The Headmistress of Rosemere (19 page)

“Close that door at once,” her mother scolded. “You will let the chill in, and goodness knows, there is enough draft as it is.”

Patience ignored the sharp tone. “I have news. A visitor has arrived.”

“I have no wish to see anyone.”

Patience retrieved her mother’s shawl. “This is a pleasant surprise, I assure you.”

“My head aches, Patience. Please, let me be.”

“Nonsense. A walk is what you need, then.”

Refusing to allow her mother to waste the rest of the day in the confines of her bedchamber, Patience waited as her mother wrapped the shawl around her shoulders and adjusted the cap on her head.

She led the way to the drawing room where she had left Rawdon, trying her best to ignore her mother’s complaints on the way down the stairs. Patience half feared and half anticipated her mother’s reaction to seeing Rawdon. Perhaps seeing her son would help her escape the dark cloud that had hounded her. But then, the shock of his unannounced marriage might cause her to retreat further.

In the drawing room, when her mother saw her son standing next to the blazing fireplace, a cry escaped her lips and tears flooded her eyes. “Rawdon! My Rawdon!” she cried and ran to embrace him, oblivious of the young blond woman in the corner.

“For shame!” Her mother managed to scold him between sobs. “What took you so long to arrive? We have needed you here. And where have you been? Have you not received our letters?”

Rawdon pulled a handkerchief from his pocket and gave it to his mother. “I did, but I had business to attend to.”

“Business?” She pressed the cloth to her eyes. “But what business would pull you away from your family in such a fashion?”

Patience held her breath and watched as her brother’s expression beamed and he extended his hand to Lydia.

Margaret Creighton gawked as the woman stepped forward.

“Mother, no excuse can erase my bad behavior, but I do have news that I think may bring you pleasure.” Rawdon’s chest puffed with unmasked pride, and his face beamed with pleasure. “I’d like for you to meet my wife, Mrs. Lydia Creighton.”

Her mother’s face went from white to red in the blink of an eye,
her graying hair trembling about her face. She then, just as quickly, went quite pale.

Patience could only stare, fearful of her mother’s response.

Lydia’s sweet expression could not have been warmer or more sincere. She rushed forward. “Mrs. Creighton, it is my greatest pleasure to make your acquaintance.”

Patience was quickly realizing that her new sister-in-law’s charms would soothe even the most ruffled countenance. Even Patience found herself softening to her presence. Rawdon’s wife possessed a natural softness to her voice and a gentleness to her nature that at least on the surface was attractive.

Part of her wanted her mother to throw the outsider from their home. But then she looked at her mother. Was that a smile?

Her mother reached for Lydia. Lydia smiled and took her mother’s hand. Her mother embraced Lydia.

This was too much. Too quick. Patience needed air. And quickly.

As soon as a natural break in the conversation presented itself, Patience excused herself from the drawing room’s stuffy confines. Sharp pain pulsed through her head, brought on, no doubt, by the sudden shock of her brother’s news. Her mother seemed to be welcoming of her new daughter-in-law. But Patience could not make peace with it.

Patience wanted to understand her brother. She wanted to understand why he had stayed away for so long and left her and her mother to deal with the burdens of the school.

But she could not.

And what baffled her even more was how he could do this to Cassandra. Without a word.

Dear, sweet Cassandra. Rawdon had loved her. ’Twas no secret.
For years Rawdon had wooed her. Pursued her. By the light of an early spring moon, Patience had even once spied her friend in her brother’s embrace. In her heart of hearts, Patience believed them to have a secret understanding. But Rawdon’s announcement of his bride, Mrs.
Lydia
Creighton, dashed that thought.

Patience turned down the hall and moved with slow steps to the east wing. With dinner within the hour, Cassandra would likely be in her bedchamber. The thought of sharing such news with her friend pained her, but it would pain her even more to have her friend find out—or worse yet, encounter the newlyweds—without so much as a warning.

Patience knocked on the door. “Cassandra? Are you in there?”

The door unlatched and swung open. A lighthearted smile lit Cassandra’s face. “Patience! Come in. I thought you were in the study.”

Patience walked past her friend, gripping and ungripping her hands. “I . . . I was.”

“Dearest, what is it?” Cassandra frowned. “Is it Emma? Your mother?”

“No.” Then the words rushed from her mouth. “It’s Rawdon.”

Eager enthusiasm played on Cassandra’s soft features. “Rawdon? Have you received news at last?”

The anticipation in Cassandra’s tone was like a knife to her own heart. “Yes. Well, that is to say, no.”

Cassandra looked confused. “Well, which is it?” Her nervous laugh betrayed her calm expression. “Hopefully it is good news. Perhaps he is returning to Rosemere?”

Patience could not bear the hope in her friend’s voice. She squeezed her eyes shut and blurted the words. “He is here but—”

Cassandra flinched, and her mouth fell open in disbelief. Color rushed to her cheeks. “Here? Now?”

Patience nodded.

“Well, I must go to him. I must—”

Patience held up her hands. “Wait.”

With every second that passed, Cassandra’s smile slowly faded. “Why? What has happened?”

“I must tell you something.”

A hesitant laugh slid from Cassandra’s lips. “Patience, you are worrying me.”

“Rawdon has taken a wife.”

Cassandra’s face blanched to an unearthly shade of white. “A wife? No . . . no, no. You mean he’s . . . he’s—”

Patience’s stomach churned as she watched her friend try to understand the news. “I am so sorry. It pains me to—”

“You are mistaken, surely.” Cassandra spun around, shaking her head in emphatic disagreement, and dropped onto the bed. “I do not believe you.”

“You must. He is here, Cassandra.” Patience winced with each word, aware each syllable stabbed at an already tender wound. “
She
is here.”

Cassandra’s dark eyes glazed with tears. “But I don’t understand. He’s only been away for six months. He told me that I . . . that we—” She wiped the tears from her eyes and drew a steadying breath. “Who is she?”

“I’ve never met her before. Upon my honor, Cassandra, I have no idea what has happened.”

The intensity with which Cassandra shook her head increased, and she repeated her question with sharp enunciation. “Who . . . is she?”

Patience swallowed against the lump of emotion forming in her throat. “Her name is Lydia.”

“And she is here.” Cassandra made it a statement, not a question.

Patience nodded, her throat tightening.

“Then I must leave.” Her friend burst into a flurry of activity and knelt to pull a traveling case from under the bed.

“Leave? No! Why should you leave?”

“I cannot see him. What would I say?” Cassandra’s tears now fell freely.

“You have done nothing wrong. You have nothing to be ashamed of.”

“How can I stay? How can I face him? Face
her
. Everyone will know. I could not bear it.” Cassandra whirled with sudden speed to her wardrobe, pulling clothes and stuffing them in the case. “I will not be here to face him.”

“I know how this hurts you. Believe me, I do.”

“How could you?” Cassandra shot back. “How could you possibly know? I do not mean to be harsh, Patience, but you have never loved another as I love your brother. Do not fool yourself into thinking that my feelings are like those you had for Ewan. I loved your brother. I
love
your brother. I refuse to be here. Refuse to stay.”

“But where will you go?” Patience would not let her protest die. “Rosemere is your home. You are not alone in this, I—”

“How can it be my home?” Her shoulders shook with sobs, each more violent than the last. “This is
his
world, not mine.”

“You are wrong. You have lived here most of your life! Plus, it is your livelihood.” Patience could not bear the thought of living day after day without her friend. “Do not leave me alone here. I need you.”

The reality of her words hit her. How could she survive without the strength of her friend . . . the person who had been her support and confidante since her father’s death?

“I am sorry, Patience, but you must understand.” Cassandra’s chin trembled. “I must go.”

16

P
atience returned her fork to the table and looked around the small dining room. Evidence of lack of use was all around her. Dust had gathered on the sideboard on the south wall, and the chimney smoked from having been ignored.

This room had once been the room where she, her mother, her father, and her brother escaped from the busy happenings of the school and enjoyed family dinners. Often Cassandra, being Patience’s closest friend, would join them. In the years that Ewan O’Connell had lived at Rosemere, he used to take every meal with them in this room. In fact, Lydia occupied the chair that had belonged to him. But in the months following her father’s death, the dining room had become a sad space, cold and uninviting.

George had done his best to get a fire sputtering in the grate and bring warmth to the room, but despite his best efforts, a chill blanketed the room. Nevertheless, her mother had insisted that the dinner be held here. Her mother’s interest on such matters had become so rare that Patience could hardly deny her.

Patience had a headache. And the mutton on her plate turned her stomach. She wished she could blame her lingering discomfort on the weather or the smoke from the fire, but in truth, she could think of little else besides Cassandra and how Rawdon had hurt her.

Never had she seen Cassandra in such a state. Never had she seen such pain and anguish. Patience had managed to convince Cassandra to not leave in the dark of night, to at least remain until the sun’s first light. She hoped that her friend might change her mind before the sun again rose over the moors.

Patience could hardly blame her if she did not.

And this she did know: this was Rawdon’s fault.

Patience watched him across the table. Despite the grief he’d displayed at their father’s funeral, he seemed to have recovered his charm. Cleanly shaven, he beamed at his wife. He then turned his smile to their mother, who seemed all too jubilant at her son’s return.

Patience became aware that her brother had asked her a question, a question she had not heard, so wrapped up was she in her own thoughts. “Pardon?”

“Egad, Patience,” he exclaimed, the corners of his mouth turning up in his customary good-natured smile, “you look like you just ate a sour apple.”

She wiped a corner of her mouth. Her gaze traveled from Rawdon to Lydia. “You will have to excuse my demeanor, Mrs. Creighton. I’ve received upsetting news, and I am afraid it has come as quite a shock.”

Lydia’s round face showed concern, but it was Rawdon who spoke, a twinkle still gleaming in his eyes. “Is it such a surprise that I would find a lady as lovely as Lydia to marry me?”

Was he making light of her? Patience adjusted her napkin in her lap. “It is Miss Baden. Surely you remember Miss Baden,
Rawdon?” She pinned him with a look. If she had not been looking square in his face, she would have missed the twitch of his eye. “She has decided to leave Rosemere.”

Patience heard her mother gasp, but she refused to let her brother look away. She did not feel as much satisfaction as she had expected to when she noticed the tremor in his square jaw. She purposely remained silent to let the full effect of her words sink into his conscience. Whatever had befallen him, he had to know the consequences of his actions.

Her mother placed her napkin beside her plate. “What’s this? Has she found another position?”

Patience was surprised at how genuine her mother’s surprise seemed, for she was fully aware of the relationship between her son and her former pupil. “No, she has not.”