Page 35 of Charming the Headmistress (Spinsters and their Suitors #3)

CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

E leanor sat alone at the small tea table in her office, her cup cooling beside a plate of untouched biscuits. The mantel clock ticked away each minute with the same indifference it had every day that week—but today, its steady rhythm felt unusually loud.

Lord Camden had not come.

She knew why, of course. A letter had arrived that morning in his precise, elegant script—polite, sincere, and laced with apology.

He regretted that he would miss their weekly tea, but matters concerning the land deed required his full attention.

There was a second envelope as well, this one for Helena, sealed with his crest and tied with a navy ribbon.

Eleanor had read the note twice. It was not long, and it was not romantic, but she’d found herself pausing over certain lines: “There is work yet to be done, and I cannot allow anything—not even the comforts of tea with you—to deter me from it.”

She should have been grateful for his dedication—and she was. And, his not coming to tea could also dispel some of the rumors. Yet his absence cut more sharply than she dared to admit.

He had asked to court her, and though she believed she had good reasons for delaying such a development in their relationship, still she wondered at the sense of postponing it now.

She had always prided herself on her ability to separate emotion from responsibility, and yet the absence of that quiet hour—his voice across the table, the way he poured the tea just so, the earnest light in his eyes when he spoke of Helena—left her feeling as though something essential had gone missing from her day.

When Helena had arrived, bright-eyed and eager, Eleanor had watched her tear open the letter with an enthusiasm that made her smile despite herself. The girl’s face had lit up as she read, and she looked up with certainty, as though the matter was already settled.

“Well?” Eleanor asked, her voice steady.

“He said he missed our tea,” Helena replied, still scanning the letter. “And that he will come next week, if everything goes to plan.”

“I see,” Eleanor said.

Helena looked up from the letter, her eyes clear. “He would only miss tea with us if it were for something very important.”

“You mean tea with you,” Eleanor corrected gently.

But Helena only shook her head, smiling in that way children sometimes do when they know far more than they ought. “No. I meant both of us. I think he likes it best when you’re there.”

Eleanor’s breath caught.

There was no mocking in the child’s tone. No slyness. Just the quiet assurance of someone who had observed two people with far more clarity than either of them possessed.

“I think,” Helena added softly, “that he feels better after he’s spoken with you.”

For a heartbeat, Eleanor felt the ground shift beneath her feet, torn between the comfort of his presence and the danger of her growing hope.

Eleanor looked away, blinking rapidly.

She rose from the table, walking to the window as though the view would somehow ground her. Outside, the wind stirred the leaves. There was a quiet melancholy to the scene, as if even the season itself had paused to wait.

Eleanor smoothed the folds of her gown, the fabric whispering with each breath she took.

She missed him. She missed his voice, the quiet strength of his gaze—how he steadied her without expecting anything in return.

It was foolish—dangerous even—to admit it to herself, but it was no less true.

For a long moment, she simply stood there, her hand resting lightly on the sill.

The school was in peril. The Board meeting loomed. Gossip curled like smoke through the corridors. And yet, her mind returned to Lord Camden—not because she needed rescuing, but because, in his absence, she felt the depth of his regard.

And perhaps something more.

She turned back to Helena, who was still holding the letter reverently in her lap.

“He is trying to protect what matters,” Eleanor said softly.

Helena nodded solemnly. “He always does.”

Eleanor knelt to adjust the collar of Helena’s pinafore. “And so must we. Come now. We have much to prepare before the week is done.”

But even as she returned to her ledgers, her lesson plans, her rehearsals with the girls—one phrase from Camden’s letter echoed in her heart:

“Not even the comforts of tea with you …”

She pressed her palm against her chest briefly and breathed deeply.

She would hold on to that.

For now.

The day of the Board meeting crept closer, each hour tightening the knot in Eleanor’s chest. She had managed difficult parents, illness outbreaks, even a chimney fire once—but never had she faced a challenge that threatened to uproot the very ground beneath Greenbrook.

And still, life inside the academy moved forward.

Eleanor stood in the corridor outside the mathematics classroom, her hands lightly clasped as she listened to the lesson.

The muffled voice of Miss Rawlie echoed behind the door, interspersed with the scratch of chalk.

The girls were preparing for their assessments, and Eleanor took quiet satisfaction in the focused energy humming through the halls.

When the door opened and the girls spilled out, Eleanor caught sight of Miss Anna Bradbury walking with her head low, her books clutched tightly to her chest.

“Miss Bradbury,” Eleanor called gently.

The girl froze, then turned slowly. “Yes, Miss Langford?”

“May I walk with you for a moment?”

Anna nodded, her grip on her books loosening slightly.

They moved together down the corridor, past the windows that opened onto the south lawn. Eleanor waited a few steps before she spoke.

“You’ve been quieter than usual.”

Anna’s lips pursed. “I didn’t do well on the arithmetic review.”

“Miss Rawlie told me,” Eleanor said evenly. “But one score does not undo the progress you’ve made. Do not let one stumble cause you to question your stride.”

Anna looked down. “I don’t want to be a disappointment.”

“You are not.” Eleanor’s voice was firm. “There is strength in perseverance, Miss Bradbury. You’ve already shown more courage than many girls your age.”

Anna gave her a quick, shy smile before hurrying off to her next class.

Eleanor watched her go, then turned back toward the stairwell.

In her office, Mrs. Carter was already seated beside the fireplace, a teacup in hand and a sheaf of parchment resting on her lap.

“I’ve reviewed the ledgers again,” she said without preamble. “We have enough to last through the term, but just barely. If the Board withdraws support …”

Eleanor sank into the chair opposite her. “I know.”

Mrs. Carter gave her a long look. “You’ve not been sleeping.”

Eleanor gave a humorless smile. “When has that ever stopped me?”

Mrs. Carter hesitated. “You haven’t eaten, Miss Langford.”

“I haven’t the appetite.”

There was a pause. The crackle of the fire was the only sound between them.

Eleanor offered a tired smile. “You always see more than you say.”

“It’s a headmistress’s job to worry,” Mrs. Carter replied gently. “But even you have limits. You should speak to someone. Ask for help.”

“I have taken your suggestions to heart, Mrs. Carter. I have been corresponding daily with the parents as well as the board. I believe I am making progress. There is much to be done, but I do feel the rallying support of those closest to Greenbrook.”

“Lord Camden has been working on this tirelessly, from what I gather.”

Eleanor felt a flush rush into her cheeks. “We all have.”

“Do you trust Lord Camden?” Mrs. Carter asked at last.

Eleanor looked up sharply. “With what?”

“With this. With you.”

Eleanor’s throat tightened, but she kept her tone measured. “He’s doing what he can. He’s been more involved than any benefactor I’ve ever known.”

Mrs. Carter arched a brow. “That wasn’t an answer.”

Eleanor stood, moving to the window, her gaze sweeping over the autumn-tinged landscape. “I trust him not to make promises he won’t keep.”

“And what of the promise you made to yourself?” Mrs. Carter’s voice was soft. “To guard your heart?”

Eleanor turned from the window, her eyes dry but clouded with emotion. “That promise is being tested.”

The older woman stood and moved beside her. “Then let it be tested. Just don’t let it break you.”

The bell rang out, signaling the end of lessons, and Eleanor stepped back into the rhythm of her day, her heart heavier but steadier for having spoken the truth aloud.

By evening, she had arranged her notes for the Board meeting, drafted a speech that struck the careful balance between humility and conviction, and reviewed every legal document she possessed regarding the land.

She squared her shoulders, a quiet determination hardening her spine.

She would not simply stand before the Board; she would command their respect, as she had earned it.

But as she extinguished the final candle and closed her office door, she knew that what lay ahead could not be solved with preparation alone.

It would require courage.

And faith.

And perhaps, if she dared to hope, an ally who had already shown he was willing to stand beside her.