravat. With a jump in his step, he hurried from the house, saddled Angus, and made his way to Rosemere.
On the ride over, William tried to plan what he would say. But his anticipation was too great. His world was about to change. Suddenly there seemed to be order. A clear purpose. How wrong he’d been, all those years, chasing folly.
George let him in at Rosemere, and with sure and steady steps, he hurried to Miss Creighton’s study and knocked on the door.
“Come in.” Her voice was soft.
He opened the door, and his chest swelled with emotion when he saw them, Miss Creighton and Emma.
Light seemed to dance in Miss Creighton’s eyes. “Mr. Sterling. You’re here at last.”
At last. Yes, at last. It seemed he’d waited a lifetime to reach this point, for as he walked into the room, his future became focused.
Everything that mattered from this point forward was here. In this room. Not horses. Not Rafertee. Not shame or unfulfilled expectations. Everything that mattered was here. And he would spend the rest of his life making himself worthy of such a gift.
Miss Creighton’s words brought him back to the present. “Are you ready to . . .” She nodded toward Emma, as if asking his permission.
He nodded.
Miss Creighton gathered the child in her arms and leaned close. “Emma, I have wonderful news to tell you.”
Emma eyed him before turning her clear blue eyes toward Miss Creighton.
The similarity struck him. Her eyes were like looking at his mother’s portrait or even in a mirror at his own. Her mahogany hair was the exact same hue as Isabelle’s. Her skin the same tone. How he’d never seen it before was remarkable.
Miss Creighton said, “Do you remember how you needed to stay here every holiday because we did not know where your mama and papa were?”
The little girl nodded as she looked back at William.
Miss Creighton squeezed the child’s hand, a smile on her face. “We have found your papa.”
The child frowned, as if uncertain whether to believe her. “Where is he?” Emma tore her gaze from William and looked up at her headmistress.
“Why, dearest, it is Mr. Sterling.” Her eyes met his. “Mr. Sterling is your father.”
William hadn’t realized he was holding his breath until he nearly needed to gasp for air. He’d rehearsed what to say, but the child stared at him with such curiosity, he could not tell if she was pleased.
He finally found the words, and he stepped toward her and knelt on one knee. “Emma, I . . . I am your papa. I regret that I have been gone for so long. But I am here now. And you will never be without a papa again.”
Emma looked at Miss Crei
ghton, who gave her a nod of encouragement. The child slipped from Miss Creighton’s lap and approached him slowly. Cautiously. “You look like me.”
Relieved, William laughed. “Yes. Yes. And you look like me.”
She nodded and looked back to Miss Creighton before turning her attention again to him. “What shall I call you?”
“Father. Or Papa,” he added when the memory of what he had called his own father as a child rushed to his mind. “Whichever you prefer.”
A smile dimpled her cheek. “Papa.”
When he looked up at Miss Creighton, tears glistened in her eyes. It was then he realized his own eyes were misting up, his vision was getting blurry, his chest was tightening.
The child reached out and touched his hand. “Are you sad, Papa?”
The words were so soft. So sweet. And he would spend the rest of his life getting to know her and making himself worthy of her. He took her tiny hand and pressed his lips to it. “No. I am not sad. I am happy, Emma. Very, very happy.”
Emma looked back at Patience, wide-eyed innocence and honesty in her expression. “Where am I going to live?”
Miss Creighton glanced at William. “You will continue to live here for the time being.”
“But whenever you are ready,” William quickly added, “you may come live at Eastmore Hall.”
“The big house past the hill?”
He looked nervously at Miss Creighton. “Yes. And you may pick whichever room you like.”
Emma’s eyes grew wide. “A home . . . just like the other girls.”
Miss Creighton smoothed the child’s hair. “Just like the other girls.”
Miss Creighton hugged Emma. “You may go and join the rest of the girls and get ready for bed. There will be plenty of time to get to know your papa, I promise.”
Emma turned to her and curtsied to William, who gave a slight bow in return.
“Good night, Papa.”
Her voice was so soft. Innocent. She stepped closer and motioned for him to lean in closer. She put her tiny hand on his shoulder and placed a kiss on his cheek.
That simple act of trust, of affection, unnerved him, yet at the same time filled a void that he had not even realized was there. “Good night, dear Emma.”
His eyes followed her as she left the room. “She is perfect,” he whispered.
Miss Creighton smiled and said, “How I have grieved for that child all these years. You will be an excellent father to her, I am sure.”
His heart was full. It was as if he was being given a chance at something he never thought possible.
William tried to think of appropriate words to say. But his throat was dry. Miss Creighton was the woman who had cared for his daughter these many years, whose strength and dedication surpassed that of anyone he’d ever known. He stared at her black hair. The smoothness of her skin. The slope of her nose. But her beauty extended beyond that. Her heart was beautiful.
He’d thought that seeing Emma and her strong likeness to her mother would bring back thoughts of Isabelle. But in fact, it was quite the opposite. When he met his daughter, he saw Miss Creighton’s influence. Her quiet mannerisms. Her polite sweetness. And none of Isabelle’s recklessness. None of her loud laughter or wild ways.
He knew, without a doubt, he had to make Miss Creighton his. “I never finished what I was going to say to you on the moors this morning.”
A flush rose to her cheeks, and he heard the slightest intake of breath.
What thoughts were churning within her?
“I shared with you the folly of my past, Miss Creighton . . . Patience.”
At the use of her Christian name, her eyes met his. Boldly. Unwavering.
He continued, “I know you know my flaws. I have made poor choices. I have gambled and lost. But through all that, God did not turn away from me. He even has given me a child. I thought after losing Emma’s mother that I would never love again. But I have another confession.”
He stepped closer, half fearing she would look away or turn and run. And yet she did not move. Did not step back. If anything, she seemed to lean in toward him, a simple act that infused him with confidence.
Sudden desperation seized him, like a man given a second chance at redemption. He forced his hands to remain at his sides, and yet her intoxicating scent of rosewater teased his senses. The nearness of her awakened a part of his soul that he thought long dead. He could reach out and touch her hair, her shoulder. And if he did, how would she react? Would she pull away?
His pulse raced at the thought, his own words barely audible above the thundering of his heart. “And will you hear my confession, Patience?”
Patience swiped her hair from her face, letting her trembling fingertips rest on her cheeks for a few moments.
She nodded.
He took her hand in his. The lace of her sleeve brushed his fingertips.
He studied the small white hand in his large rough one. How long he had believed he did not deserve such happiness. But out of past regrets grew a hope for the future. A hope for a family. Hope for love. She only needed to say yes.
She looked down, and as she did, a black lock of hair fell across her forehead. On impulse, he smoothed the lock back into place. He had not expected the feeling of such intimacy in that simple gesture.
His heart now controlled his voice. “I have made mistakes, mistakes that make me undeserving of so many things. But in a short time, so much of what I thought I believed to be true has been proven wrong.”
Her black lashes fanned on her flushed cheeks as she lowered her gaze. Was she frightened? He touched his forefinger to her chin and gently tilted her face so that her eyes met his.
“I do not know what the future holds, but it is meaningless if you are not in it.”
Her chin trembled, and she pulled her hand away. He shifted. Fear that she may not return the same sentiments crept into his mind, speaking louder and more powerfully with each second that passed. “Have I upset you?”
Tears filled her eyes, making them appear even larger and more vibrant. No longer was she the steady, controlled headmistress who had so calmly dealt with a fire, an injured child, and so many other crises. Instead, she was vulnerable and endearing, and the realization made his heart ache for her all the more.
Every moment that passed tortured him, yet he would not rush her or push her for a response. His eyes were drawn to her quivering lips, and each shallow breath that passed her parted lips entranced his senses.
Finally, a smile. The tears that had filled her eyes finally burst free and slid down her flushed cheeks. “I am not upset, William.”
His face was inches from hers. Mirth spread through him, at first as a slow ember and quickly exploding to a raging fire. Gently, ever so, he took her face in his hands and wiped the tears away with his thumbs.
Her body seemed to weaken under his touch. She rested her hands on his chest, and she melded against him as if nothing could keep them apart. Her eyes flitted from his eyes to his lips, and that was all the encouragement he needed.
He lowered his lips to hers, not fully prepared for the impact that would have. For at the touch of her lips on his, a fierce longing surged through him. He slid his arms around her, drawing her closer, feeling her tremble. She did not pull away. Instead, she snaked her arms around his neck, lifted her face to accept his kiss, and returned his affection with equal passion.
Having difficulty controlling his own emotions, he pulled away and smoothed her hair away from her face. How he wanted to remember this moment, the way she looked, the way she felt in his arms, for he was certain that this moment, maybe more than any other, would define him from this time on.
“Patience”—he ran his hand along the smooth contour of her cheek—“dearest Patience. Will you do me the honor of becoming my wife?”
A smile as beautiful as he had ever seen brightened her face. “Oh yes, William. Yes!”
He needed to hold her. Make sure she was real. Relief mixed with happiness
at her utterance of that one word. Yes. He pulled her to him with increasing possessiveness, and she moved into his embrace. “I love you, Patience. And I will spend the rest of my life showing you how much.”
36
William walked over to where Lewis was saddling Angus.
“Is it all there?” Lewis asked, adjusting the stirrup.
William tapped the leather pouch in his gloved hand. “Yes, all here.”
“Must be a good feeling.” Lewis looked at William, squinting in the bright morning sun.
“It is.” William handed the pouch to him, and Lewis tucked it in a saddlebag. “It’s all there, plus extra, in case Rafertee has any hard feelings about it.”
Lewis stepped into the stirrup. “Don’t you worry. I’ll see it gets there, safe and sound.”
William nodded. “I know you will.”
As Lewis settled in the saddle, William’s chest tightened. How he wanted to be the one to deliver the payment to Rafertee’s men, to finally be free from the debt’s weight. But he had other matters at hand, and Lewis, good and faithful Lewis, would not let him down.
“I’ll be back in three days’ time, four at the most.”
“Godspeed.”
“Take care of that colt.” Lewis tipped his hat. “We want him healthy and strong when Bley comes to claim him.”
“Don’t you worry.” William watched as Lewis rode down Eastmore’s drive to the main road, then he turned back to the stable.
William paused long enough to notice how the sun’s light reflected from the paned windows of Eastmore Hall to the ground below. There was not a great deal of money left from the sale of the Rosemere land and Latham Hill, but there was enough to reinstate a staff, begin repairs on the grounds, and make it a worthy home for Patience and Emma.
He walked toward the stone stable, where smoke curled from the chimney at the building’s east end and animals roamed the pens outside the building. One of the animals was the newborn foal, who now, almost two weeks old, was already testing his bounds. The letter in his pocket confirmed that Mr. Bley would indeed be purchasing the animal. He had sent money as proof of his good faith. The letter said he would arrive in two days to check the animal and assess the other broodmare.
The Headmistress of Rosemere (Whispers on the Moors) Page 27