The Headmistress of Rosemere (23 page)

“So here it is,” muttered William as he dismounted Angus, planting his feet firmly on the iced grass. “Latham Hill.”

He heard Carlton dismount behind him, his boots crunching the unmarked snow.

“Yes.” Carlton groaned, his breath heavy from the exertion and puffing white in the frigid air. “Very nice, indeed.”

Riley walked in front. The raw wind swept from the bare birch branches and caught his great coat, billowing it behind him. “See, Carlton, just as I told you. The river is down past those trees. See there? The trees will need to be removed, but there is a shortcut that runs along the river to town square. Even a bridge. Nothing extravagant. Ideal location.”

Carlton pivoted on his heel, surveying the land along Sterling Wood, a greedy gleam in his eyes. “Yes. And what’s that over there?”

William followed the direction of his nod. Rosemere’s stone chimneys rose above the barren tree line, and the new stable was visible through the black branches.

William said, “That’s Rosemere.”

Carlton raised an eyebrow. “Tenants of yours, I presume?”

William nodded. “Yes, sir. It’s a school run by the Creighton family.”

Riley folded his arms across his chest and looked toward the school. “That bit of land is the jewel in the Eastmore property crown, is it not, Sterling?” A smile spread across Riley’s broad face, but his voice held a hint of . . . something. Contempt? Annoyance? Riley turned back to Carlton. “But he’ll not sell it. No, sir. Won’t sell this land either. Believe me, I’ve tried to buy it myself a time or two.”

William gritted his teeth, then relaxed his jaw. “Like I’ve said before, the land is not for sale. Besides, Rosemere is leased. If you want to buy a horse, I can help you, but the land is off limits.”

The older man shifted his weight and looked out to the moors. “Everything has a price, lad.”

A sickening feeling swept over William. If he would sell even a portion of his land, his problems with Rafertee would be over. Like that. But the fullness of unfulfilled expectation weighed on him. If he had any pride, any dignity left, he needed to keep his birthright intact. Or at least have a better reason for parting with it than covering his gambling debt.

William studied Carlton, watching the portly man’s every movement. He walked over to the edge of a large boulder and rested an arm on top of it. “We are discussing a partnership, not a land sale. If I am mistaken, make your intentions clear, for I have other matters to attend to.”

Riley stepped between them, holding his hands out as one would to a horse. “Gentlemen. Sterling’s right. Nobody is going to buy or sell any land. We just need a location. And this one should suit nicely.”

Carlton seemed to let his argument go. He knelt down, brushed the snow away, and dug a clump of loose, frozen dirt and rocks out with his stocky fingers. “It would take awhile to get supplies up here to build, but once we did, shouldn’t take too long. Weather depending, of course. Might have to wait a bit more toward spring, after it warms up. Must be fireproof. Getting the iron here will take the longest.”

William tried to concentrate on the man’s plans, but his gaze kept flitting to Rosemere. The mist hung heavy, shrouding the building in filmy drapes. What would Miss Creighton think of having a mill so close to the school? It would be visible. Traffic would increase. The path leading from Darbury to Eastmore and running behind Rosemere would likely become a road, just on the other side of the stable fence.

Why should he care? This was his property, was it not?

But he
did
care.

He did want to please her. To know she was happy.

Riley laughed at something Carlton said, jolting William back to the task at hand. But his thoughts were far from the conversation occurring on Latham Hill and far more intrigued with what was going on inside the walls of Rosemere.

“So let’s forget about this selling land business and get down to mill business.” Riley rubbed his hands together. “Do we start building, gentlemen?”

Both pairs of eyes were on him. William drew a deep breath and then nodded slowly.

A short laugh burst from Riley, and he slapped William on the back. “You won’t regret this, mark my words.”

20

A
s William rode down the narrow path from Latham Hill, heading to the shortcut to Eastmore Hall, he mulled over his conversation with Riley and Carlton. The answer seemed so obvious. They would build the mill. He would share in the profits. It sounded good, too good.

And that was what worried him.

He recalled seeing a mill in Manchester similar to the one that Riley had described. It was big. Dirty. Carlton had promised that the mill he proposed would be relatively small. But what if it was indeed successful and expanded? Was he prepared to evict tenants to free more land? And what of the local weavers? He knew of at least two men, one of whom was a tenant, who made his livelihood by selling wool.

As he wound his way toward Wainslow Peak, he sat up straighter in the saddle and arched his neck. Through the branches of the trees, he could see the stone walls of Rosemere. The setting sun painted pink ribbons against a darkening sky, the shadows
making the snow appear almost blue in the fading light. All was quiet on the school’s grounds. Light poured from several windows, and a shadow could be seen passing a window on the second floor.

So full of life.

So different from Eastmore Hall.

William and Angus moved farther down the path, and through the trees, he saw two men walking around the new stable. He recognized Rawdon Creighton. After the shock of discovering his mother’s brooch the previous day and not wanting to intrude on their reunion, his words to Creighton had been short. Instead of continuing on his way home, he turned toward Rosemere. In the still hours of evening, he found a gate in the stone wall and rode up to the new stable.

“Ah, Sterling,” Creighton exclaimed as he drew closer. “Come to check on the progress?”

William stopped his horse by the men. “I was riding to Eastmore and saw you out here.” He looked at the building in progress, squinting to see in the fading light. “It appears they are moving quickly.”

“Indeed.” Rawdon studied the stone foundation before turning toward the man next to him. “Allow me to introduce my colleague, Mr. O’Connell.”

William nodded. “Good day.”

“You may remember O’Connell. He studied under my father for several years. I have persuaded him to come back to Rosemere as headmaster.”

The words struck William as strange. Miss Creighton had not mentioned anything about anyone coming to help. In fact, it appeared that she had everything under control. “Well then, welcome back to Darbury, Mr. O’Connell.”

Creighton patted his hand down Angus’s neck. “We were about to return to the house for dinner. Won’t you join us?”

William shook his head. “I could not intrude.”

“I’ll take no refusal. We are celebrating. And you have yet to meet my wife. Besides, I have a business matter to discuss with you.”

William’s pulse quickened at the invitation. He would spend time with Miss Creighton, and that would be reason enough. Perhaps he could learn more about how the brooch he’d given Isabelle came to be in her possession. “If you are certain it is not an imposition, I will be most happy to join you.”

“Excellent. We will get George to tend your horse until it is time to depart.”

William followed the men inside. Indeed, he was glad for the diversion of dinner at Rosemere. He was growing weary of dining alone, with only Lewis for company occasionally. Yes, this diversion was exactly what he needed.

Patience opened the door to her wardrobe and studied her modest selection of gowns.

Ewan O’Connell would be joining them for the evening meal. She felt more like one of her schoolgirls, selecting a gown for a first dance rather than for a simple dinner with family. She closed her eyes. Long-suppressed memories of her brief romance with Ewan flooded her. She slammed the wardrobe door shut. She would not let her mind go to that place. She had made her decision many years ago. She would abide by it and think of it no more.

Realizing she had forgotten to select a gown, she opened the door wide enough to pull out a modest long-sleeved garment of black crepe trimmed with black velvet.

Cassandra, who was helping Patience dress for dinner, took the gown from Patience’s hand.

“Mr. O’Connell’s return must be a shock, but everything will
be fine.” Cassandra smoothed the ruffles on the sleeve. “You will see. Time, I am sure, has healed all wounds.”

Patience wasn’t sure if Cassandra was referring to Ewan’s wounds or her own, but she had Cassandra help her pull the dress over her petticoat and then turned around so she could fasten the tiny buttons down the back.

Cassandra patted Patience’s shoulder when she was done and smoothed the folds of the gown. “Think of this as dinner with an old friend. That is all, nothing more. I am sure that he will not stay in Darbury too long, and all will be as it was before.”

If only those words could be a comfort, but Patience knew better. For had Rawdon not said that he wanted Ewan to stay on as headmaster? To run the school? How she wanted to tell her closest friend everything that Rawdon had told her about the plans for the future. But such an act would be a selfish one, for how could Patience tell Cassandra news of Rawdon without causing further injury?

Cassandra nudged Patience toward the dressing table. “Sit. I will dress your hair.”

Patience tried to remain still as Cassandra adorned her hair, just as she had so many times before. Her gaze followed Cassandra’s silver brush as it slipped through her own black tresses.

Pretty, sweet Cassandra, with her kind smile, her warm eyes. Long, dark lashes. But instead of her usual ruddy cheeks, she looked pale. Ashen. All of these recent developments must have been unimaginably hard on Cassandra.

Patience winced as the brush caught a tangle in her hair.

She looked at her own reflection. The candle sitting on the dressing table cast a warm glow on her complexion. She pressed her lips together, watching her cheek dimple as she did so.

Ewan had been the only man to call her beautiful. But that was so many years ago. How foolish she had been, delighting in his
praise. In her naivety, she did not realize where the compliments were leading.

And since his return, what did he think of her?

At twenty-five, she was a spinster. That fact had never embarrassed her before, but now, facing a man she had once refused, she could not deny the sting. She had always expected a handsome and dashing man to sweep her away. But he never came.

Once her skin had been bright and smooth. Was it still? And her eyes had shone with brightness. Ewan had said they were like the sea . . . like green glass. She’d never seen the sea, but she sincerely doubted her eyes still shone with the vibrancy of unaffected youth. Responsibility weighed heavy on her. How she would love to go back to the innocence of those days.

Patience tapped her toes against the floor as Cassandra swept her black hair up off her neck and pinned it away from her face in a style that still allowed tendrils to cascade down her neck. The sight seemed odd after months of wearing her hair up in a simple twist.

After a knock, the door swung open, and Mary, round and flushed, hurried into the room. “We are to have another guest tonight for dinner.”

Patience whirled around. “Another guest? Who?”

Mary placed a tea service on the table. “Mr. Sterling, Miss. Mr. Sterling has arrived. He called on Mr. Creighton, he did, and of course he was invited for dinner. I declare, I hope there is enough food. First he invites the Hammonds, then Mr. O’Connell arrives. I hadn’t planned for all of this company.”

Patience heard nothing after “Mr. Sterling.” “You say Mr. Sterling is here?”

“Yes. Been down with the men nigh a quarter hour. You know how your brother fancies a large gathering. Always been the social one of the family. And him and his missus being so used to London, he must miss all the people.”

Suddenly the thoughts of Ewan faded like the wisps of morning fog as the memory of her time alone with William Sterling on the moor replaced them.

Mary left the room, and Cassandra leaned down and spoke low, a teasing smile toying on her lips. “My, my. Mr. Sterling.”