Page 32 of Charming the Headmistress (Spinsters and their Suitors #3)

CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

T he letter from Miss Langford arrived in the late afternoon, sealed with her signature precise wax stamp and hand-delivered by a school servant who had traveled on horseback from Greenbrook.

Camden had been in his study at Haverton House, reviewing land leases and preparing tenant correspondence—mundane but necessary tasks.

Until he saw her handwriting.

He recognized it instantly—neat, elegant, restrained—and even before he broke the seal, something tightened in his chest.

He read the letter once.

Then again.

By the third time, he was on his feet, pacing.

The controlled language did little to soften the blow: the land beneath Greenbrook was being contested. A man named Weatherby had come forward, claiming the original lease had not been sealed in perpetuity. Greenbrook could be sold. Vacated. Destroyed.

And Eleanor—Eleanor—had written not to ask for help, but simply to inform him.

He crossed to the fireplace and stared into the low-burning coals, the letter still gripped tightly in one hand. She had not asked him for support. She hadn’t even hinted at it. And yet, he could read between the lines. She was worried. She was preparing for battle. Alone.

“The stubborn woman,” he muttered, crushing the letter in his fist.

He did not sit again. Instead, he summoned his valet and requested his coat, then strode down the corridor until he found Kensington in the drawing room, sprawled in a leather armchair with a newspaper in hand and a brandy at his elbow.

“Well,” Kensington drawled without looking up, “judging by the sound of your boots, you’ve either inherited another estate or someone’s just insulted Miss Langford.”

Camden stopped short. “Not far off.”

That earned a glance. “Go on.”

He handed over the letter, now only slightly crumpled, and watched as Kensington read it. The shift in his expression was subtle but swift.

“Well, this is quite the development.”

“She didn’t ask me to intervene.”

“No, but she knew you’d care.”

Camden ran a hand through his hair. “It’s not just the land—it’s her name. Her reputation. There are rumors already. That I have some interest in the sale. That I’m behind it.”

Kensington raised a brow. “Are you?”

“Of course not!” Camden snapped. Then added, “But I suppose I’ve given them reason to wonder.”

“Well,” Kensington said mildly, “you have been seen at Greenbrook more frequently than most married couples see one another.”

Camden didn’t take the bait. “If the land was leased rather than deeded, she may not have a legal claim.”

Kensington folded the letter neatly. “Then she’ll lose the school?”

“Unless she can buy it outright—which would cost more than the school can raise in five years.”

Kensington paused, his teasing giving way to concern. “Camden—just be sure you’re helping her for the right reasons. I know you care, but don’t let your feelings blind you to what might be best for her.”

Silence stretched between them until Camden turned abruptly on his heel. “I’m writing to my solicitor. I want every document on record about the original Weatherby agreement. I want to know who owns that land, and I want it verified by someone whose word can’t be disputed.”

Kensington leaned back, watching him with something like admiration. “And if the deed is unclear?”

“Then I’ll buy the land myself,” Camden said flatly.

Kensington blinked. “Ah. There it is.”

Camden shot him a look.

“My dear Camden,” Kensington said, rising to refill his glass. “You’ve just admitted you would purchase an entire estate’s worth of land for a woman who explicitly didn’t ask for your help, and with no thought to your own current circumstance.”

“She wouldn’t accept it if I offered.”

“So you’ll do it without telling her?”

“I’ll find a way,” Camden said, quieter now. “One that doesn’t embarrass her. One that protects the school—and her reputation.”

Kensington raised his glass in mock salute. “You’re smitten.”

Camden looked toward the window, where the rain had begun to fall in thin silver sheets.

“Perhaps,” he said.

That evening, long after the solicitor had been summoned and correspondence dispatched, Camden returned to the quiet of his study. He sat at his desk, staring at the letter Eleanor had sent him.

There was a moment—just a flicker—when he considered writing back.

But he knew her too well.

A written reply would feel like pity.

What she needed wasn’t sympathy.

It was an ally.

And she had one.

He opened a fresh sheet of parchment and began drafting a letter not to Eleanor, but to his contact at the Land Registry Office in London, requesting expedited research on the Weatherby estate holdings.

He had contacts—networks of people that he could call on to help him. He didn’t know everything, but he knew the people who would.

He wrote the next letter to an acquaintance in Parliament known for property law.

And a third, to a distant cousin who specialized in private trusts.

Each word was careful. Precise. Actionable.

Because this wasn’t about gestures anymore.

This was about war.

And for the first time in years, Lord Camden found himself willing to fight—not for land, or title, or pride—but for a place that had begun to feel like home.

For the girl whose eyes had lit up when she spoke of Queen Elizabeth.

And for the woman who had taught Helena to be brave.

In the carriage ride to Greenbrook the next morning, Camden’s mind spun with possibilities.

He considered how Eleanor might react to his arrival—whether she’d be relieved, furious, or both.

He rehearsed words he might say, yet none felt right.

He wanted to help without overshadowing her, to stand beside her without becoming her burden. The stakes had never felt so personal.

Before long Lord Camden arrived at Greenbrook. The sky was still overcast, and the earth smelled of rain. His carriage stopped just beyond the school’s main entrance, and before the footman could open the door, he stepped out, determination written in every line of his frame.

Eleanor was already waiting.

He had not sent word, but she must have known he would come.

She stood at the top of the steps, her expression unreadable. Her gown was dark, her posture immaculate, and yet her eyes betrayed a hint of weariness.

He approached slowly, then stopped just short of the threshold.

“Miss Langford.”

“Lord Camden,” she replied, her voice carefully composed. “I wasn’t expecting you.”

“I received your letter.”

Her gaze faltered just slightly. “It was merely an update. Nothing more.”

“I thought otherwise.”

She hesitated, then stepped aside, motioning for him to enter. They walked the corridor in silence, the tension thick between them, until they reached her office.

Once the door closed, Camden turned to her.

“You are not alone in this,” he said quietly. “I know you intend to handle it without assistance. But Greenbrook is not just your concern now. It matters to Helena. It matters to me.”

She shook her head, her arms crossing in front of her. “I appreciate your concern. But I must ask that you visit less frequently. Helena is thriving, and your continued presence—however well-intended—only feeds the gossip.”

Camden’s jaw flexed. “So this is about appearances.”

“It’s about protecting the girls. Protecting the school.”

He stepped closer, his voice low. “And what about protecting you?”

Eleanor’s breath caught, and Camden noticed the slight tremble on her lips. “You are very kind, my lord, but I fear your protection would only bring the wrong impression to the school,” she paused, her eyes searching his. “And to me.”

“I should hope that I’ve never given you the wrong impression,” he said softly.

“It is not for myself alone, my lord.”

“Call me Camden,” he said.

She shook her head. “You may be unaware, Lord Camden,” she said, emphasizing the lord more than was necessary.

“But there are rumors surrounding us.” The color in her cheeks flushed a deep red.

“I realize that the impact to you might be nothing but a passing fancy, but rumors will create damages beyond the land dispute with Greenbrook.”

“You do not believe my attentions are signs of my affection?” He was stunned by the revelation, but the only thing to suggest that he was accurate in his guess was the slight lift of one of her shoulders. He waited but she did not lift her gaze to his.

Gently, he reached out a hand, lifting her chin with a finger, until her eyes met his.

“Eleanor, I’ve done my best to ignore this thing that is between us,” he continued, “but I can’t pretend anymore.

I care for you, Eleanor. I admire your strength, your clarity, your mind.

And if you’ll allow it, I’d like to court you properly—openly. ”

Her eyes searched his face, wide with something like disbelief. She held up a hand.

“It’s not a no,” she said softly.

He smiled, relief washing over him as he opened his hand to take hers.

She shook her head. “It’s a not now,” she said softly, her voice trembling with the weight of everything unsaid.

This was not a time to hold back on his emotions. “You do not return my feelings?”

“That is not the reason,” she said, her voice breathier. “The timing is not right. All of my efforts must go to saving this school. The girls and Greenbrook need me clear-headed and unencumbered.”

That was all the more reason to help her. Aloud, he said, “Then I’ll wait.”

She exhaled slowly, and for a moment, the distance between them melted. He took her hand gently, pressed it between his own.

“I’m going to help you save this school,” he said. “Not because you need rescuing, but because I believe in what you’ve built. And when the dust settles, I hope there’s still space in your world for me.”

Eleanor nodded, eyes shining. “Thank you, my lord. I have less than three months to find a solution. That must be my focus.”

“I understand. I will make it mine as well. But know this. I care for you deeply, Eleanor. I am here to help you.”

Eleanor looked at him, emotion flickering in her eyes. She swallowed, then nodded. “Thank you,” she paused, her voice dropping to a whisper. “Camden.”

Camden noted the word lord was left out from his name, and his heart swelled.

There was no kiss. No embrace. Just a shared look that said everything.

He would fight beside her.

And one day—perhaps—he would belong beside her, too.