The Headmistress of Rosemere (20 page)

Lydia, her voice gentle, said, “Forgive me, but may I ask who Miss Baden is?”

Patience wanted to hear her brother’s account of Miss Baden, but when he remained silent, she responded, “Miss Baden is, or was, a teacher here at Rosemere and a great friend. She has lived here since she was a student here herself.”

“Oh, I am sorry to hear that she will be leaving.”

The sincerity of Lydia’s expression took her aback, and Patience felt a little guilty about bringing up such a topic in front of the young woman who could not possibly know the history.

Rawdon cocked an eyebrow, and the look he gave her sent a clear message.

Patience felt a bitter resentment but turned to Rawdon’s wife. “Tell me, Mrs. Creighton, where are you from?”

The young woman gave a giddy little shrug. “Oh, please, call me Lydia.”

Patience hesitated. To be so casual with one she barely knew felt strange. “Very well, then, Lydia.”

“I was raised in London.”

“Do you have a large family?”

She pressed her napkin to her lips. “Yes. I have four brothers and two sisters. Plus, I have fourteen cousins, all of whom live, that is to say,
lived
within walking distance.”

“A large family, indeed. Well, our family is quite small, as you see, but fortunately there are always people about to keep one from getting lonely. I would imagine that Darbury is quite different from London.”

“It is, but from what I have seen, it is lovely. Very quiet. And the air is clean.”

Her brother leaned his elbow on the table. “Lydia’s father is Mr. Archibald Daring. You remember Mr. Daring, do you not?”

At the mention of the name, recognition burned bright. “Of course. Mr. Daring.” Patience remembered the man well. Her father’s business partner. He’d visited on several occasions, especially when she was younger, and provided funds more than once to the school.

This was not a conversation for the dinner table. Patience cast a glance at her mother and could only assume by her relatively jovial demeanor that she was pleased with Rawdon’s return and the introduction of his wife. “Mother, is Lydia’s gown not lovely? I don’t know when I have seen fabric in such a lovely shade of blue.”

Lydia nodded. “It is lutestring. I adore it. I had hoped that upon arriving here in Darbury I might find a seamstress. I would like to have one or two new dresses made, now that we are settling down.”

Patience cocked an eyebrow and turned to her brother. “You will be staying for a long while, then?”

He obviously took offense at the question. Irritation flashed in his eyes. “This is my home, is it not?”

In his will their father had been specific that the responsibilities and business of the school should pass to her brother. It had
been Rawdon whom their father had named to see to the future of the school. Rawdon whom their father named the headmaster. And as the man in the family, he was the one to continue the lease for the land, not her.

Patience had been hurt by this provision, more than she cared to admit. At one point in the past, every member of the family had been heavily involved with the running of the school, so much so that it seemed impossible to separate the family members from the school itself. She had embraced it. But since their father’s death, Rawdon had done his best to reject the school and the responsibilities accompanying it.

She had always imagined that the school would continue on as it always had. But now that her brother was the one their father had specified to be in charge, would it? His lack of participation since their father’s death gave her reason to wonder. In light of his changed circumstances, did he have other plans?

“I only meant to inquire about how long you would be here, Rawdon. No need to get in a tizzy.” She returned her attention to Lydia, and with the gown having been discussed, she noticed that the sleeves did seem too tight. “Well, if you need something done quickly, our Mary can let out or take up a gown. As quickly as these girls grow, she has had much practice. There is a seamstress in the village of whom we are quite fond. Of course, her work does not equal that of what can be found in London, but she has always done good work for us.”

For the first time, Lydia seemed to relax. “Thank you. I should like to visit her.”

“No need to visit her. I will send for her. I am certain she would be more than happy to visit us here at the school. In fact, a few of the girls’ dresses are in need of alteration.”

Patience watched her brother the rest of the evening. She hoped to find time to speak with him alone, but no opportunity presented
itself. She decided one thing: Cassandra would not leave because of Rawdon’s actions. She made it her mission to make sure Cassandra would stay at Rosemere, where she belonged.

William slowed Angus from a canter and trotted into a clearing at Ambledale Court, Jonathan Riley’s estate. A dusting of snow swirled around him.

He should have come earlier. Night fell early across the moors, especially this time of year. But then as quickly as the thought entered his head, he chided himself for feeling anxious. Never before had he allowed fear to rule his actions. Now was not the time for timidity or to second-guess a decision.

Riley’s butler had the door open before he even handed Angus’s reins to the stable boy. The observant servants scurried about their tasks with pinpoint precision—prime examples of how a house
should
function.

He thought of his own Eastmore Hall, a mere shell of its former glory, with most of the rooms closed and a skeleton crew of servants. He chose not to dwell on that fact and, instead, reminded himself that agreeing to the proposal from Riley could take a step toward regaining his life.

He needed to learn everything he could.

William followed Ambledale Court’s poker-straight butler to the billiard room, where he heard—and recognized—Riley’s voice. Another voice, which was much lower and possessed the slightest bit of a Scottish lilt, he could not place. Once he entered the smoke-filled room, Riley was immediately at William’s side, cue in one hand, goblet in the other. “Ah, finally! See, Carlton, I knew he would not let us down.”

William watched as the heavy-set, middle-aged man came
toward him. He’d expected the man to be younger. More agile. His greasy hair was tied in a queue at the base of his neck. Unkempt sideburns did their best to hide pockmarks on his cheeks.

The man’s mouth seemed too large for his face, his spectacles, too small. “Sterling, I presume. Been waiting to meet you. Heard you have a bonny bit of land, ripe for commerce.”

William nodded, not ready yet to respond. He’d never been one to judge a character too quickly. Perhaps a characteristic he should reconsider.

The man said, “Your estate is near here, am I correct?”

William nodded. “You are, sir. Eastmore Hall. Due east.”

“Ah.”

Riley propped his foot on an ottoman and rested his elbow on his knee. “Got himself some pretty ponies on that estate, at that. Too bad you’re not a horseman.”

“Do you?” Carlton lowered himself back down into his chair. “Don’t mind if I sit a spell, do you, Sterling? Blasted gout.” Carlton rubbed his leg before settling back against the chair. “So, you are interested in joining us on this venture, so I hear?”

“Considering it.” William moved to the fire to warm himself after the ride. “Riley here tells me you have had quite a bit of success in the textile business.”

“Wool. That’s where the money is, lad. If I can only keep the bloody heathens and riots away from my looms. Rowdy lot.”

William glanced over at Riley, whose expression suggested he was eager to squelch any chatter that might lead to misgivings related to their venture.

Riley leaned in. “Well, you won’t have to worry about them here in Darbury. Quiet town, am I right?”

William shrugged.

Carlton’s raspy laugh filled the space. “That’s what I like to hear.”

The hours passed by and William’s tension eased, whether
from the comfort of being introduced to new company or the effect of the port. After he decided to call it an evening, William showed himself to the room where he always stayed when a guest at Riley’s estate . . . the Blue Room.

With naught but a lighted tallow candle in a pewter holder, William settled in for the night. A fire had been lit in the room in anticipation of his arrival, and it had died down, the embers in the grate glowing orange and red. No moonlight filtered through the windows. The fire’s shadows danced on the walls that had been painted such a dark blue that they looked black in night’s darkness.

He sat on a chair next to the fire to remove his boots, but the smoldering embers distracted him. He could not help but be reminded of the blaze at Rosemere.

And, by association, the expression of strength on Miss Creighton’s face.

He removed his coat and, at the movement, felt the weight of the brooch still in the welt pocket of his waistcoat.

How he hoped that when he reached his fingers in the pocket the brooch would not be there—that the entire ordeal was but a strange misgiving. But his fingers grasped the object, still secure in the fabric pouch.

As he held the jewelry, he thought about the proposed business alliance with Riley and Carlton. What would his father have done? But throughout the evening, he could not help another thought: What would his mother have done? As much as his father had poured every ounce of energy into his land and his work, his mother had poured every ounce of her being into her faith. How she had tried to instill in him a faith. But his will had been too strong. How he wished he could recall the verses she used to recite to him as a boy. He had thought them meaningless at the time. As he struggled with his feelings of abandonment and the sting of his failures, he tried to remember—he wanted to remember.

His mother had prayed daily. He had thought it a ridiculous waste of time. But she had been at peace. Even when trials littered her path, she was never riled.

Maybe she had been on the right path after all, and he had been the ridiculous one.

17

T
he next morning Patience sat at the desk in the study, intent on clearing the mess away. The fact that her brother returned the day her office was in shambles embarrassed her. She moved several boxes to the armoire, pausing once again to sift through the contents of Emma’s box, hoping to stumble upon something she had missed.

After placing Emma’s things in the armoire, she stood at the window and watched the men working on the stable, just as Mr. Sterling had promised. One man raked up debris. Another man in a dusty coat and floppy hat guided a mule pulling a cart, and yet another stacked lumber off to the side. The new stable clearing looked larger. Mr. Sterling seemed to have not held back on the expense. She wondered at the necessity of it, seeing as they only had one carriage, two horses, a pony, a cow, a goat, and a smattering of fowl. But he had been insistent on the details.

Now Patience wondered about him. Were the stories she had heard about him true? Was he as reckless as they had said? And
why had he left Darbury all those years ago? And now he was back. She had heard rumors of financial troubles, of servants being dismissed. If the rumors were true, what would account for the fine stable he was having built at Rosemere?

“I hope I am not interrupting.”

Patience turned to see Lydia peeking around the door. Surprised that her sister-in-law was even up at this early hour, Patience motioned for her to enter. Lydia’s blond hair was perfectly curled and swept away from her face, and even though her jonquil silk gown was a bit ornate this early in the day, Patience could not help but compare its fine detail to her own drab frock. “I trust you slept well.”

“Oh, I did.” Lydia smiled and blew out a shaky breath. “Traveling always exhausts me. I feel I could sleep for days!”

Patience returned the smile but could hardly relate. She’d had little opportunity to travel outside of Darbury, except for the summer when her father took her to Manchester to pick up a student.

Lydia opened a book on the corner of the desk and turned a few pages before looking at Patience. “I want to assist.”

“Assist?”

“Yes. With the school. Both my father and Rawdon have told me of the work you do here, and I am eager to be a part of it.”