Page 26 of Charming the Headmistress (Spinsters and their Suitors #3)
“It was,” Eleanor confirmed with practiced ease, offering a pleasant smile that belied the quickening of her pulse. “He is Helena Moreland’s guardian and has been checking in on her adjustment.”
The woman nodded slowly, but Eleanor caught the knowing glance exchanged between her and another mother.
“Of course,” the second one said lightly, the corners of her mouth just barely lifted. “We were simply curious. It’s not every day one sees a marquess visiting so regularly.”
“All our students are treated with fairness,” Eleanor replied, her tone even. “Lord Camden’s visits have been arranged so Helena might feel a sense of security as she adjusts to her life at Greenbrook.”
“Mm,” one murmured. “We’ve simply never known a marquess to take such … personal interest.”
“He is her guardian,” Eleanor said with measured voice.
Another mother, older and wearing a smart straw bonnet, cleared her throat delicately. “We happened to be in the village last week,” she said, her eyes sharp despite her gentle voice, “and saw you riding in Lord Camden’s carriage. And dining with him in town.”
Eleanor’s cheeks prickled, but she kept her smile measured.
“Ah, yes. There was a sudden storm, and Lord Camden was kind enough to offer me his carriage, so I wouldn’t have to walk back in the rain.
Lord Camden was kind enough to suggest tea before he brought me back to Greenbrook while we waited for the worst of the weather to pass.
” She held their gaze steadily. “I assure you it was entirely proper.”
“Of course,” the first woman murmured, though the speculative gleam in her eyes lingered.
The moment passed, and Eleanor moved them along with a practiced grace, pointing out the bright rehearsal room ahead.
But even as she continued the tour, her mind churned with unease.
She knew how quickly whispered words could weave themselves into gossip—how easily a woman in her position might be painted as indiscreet or reckless, regardless of her intentions.
When Eleanor finally returned to her office, the door clicked softly behind her.
The warmth of the morning lingered, but her thoughts were troubled.
She paused near her desk, her eyes drawn to the small stack of gifts Camden had left in recent days.
The poetry book, the gothic novel—once symbols of quiet comfort—now seemed to glow with dangerous significance.
She smoothed her skirts and squared her shoulders, forcing her breath to steady. She would have to be careful—about perception, about boundaries, about the unexpected stirrings of her own heart.
The faint scent of beeswax polish lingered in the corridors of Greenbrook Academy as Eleanor moved briskly through the halls, her steps precise yet tinged with an undercurrent of restless energy.
She paused at intervals, eyes flicking over each display of students’ work, each carefully pressed uniform, each polished surface.
With the parent visit only days away, every detail had to be flawless.
She prided herself on the academy’s sterling reputation, but this time the weight of expectations felt different.
Heavier. Lord Camden’s anticipated presence pressed on her with a curious intensity she couldn’t dismiss.
Her heart beat faster at the thought of his discerning gaze sweeping over the academy—and over her.
Every time she remembered the murmurs from the mothers in the hall, she felt a prickle along her spine.
Their knowing glances, their curious questions—each seemed to echo in the quiet spaces of the school: Was that the Marquess’s carriage?
Was he dining with the headmistress? The memory lingered like a splinter, catching whenever she imagined that the staff or students could perceive her thoughts and feelings regarding Lord Camden.
She had become too aware of his presence, too attuned to the quiet connection that seemed to form between them during each visit.
It was improper. He was Helena's guardian, a Marquess, and she—well, she was a headmistress, firmly rooted in her responsibilities. The gossip swirled around her, along with the reality of their difference in stations. The women weren’t wrong to question such behavior.
Lord Camden was from privilege and wealth and entitlement.
She was not. There could be nothing more.
And yet, despite her rational thoughts, she found herself looking forward to his presence during the visit, just as much as she did the success of the event itself.
Shaking her head, Eleanor pushed the thoughts aside. There was no time to indulge in foolish notions. She had a school to run, and the parents would be arriving in less than two days. Her attention needed to be on the girls, on their progress, and on ensuring that everything ran smoothly.
Eleanor drew a deep, steadying breath as she entered the assembly hall.
Sunlight streamed in broad, pale beams across the rows of chairs, illuminating the place where the girls would recite and perform.
This was the stage upon which Greenbrook’s success would unfold—or unravel.
She needed it flawless, not only for the school’s pride, but so there could be no question of her dedication and propriety in the eyes of the Marquess—or anyone else.
Yet no matter how hard she tried to banish the thought, her mind kept drifting to Lord Camden’s presence: his warm eyes, the quiet amusement in his smile, the way he had looked at her when he presented the gothic novel.
What if he noticed how her composure slipped when he stood too close?
What if he saw something in her gaze she dared not acknowledge, even to herself?
It was one thing when they were in the privacy of her office, and quite another to determine how to act when other parents would be in the room.
A quiet sound broke her reverie. She turned sharply, her eyes landing on a small figure lingering near the far windows—Miss Anna Bradbury. The girl’s pale face was drawn tight with fear, her hands twisting together.
Eleanor approached with practiced calm, but her heart softened at the sight. “Miss Bradbury,” she said gently, “what troubles you?”
Anna’s eyes brimmed with uncertainty. “I—I don’t think I can do it, Miss Langford. The recitation. My parents expect so much, and I’m afraid I’ll disappoint them.”
Eleanor placed a reassuring hand on Anna’s shoulder. “You will do wonderfully. You’ve worked hard, and you know your piece well. Your parents will see that.”
Anna’s lip trembled. “But what if I forget? What if I make a fool of myself in front of everyone?”
“You won’t,” Eleanor said firmly, though her voice remained soft. “Even if you do stumble, that does not define you. What matters is the courage it takes to stand before others and try. That, Miss Bradbury, is what they will remember—and what will make them proud.”
For a moment, as Anna searched her face, Eleanor felt a quiet resonance. Hadn’t she herself been haunted by the fear of faltering before the parents—and before Lord Camden? She who had always taken strength in certainty now feared a single look might reveal how vulnerable she truly felt.
Anna nodded slowly, though tension still radiated from her small frame. “I’ll try, Miss Langford.”
“That is all I ask,” Eleanor replied with a small, warm smile. “And remember, you are not alone. We are all here to support you.”
Anna’s shoulders lowered just slightly, her expression softening with tentative hope before she excused herself. Eleanor watched her slip from the hall, her steps just a bit more assured.
Left alone in the hushed assembly room, Eleanor’s thoughts circled back to Lord Camden.
She imagined him sitting among the rows of chairs, his eyes attentive as Helena performed.
Would he see the academy’s excellence—or search her face for some hidden truth?
Would he notice how her heart beat a little faster in his presence?
She smoothed her palm along the back of a chair, grounding herself. No matter how many details she checked or lessons she rehearsed, nothing could quieted the fear that when Lord Camden arrived, everything she had so carefully built might feel suddenly, perilously fragile.
She turned to the doors, straightening her shoulders.
There could be no room for distraction now.
The parents would arrive soon, bringing all their expectations—and rumors—with them.
And yet, as she moved through the hall, giving instructions to the staff and guiding the final preparations, a small, persistent warmth stirred in her chest.
She didn’t know what might come of his attention, or of her own foolish longing—but the thought of seeing Lord Camden again filled her with hope. There was a warmth in her chest at the thought, and that was enough to unsettle her.
For now, though, she must force herself to focus on her duty. Because Eleanor Langford had never allowed her heart—or anyone else—to derail what mattered most. But with each passing day, it became harder to determine what it was that truly mattered most.