Page 36 of Charming the Headmistress (Spinsters and their Suitors #3)

CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

T he mist lingered low over the fields as Lord Camden rode across the narrow lane that led toward the Weatherby estate.

The sky hung heavy with the threat of rain, but he pressed on, cloak drawn tightly against the damp air.

This was not a social call, nor one he particularly relished—but it was necessary.

George Weatherby had sent no reply to Camden’s letter requesting a meeting.

So Camden had taken it upon himself to arrive uninvited, determined to force a conversation one way or another.

If Weatherby intended to wrest the Greenbrook land through intimidation and clever silence, Camden would give him neither.

The estate itself was a modest country home nestled beside a slow, winding river.

It lacked the grandeur of Haverton or the polish of Greenbrook’s well-kept grounds.

Camden noted the flaking paint on the shutters, the unkempt hedge, and the general air of fatigue that clung to the place like a second skin.

The butler, when he answered the door, looked startled by the Marquess’s appearance but had the good sense to step aside without argument.

Weatherby was waiting in a room that might once have been a library, though its shelves were mostly bare. He stood as Camden entered, a man of lean frame and sharp angles, with eyes that gleamed a little too brightly and a smile that didn’t quite reach his cheeks.

“Lord Camden,” he said smoothly, gesturing to a chair that looked as if it hadn’t been dusted in weeks. “What a surprise.”

Camden didn’t sit. “Mr. Weatherby. I’ve come to speak plainly.”

Weatherby gave a slow nod. “I expected as much.”

Camden reached into his coat and drew out a folded copy of the original land deed.

“You’ve laid claim to the land upon which Greenbrook Academy stands.

I’ve reviewed the documents myself. The language is vague, but the intention—by all historical accounts—was for the land to serve the school indefinitely. ”

Weatherby’s thin smile widened. “Intention is not law, my lord. I’m sure a man of your rank understands the difference.”

“I understand the difference between fairness and opportunism,” Camden said evenly.

Weatherby shrugged. “Sentiment makes poor estate management. My great-uncle gave too much away. I’m merely reclaiming what was improperly handled.”

“To what end?” Camden asked. “You’ve spoken with investors?”

“I’ve entertained a few offers,” Weatherby said airily. “The land’s value has increased. The school is old, underfunded. It would be better served elsewhere.”

Camden’s jaw tightened. “It serves a purpose now. A noble one. Do you intend to push this in court?”

“I intend,” Weatherby said, his voice cooling, “to be compensated for what was taken from my family. Whether that comes through sale or settlement is up to the Board.”

“Miss Langford will not surrender Greenbrook.”

Weatherby’s gaze sharpened. “Your zeal for this cause has not gone unnoticed. Some might say your affections lie beyond the welfare of the students.”

Camden stepped forward, voice low. “Say what you wish. But I care about that school. And I care about what it represents.”

Weatherby’s gaze grew sly. “Perhaps the rumors I have heard are true about the headmistress being quite attached to certain benefactors.”

Camden’s anger flared at the insinuation. When he spoke his voice was low and menacing. “You presume too much. But know this: I will challenge you—publicly, through the courts, and with every advantage afforded me by rank and reputation.”

Weatherby’s lips twitched into a smirk, but there was a slight fear in his eyes. “You would go to war over a girls’ school? ”

“Yes.”

The two men held each other’s gaze for a long, silent moment.

Then Weatherby chuckled, the sound thin and humorless. “Well, I suppose we shall see which legacy holds more sway.”

Camden inclined his head. “We shall.”

Without another word, he turned and strode from the house, the door closing behind him with a sharp click that echoed in the stillness.

Outside, the rain had begun to fall in earnest, but Camden didn’t notice.

He mounted his horse, spine straight, mind racing.

He had not won this battle.

But the war had begun—and he was ready to fight.