The Headmistress of Rosemere (25 page)

She was speaking to him again. “Indeed, I did.”

“Mary enjoyed cooking for Rawdon and Mr. O’Connell. She always said that the girls ate like birds, and she much preferred feeding souls with a healthy appetite.”

O’Connell laughed. “I requested Mary’s pea soup and mutton collops. I do hope that is agreeable. I am sure that is nothing like what you are used to at Eastmore Hall, Sterling, but I have to admit, she asked me what I desired, and that, to me, is Rosemere.”

If William had been dining at Eastmore Hall this evening, the cook would have a hard time scrounging up a dish half as appealing. “After being out in the open air all day, it sounds like every bit of heaven.”

Surprise struck William when Mr. O’Connell stepped close to Miss Creighton and offered her an arm. “Allow me to escort you, Miss Creighton.” When she hesitated, a cheeky smile curled his lip.

Miss Creighton cast a nervous glance around before she gave him a short smile and accepted his outstretched arm. She flashed her eyes in William’s direction, but then, just as quickly, looked back to O’Connell.

A twinge seared through William’s gut. What was that? A bit of jealousy? Surely not. He had too much on his mind to wonder about the romantic entanglements of a headmistress.

Didn’t he?

Patience wished she had worn gloves.

Yes, she should have worn gloves. But this was a simple family dinner, was it not?

As she walked toward the dining room, the sleeve of Ewan O’Connell’s coat felt rough beneath her fingertips. She kept her eyes straight ahead, refusing to look over at the man who was escorting her on the short walk from the parlor to the dining room.

She felt ridiculous.

The overly formal act was foolish for such an informal gathering of family and friends. But the addition of Mr. Sterling to their party turned the dinner into more of an affair. It was one thing for a man of his circumstances to oversee the building of the stable on his own property. But to dine with them? The memory of their moment alone on the moors brought a flush to her cheeks. Panic tickled her stomach, and her heart beat in wild anticipation. For what if he were to misinterpret Ewan’s presence here?

The wool of Ewan’s coat seemed to burn her hand. She wanted to rip her hand away and put a good few feet between her and Mr. O’Connell, as if by doing so she could also distance herself from the memories he brought with him. But instead she focused on the dining room door straight ahead of her.

Only a few more feet
.

“Just like when we were children, isn’t that right, Miss Creighton?”

Patience forced a smile, but even in her attempt at confidence, she could feel it tremble. “Indeed.”

That had been long ago. When they were children. They had been different people then, and pretending that anything was the same was ludicrous. But the last time they had walked in such a manner she had overstepped her bounds. Offered too much encouragement. Strange how the simple act of walking from one room to another could transport her back to that different time. Except she was no longer a girl of nineteen. She was twenty-five. A spinster.

In the candlelit dining room, she withdrew her hand and turned her face away quickly, grateful that Jane Hammond happened to be
close behind her. She dared not look in Mr. Sterling’s direction. Her head was beginning to throb from the complexities of the day, and she was grateful for a familiar face.

“Dear Mrs. Hammond, I am so glad you could join us this evening.”

Mrs. Hammond waited for Mr. O’Connell to rejoin the men. “And where is Miss Baden? I declare I’ve seen naught of her since I arrived.”

Patience cut her eyes toward her brother, who was in the process of introducing his wife to Mr. Hammond. Mrs. Hammond was correct. Normally Cassandra would join them at a party such as this. “She has been unwell.”

Mrs. Hammond showed genuine concern. “I do hope it is not serious.”

“She should be well soon enough.” Patience managed a smile, although she wished that Cassandra’s ailment were as simple as that. A sore throat or broken limb would soon heal, but a broken heart is another matter entirely.

“Well then, is she up for company? Perhaps I could pay her a quick visit after we dine?”

“She was asleep when I checked in on her a bit ago,” Patience lied.

Mrs. Hammond leaned in close, her nose wrinkling in unmasked disdain. “What is Mr. Sterling doing here?”

Patience’s heart skipped a beat at the mere mention of his name. “He’s been most helpful during and ever since the fire. Apparently he called on Rawdon today, who invited him to stay for dinner.”

Mrs. Hammond tilted her head. “Most odd.” Mrs. Hammond watched him for several seconds before turning back around. “If I were you, dear Patience, I would advise your brother to be wary in his dealings with Mr. Sterling. He’s a most unscrupulous man.”

The words took Patience by surprise. A harsh judgment, and
from the vicar’s wife, no less. Patience thought it wise to forgo mentioning the fact that he had shown up on their property, bloodied and unconscious, mere weeks ago. Or that they had spent a quiet moment together, walking at twilight on the moors. “I have heard he has quite the reputation, but he has been nothing but kind to help us ever since the fire. He even assisted us the night of the fire.”

The click of the door resounded above the chatter, and the door swung open. Mrs. Margaret Creighton, dressed in a black mourning gown with a black fichu and thick charcoal shawl, stood in the doorway. Surprised, Patience rushed to her. “Mother! I am so glad you are joining us!”

Her mother’s eyes appeared bright, and for the first time in weeks, color warmed her cheeks. “Well, with such a party brewing in my home, how could I miss it?”

Patience pressed her lips closed, quickly scanning the rest of the party. Was anyone else surprised by her sudden recovery? But everyone milled about, as if nothing unusual had just happened. Her mother brushed past her and took Rawdon’s arm, smiling and laughing as they moved about the room. Even as Patience caught a glimpse of the mother she remembered, a sinking feeling took hold. For months she had been trying to help her mother smile. Trying to help her find a spark of life. She’d succeeded but a handful of times to get her mother to join her at dinner. With Rawdon home, suddenly she recovered? Suddenly she felt like interacting with friends and family?

It didn’t make sense.

“Miss Creighton, are you well?”

Patience snapped from her shock and managed a little laugh to cover her thoughts. “Of course. I am pleased to see her up and about at last.”

Mrs. Hammond leaned closer, her scent of lavender nearly overwhelming. “There is nothing like fine company to bring one
from a dark place, Miss Creighton. I believe your brother’s return may be just what your mother needs.”

Patience employed every discipline to ensure that her expression remained stoic. Over the last six months she had tried—and failed—to do what her brother and his new wife appeared to have done in days: bring her mother joy.

Once seated at the table, she found herself settled between Ewan and Mrs. Hammond. But it was not who was next to her that caught her attention.

Directly across from her sat Mr. Sterling. He was talking with Lydia, who was seated to his left.

She stole another glance. Sandy hair fell over his forehead and curled over his high collar. Sideburns hid wind-kissed cheeks, and clear blue eyes shone beneath dark lashes. He was achingly handsome. How she wished he would look in her direction.

She thought back to that first night, when she touched a cloth to his cheek and wiped dirt from his brow. Then to when she folded back his shirt sleeve to tend to his arm wound. The touch—the innocent touch—when he brushed the soot away from her face.

Someone was staring at her. She felt it. She lifted her eyes to see Ewan’s pale brown ones looking at her. He did not look away but grinned, as if caught in a guilty pleasure.

She quickly glanced around the table to see if anyone had noticed his brazen look, which certainly was not in keeping with the professional demeanor of a headmaster. Exactly
why
had he returned to Rosemere?

22

W
illiam lifted a spoon of pea soup to his lips. O’Connell had been right. The soup was delicious. The steam curling from the hot meal heated his face and hands. He’d still not completely warmed from his ride on the moors with Riley and Carlton. He moved his toes within his boots and slacked his posture slightly. He could have relaxed and truly enjoyed the dinner—if it weren’t for the Hammonds.

The words that Mr. Hammond had issued that awful day still rang as true and as loud as if he had said them yesterday. “Isabelle is not for you. She has made her choice. To contact her would only bring about her ruination. Do her a favor and let her be.”

William’s lips formed a hard line, and he could not resist a glance at the man who had stood in the way of everything he had ever wanted. Or thought he had wanted.

He let his gaze drift slightly to the left to land on Mrs. Hammond, who had been equally vocal about her disapproval of the union. He’d barely been able to stomach her triumphant
expression that fateful day. How vividly it had burned itself to his memory. He’d reconciled his feelings for Isabelle. He’d made peace with them. Accepted that she was gone. But his anger toward the Hammonds was different. He did not
want
to forgive them, as Lewis had prompted on more than one occasion. How much easier it was to blame another than take any ownership of his own missteps.

He took another spoonful of soup and looked across the table at Miss Creighton. She was a much more pleasant subject to linger on. After Isabelle, he swore he would never love again—a vow he’d had little trouble keeping. Or so he had thought. But the lightness of Miss Creighton’s touch he could not forget. And the sincere expression in her eyes captivated him. Left him longing to know more about her. Nay, he wanted to know everything about her.

Of course, while at the parties in London, he’d flirted and even kindled a brief romance, but his intentions had never been on anything other than enjoying himself. With discreet glances, he studied Miss Creighton. He strained to hear her voice above all others present. She was so unlike any of the women he had known in London. She wasn’t silly. Frivolous women who targeted him as a wealthy husband could be amusing, but in the end proved shallow and disappointing. There was something about Miss Creighton. Her passion for those around her intrigued him.

She glanced up at him, almost startling him with the intensity of her eyes in the candlelit room.

He smiled and nodded.

She smiled and nodded.

And in that moment, William forgot all about the Hammonds.

William was far from an expert on women, and certainly no expert on the likes of Miss Creighton, but something about her was not quite right this evening. Her expression, which normally exuded confidence and control, seemed almost sad.

He should look away. He was staring.

O’Connell, who was seated next to Miss Creighton, leaned in close to her. Too close. He watched for her reaction. He wanted to see her pull away from him. But instead, she gave a smile and said a few words. O’Connell seemed pleased with whatever she had said, for a beaming smile lit his face.

Like a lightning strike, a sensation jolted William. His nostrils flared.

And then his thought from earlier was confirmed: he was jealous.

Mrs. Hammond, who seemed equally as fervent in her fondness for the odd Mr. O’Connell as she was in her dislike for William, leaned forward and turned her head toward O’Connell. “Tell us, Mr. O’Connell, how was your time in London? We’ve so much to catch up on.”

“Very educational, ma’am.” O’Connell leaned back in his chair. “Such a different world in a town the size of London.”

“And tell us of your post there.”

“I taught Latin and French at a boarding school for young men.”

Mr. Hammond chimed in, “Did not leave the realm of education, I see.”

“No, for I fear it is in my blood. My profession chose me instead of I it.”

Mrs. Hammond put down her fork. “And how long will you stay in Darbury?’

“As long as my services are required at Rosemere. I owe a great deal to the Creighton family and am honored to be of service.”