Page 31 of Charming the Headmistress (Spinsters and their Suitors #3)

Unbidden to her mind came the memories of Lord Camden—the kindness had soothed her during her fever, the poetry book he had given her, the soft look in his eyes when he thought she wasn’t watching.

The thought that their shared moments were now fuel for gossip made her stomach twist. She forced herself to focus.

This wasn’t about her heart. It was about Greenbrook.

She could swallow her pride. Every parent would of course be informed of this development.

And he would be no exception. “Very well, Mrs. Carter. If you do not mind, I should like to think through this problem at hand without any interruptions this afternoon.”

Mrs. Carter nodded, taking the tea tray from Eleanor’s desk. “Understood. I will go and compile the list of people we want to ask for support, and I shall endeavor to guard your time and handle everything I can.”

“Thank you,” Eleanor said, watching Mrs. Carter leave the room.

For the next quarter of an hour, Eleanor sat at her desk, writing to the Board.

Her script was precise, every word chosen to show competence without panic.

She explained how a formal claim had been made against the property, and the academy had ninety days to respond.

Eleanor expressed her desire to see that the original lease documents came under review and asked for immediate counsel and alternative arrangements to be explored.

She sanded the paper and sealed it without thinking more about it.

With the Board letter complete, she turned to the second and more daunting letter: the one to Lord Camden. She tried three beginnings:

My Lord, I write to inform you of a development affecting Greenbrook Academy—

Lord Camden, a legal matter has arisen which could impact Helena’s schooling—

Camden—

She scratched out the last one, her breath catching.

Heat flamed her cheeks. It wasn’t his Christian name, but he never went by his Christian name that she had heard.

She swallowed. She couldn’t sort through her feelings right now.

She’d committed to Mrs. Carter that she would write to the marquess.

And she would do that. There should be nothing untoward about that.

She was simply writing a letter, like many others would be written and delivered to the parents.

Finally, she found the balance between professional distance and honesty:

My Lord,

I write to you today not as Helena’s guardian, but as a supporter of Greenbrook and someone I have come to regard with respect.

It is my duty to inform you that a legal claim has been made against the land on which the academy stands.

The claimant, a Mr. George Weatherby, contends the property was never deeded to the academy, and he intends to reclaim it—or sell it.

This is a matter of serious urgency. We are working to verify the history of the lease. We have been given ninety days to respond or vacate.

I share this not to request intervention but to be transparent, as I believe you would wish to be informed of any development that could affect Helena’s schooling.

Sincerely,

Miss Eleanor Langford

Before she could add any personal sentiment, she sealed the letter, stamping the school’s crest into the melted wax. Mrs. Carter took both letters from her without a word.

As the door closed behind her, Eleanor allowed herself one ragged breath.

She moved to the window and pressed her palm against the warm glass.

Yesterday, she had watched Helena beam with pride, had felt the warmth of Camden’s gaze even from across a crowded hall.

She had thought, for one fragile moment, that all her efforts were paying off.

How had it come to this?

In the span of a single day, the security of Greenbrook—her life’s work—had begun to crumble. A man she had never met now laid claim to the land beneath their feet, and whispers about her character, about her involvement with Lord Camden, had begun to spread like smoke through the halls.

Her school—her sanctuary—was under siege.

Outside, girls hurried along the gravel path toward the dining hall. Their laughter echoed faintly through the glass, and Eleanor pressed her hand against the pane.

They didn’t know. Not yet. She would not worry them until she had to.

Now the ground beneath them was shifting. But she would fight for her girls, for the mission of Greenbrook—to guide girls toward strength and purpose.

She glanced at the books on her desk, resolving that she needed to find a shelf to put the books on, so she didn’t have a constant reminder on her desk. Yet, as she picked up the books to move them to a safer location, her heart warmed.

She shook her head, overwhelmed by the storm of her thoughts. No matter how she tried to banish Lord Camden from her mind, so she could dispel the rumors, still the impossible wish remained: that someone— he— might stand beside her.

Later that day, as the firelight flickered across the empty study, Helena appeared at the doorway, holding a slim book to her chest.

“Miss Langford?”

Eleanor turned, quickly masking her expression. “Yes, Helena?”

“May I sit for a moment?”

“Of course.”

Helena took a chair near the fire, her boots damp from the walk across the courtyard. She glanced at Eleanor, then at the flames.

“Is something wrong?”

Eleanor’s breath caught. “Whatever makes you ask?”

“You’ve been … quiet. You didn’t come to our poetry group this afternoon. And Mrs. Carter looked worried.”

Eleanor smiled softly. “You’re very observant.”

“I used to watch faces all the time,” Helena said. “When everything changed, it was the only way to tell if people were about to say something awful.”

That struck Eleanor deeper than expected. She sat across from Helena and reached for her hand.

“There is something I’m dealing with,” she admitted. “But I promise I’m doing everything I can to make sure Greenbrook stays exactly as it is.”

Helena studied her, then nodded. “You’ll fix it. You always do.”

Eleanor squeezed her hand, blinking quickly. “Thank you, my dear.”

When Helena had gone to bed, Eleanor lingered in the quiet once more, the fire casting long shadows on the walls.

She would fight for this place. She would not ask to be rescued. Not even by the Marquess of Camden.

But as the candle guttered low, and the house fell into stillness, she allowed herself one brief, impossible thought:

If anyone did come to her aid, she wished it would be him.