Page 30 of Charming the Headmistress (Spinsters and their Suitors #3)

CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

A gentle knock sounded at the office door. Eleanor glanced up, hastily straightening the papers on her desk. Mrs. Carter entered carrying a tray with a pot of tea and the morning post. The quiet clink of china was the only sound as she crossed the room.

“Good afternoon, Miss Langford,” she said quietly, her gaze sweeping the room as if checking for intruders before settling on Eleanor’s face.

She set the tray down carefully. Her gaze flicked across the surface of the desk, where the gothic novel and the slim poetry volume lay side by side, their covers nearly touching.

Her eyes lingered there for just a moment before meeting Eleanor’s.

Eleanor took a slow breath. “Thank you, Mrs. Carter.”

Mrs. Carter poured the tea without comment, but once the cups were settled, she looked directly at Eleanor. “How are you holding up after last night?”

Eleanor’s gaze dropped to the steam curling from her cup. “The girls did well,” she said softly, her voice almost steady. “They should be proud of themselves.”

Mrs. Carter’s eyes shifted again to the books on Eleanor’s desk—Lord Camden’s gifts—and then back up to Eleanor, her brow arching faintly. “That is not what I meant.”

The words, spoken with gentle precision, pierced Eleanor’s fragile composure. She swallowed hard, then set her tea aside with a trembling hand. “I know.”

Mrs. Carter shifted, her expression uncertain for the first time. “Was I wrong to share what the staff overheard yesterday? About what the parents were saying?”

Eleanor inhaled sharply. “No,” she said, her voice firmer than she felt. “You were right. I needed to know. Better to hear it now than to find myself made a caricature in some gossip sheet. I would rather face the truth than be blind.”

Mrs. Carter hesitated, her eyes softening. “I worried I’d overstepped. That I caused you pain by sharing it.”

Eleanor shook her head quickly. “No. You were right. I cannot afford to remain blind—not when my reputation affects every girl here. I must stay above reproach. But knowing helps me make decisions. It means I can protect the school—and the girls—before anything spirals beyond my control.”

“You’ve always carried Greenbrook on your shoulders, Miss Langford. But you need not do it alone.”

“I’m always grateful for your unwavering support, Mrs. Carter.”

As they drank their tea, a silence fell between them, filled only by the quiet tick of the clock on the mantel.

At last, Mrs. Carter spoke, her tone careful but unflinching. “Miss Langford, Lord Camden cares for you. I have seen it.”

The words landed like a stone in Eleanor’s chest. She drew in a shaky breath, her eyes falling to the books on her desk—symbols of moments she’d allowed herself to treasure too deeply. “It is merely a passing fancy. He comes because of Helena. I have been foolish to see things that are not there.”

Mrs. Carter’s expression did not waver. “Eleanor, Helena has adjusted well. She no longer needs reassurance each week. Yet Lord Camden continues to come. And I believe you join him.”

The words settled like a weight in the room, and Eleanor felt the fragile balance of hope and fear shift within her chest. “If you believe they are unnecessary, I will no longer need to join him. Them. I meant them.” The quiet statement hovered in the morning air, thick with truth and unspoken longing.

The office felt too small, the walls pressing in with all she felt.

Mrs. Carter’s eyes were kind, but unflinching. “That is not what I am trying to express. Perhaps it is not Helena who needs those visits anymore.”

Eleanor’s breath hitched, a flush rising to her cheeks. The silence stretched taut between them until she forced herself to move. She glanced at the neatly stacked letters on the silver tray beside the tea service, the bold script of one envelope catching her eye.

She cleared her throat, her voice carefully controlled. “The morning post looks important,” she said, reaching for the letters as though they might offer a refuge from the conversation.

Mrs. Carter lifted an eyebrow but nodded her understanding. “Of course, Miss Langford.”

Eleanor took the envelope and studied the handwriting. It was not one she recognized—thick, uneven strokes formed a name: Mr. Edwin Pike, Solicitor for the late Lord Weatherby Estate.

She broke the wax seal carefully and unfolded the letter with deliberate precision. As her eyes scanned the page, her brow furrowed. Then her breath caught.

Mrs. Carter watched silently as Eleanor read the message once more.

“This—this cannot be right,” Eleanor said, her voice low.

“What does it say?”

Eleanor’s fingers tightened around the letter. “It’s a formal notice. A man named George Weatherby is claiming legal rights to the land on which Greenbrook Academy sits. He believes he is the rightful heir to the estate—by blood—and intends to challenge the original donation in court.”

Mrs. Carter’s face paled. “But the land was gifted to the school decades ago.”

“Yes,” Eleanor said. “But according to this letter, it was leased—not deeded outright. The documentation was incomplete.”

“Incomplete?” Mrs. Carter echoed.

Eleanor stepped away from the chair, the letter trembling in her hand.

“It seems the original agreement between the academy’s founders and Lord Weatherby’s estate was a long-term lease—seventy-five years—with the understanding it would be renewed or transferred formally when the last Weatherby heir passed.

But that final legal transfer was never executed. ”

Mrs. Carter’s voice turned hoarse. “So the academy has no legal claim.”

Eleanor stood and paced the room, with Mrs. Carter following her. “This man, George Weatherby, is offering the academy a window of ninety days to vacate the premises—or to submit a bid to purchase the land outright.”

“Purchase it? That sounds promising.”

Eleanor shook her head. “At a valuation nearly triple what we could ever afford.”

Mrs. Carter’s composure cracked. “That’s extortion.”

Eleanor’s jaw set, her gaze hardening. “It’s legal.

” She stood in front of her desk and laid the letter flat, reading the lines again and again as if repetition would conjure some error.

But there was none. The solicitor’s tone was polite, almost apologetic.

But the message was clear: Greenbrook had no claim without a deed.

Eleanor sat heavily at her desk, the letter trembling in her hand. Her eyes lifted to Mrs. Carter, who stood near the fireplace, silent but attentive.

“For years,” Eleanor began, her voice barely above a whisper, “I’ve worried about the repairs, the enrollment numbers, the tuition payments …

” She let out a shaky breath. “I’ve combed every ledger, counted every donation—and not once did I imagine that the very ground beneath us could be taken away.

” She shook her head. “I cannot believe that my biggest worry less than an hour ago was rumors.”

Mrs. Carter moved closer, her expression stricken. “Eleanor, we must think. What does this mean?”

Eleanor looked up, her eyes shining with unshed tears. “If we lose the land, we will have no choice but to relocate—or close entirely.”

“You wouldn’t close entirely.”

“Greenbrook is more than stone and timber, Mrs. Carter. It’s a sanctuary. It’s … it’s my life’s work.”

Mrs. Carter’s hands twisted in front of her. “And the girls, Eleanor?”

“They are thriving,” Eleanor whispered fiercely, her knuckles white around the letter. “They are making bright futures for themselves. Greenbrook is a place of belonging. How can I let them down now?”

Mrs. Carter laid a steadying hand on Eleanor’s shoulder. “Then we won’t let it come to that. We’ll find a way. But you cannot carry this burden alone.”

“You’re right. We will need help.” Her mind began to race, chasing possibilities through the haze of fear and determination.

Then Mrs. Carter straightened, resolve flickering in her eyes. “I’ll make a list of influential alumnae and sympathetic parents and we can write to each of them. There must be someone willing to help.”

Eleanor nodded, gratitude tightening her chest. “Yes. That is an excellent idea. Time is of the essence. I will begin drafting a letter to the board this afternoon. They must be aware of all the particulars, if they didn’t already receive a similar letter. I must be transparent with what I know.”

“What about Lord Camden? He is influential. Would you consider speaking directly to him on the subject?”

A week ago she wouldn’t have hesitated to tell him her troubles. But after yesterday … “I can’t,” Eleanor said. “Even the appearance of impropriety could destroy the parents’ trust. We need their support more than ever.”

Mrs. Carter hesitated. “Lord Camden cares about Helena. And she attends Greenbrook Academy. And he cares about you.”

“It would only add to the gossip.” Eleanor closed her eyes. “Which is why I can’t risk drawing him into this. I won’t let my feelings—” She caught herself, her voice breaking. “I won’t let gossip ruin what the academy stands for.”

“Or it could fuel the gossip if he is not included in your letters. He is a marquess—the highest titled gentleman in the surrounding county. It would be offensive not to ask a marquess for help. He will help you. Write him a letter, and I will see to sending the letters to other parents.”