Page 38 of Charming the Headmistress (Spinsters and their Suitors #3)

CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

T he spring breeze carried the scent of lilacs and cut grass as Lord Camden arrived at Greenbrook Academy. The academy was quiet from the outside, but inside, he knew Eleanor would be facing the Board alone.

He had not sent a letter. He had not announced his intention. But he had asked Mrs. Carter that morning if he might be permitted to wait. Discreetly.

And so, she had shown him to the drawing room.

Now, seated by the wide windows, Camden watched the light shift across the floorboards and listened to the faint echo of footsteps and muffled voices down the corridor.

He did not know how the meeting would go—only that he wished to be present, if not in the room, then nearby. A quiet show of support.

The sound of movement in the corridor opening reached his ears. Murmurs filled the space beyond the drawing room doors and then they were gone. It appeared the meeting had ended.

Lord Camden paced the drawing room, waiting for Eleanor. Moments later, footsteps approached, heels clicking briskly along the polished floor. And then—she was there.

Eleanor.

She stopped in the threshold of the drawing room, visibly startled to find him waiting.

“Lord Camden,” she said, her voice touched with surprise. “You’re here?”

He rose from the chair and offered a small bow. “I thought I might wait. Mrs. Carter was kind enough to oblige me. I did not wish to intrude.”

Eleanor stepped fully into the room. Her expression was carefully composed, but he did not miss the weary edge in her eyes.

She put a hand to her hair, smoothing down the stray curls. “I confess I didn’t expect to see you today.”

“I wanted to be here. I wanted you to know you weren’t alone.”

That simple statement softened something in her expression. “The board rejected your help,” she said quietly. “They questioned my judgment. And they spoke in tones that suggested the school’s fate has already been decided.”

Camden’s jaw tightened. “Then they are fools.”

She smiled faintly at that. “They are afraid. That’s the trouble.”

He took a small step closer. “Then let us give them something stronger than fear. Let us give them a plan.”

Her gaze searched his, cautious but hopeful. “I don’t know how to fix this alone.”

“Which is why you won’t.”

He pulled a roll of maps and legal papers from the leather folder tucked under his arm. Together, they spread them out across the low tea table, and Eleanor sat beside him, leaning in to study the boundary lines, the old surveyor’s notes, and the letters from former governors.

The conversation soon shifted from frustration to strategy. Her voice grew more certain as she asked questions, as they marked areas in ink, drafted outlines, and pieced together a clearer vision of how to contest Weatherby’s claim.

They worked side by side, so near that their arms occasionally brushed. The nearness didn’t unnerve him—it felt natural. Right.

When she looked up at last, her fingers still resting atop the deed, Camden reached for her hand.

“Eleanor,” he said, his voice low and steady, “I did not come only because of the Board. I came because I could not bear for you to face this without knowing someone was on your side. Entirely. Unconditionally.”

Her eyes widened slightly, her fingers tightening beneath his.

“I care for you,” he said plainly. “I know this is not the time for such things, but I still want you to know that my feelings are unchanged.”

He lifted her hand gently, pressing his lips to her knuckles.

A breath shivered past her lips. Her gaze flicked down, and then slowly, back up to meet his.

“It’s not the time,” she whispered. “But it’s not unwelcome.”

His heart lifted.

They stood in silence for a moment longer, the papers spread between them forgotten.

“Thank you for helping me,” she said softly.

“I shall always hope to help you. We can do anything together,” he said quietly.

She nodded. “Together.”

Lord Camden stood near the edge of a freshly mended stone wall, the scent of warm earth and cut hay drifting on the summer breeze.

He had spent the morning riding between tenant farms, inspecting repairs to cottages and speaking with stewards about the state of his lands.

Now, as he finished a conversation with an elderly tenant grateful for the repairs to his roof, the sound of pounding hooves carried over the fields.

He turned to see Lord Kensington galloping up the lane, his horse lathered and Kensington’s face flushed with urgency. Camden barely had time to hand a small pouch of coins to the tenant before Kensington pulled up beside him.

“Kensington?” Camden called, brow furrowing. “What is the matter?”

“I need to speak with you. Immediately.” Kensington was breathless. For Kensington to come find Camden while he was speaking to tenants was unusual. “I’ve just returned from London.”

Camden said his farewell to his tenant before mounting his horse and following Kensington. When they were out of earshot of anyone, Camden said, “What is going on?”

“I’ve news,” Kensington said, voice low. “Something that will make all this headache with the Board irrelevant.”

Camden frowned. “That’s bold talk. Because as it stands, the Board’s wavering and the girls’ future hangs by a thread. They do not want my help or my interference in this matter. Those rumors did more damage in that circle than I like to think about.”

Kensington waved him off with a gloved hand. “Forget the Board’s dithering for a moment. What I learned will render their doubts moot.”

Camden’s eyes narrowed. “How?”

Kensington glanced around to ensure they were alone, then lowered his voice further. “When I reached London, I met Lord Brinton at White’s. He’d already been asking around about Weatherby, and together we discovered something rather remarkable.”

“I’m waiting with baited breath, Kensington. Skip the story and get straight to the point,” Camden said impatiently.

Kensington nodded. “Very well. Weatherby’s finances are in shambles. He’s drowning in debt. Worse, he’s been boasting to potential investors that a successful claim on Greenbrook would let him secure new loans. He’s using the academy as his leverage.”

Camden’s eyes sharpened. “So that’s his true motive.”

“He’s trying to launch a textile venture near Nottingham,” Kensington continued. “He’s purchased a mill site, but his financing is shaky. He’s courting investors in Parliament and abroad, all of whom expect him to have unimpeachable dealings.”

Camden’s jaw worked. “And a public squabble over charitable land threatens that image.”

“Exactly,” Kensington said. “Especially if the school’s cause gains sympathetic attention. A gentleman extorting property from an academy for girls? It wouldn’t read well.”

Camden exhaled, something like grim relief sparking in his eyes. “Then we have leverage.”

“Indeed we do. He will need to work very hard to keep such things quiet. Perhaps that is enough motivation for him to relinquish the claim willingly.”

Camden nodded. “That would be ideal—to have him walk away quietly. Perhaps he might if we give him the right reason.”

“That is what I think as well. Which is why I propose we draft a quiet agreement,” Kensington continued.

“He signs over his claim to Greenbrook in exchange for introductions to the right investors. You have the ear of men he desperately needs. If he signs, he walks away with his project intact—and no scandal.”

Camden’s expression hardened. “For Eleanor. For the girls. I’ll do whatever it takes. I cannot stand by while this school is dismantled by a man seeking profit.”

Kensington grinned fiercely. “Then let’s see this through. I’ll stand by you when you make him the offer. And I can’t wait to see Weatherby’s face.”

“You should’ve gone into diplomacy.”

They arrived at Haverton’s stables and dismounted, handing their horses to the groom. Camden’s mind raced, but his resolve was clear.

Camden’s thoughts drifted to Eleanor, and he thought of the way her fingers had curled beneath his hand the last time they spoke. He was going to protect this place Eleanor had built.

And when the time came—when the final paper was signed, and Greenbrook stood unthreatened—he would ask her if he might have a place with her too.

The following afternoon, Camden and Kensington arrived in London and were ushered into the private study of George Weatherby, whose crisp cravat and overly polished boots screamed of a man attempting to climb the ladder of influence two rungs at a time.

Weatherby stood behind a walnut desk, framed by heavy velvet drapes and a marble bust of some forgotten ancestor. He greeted them with a smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes.

“Lord Camden. Lord Kensington. To what do I owe the pleasure?”

Camden did not waste time. He removed a slim folder from beneath his coat and placed it atop the desk.

“We’ve come to resolve a matter,” he said calmly, “one that I believe need not escalate into something unfortunate.”

Weatherby’s eyes narrowed, flicking to the folder. “I assume this is about the land in question.”

“It is,” Camden said. “You’ve made your claim. The Board has heard it. But as you may suspect, I am in possession of additional evidence—historical and legal—that casts significant doubt on its legitimacy.”

Kensington smiled from his seat. “Including some rather insightful commentary on your early filings. Sloppy inkwork, I’m afraid.”

Weatherby bristled, but Camden pressed on. “However, this isn’t a threat. It’s an opportunity. I know of your interests near Nottingham. You’ve been courting funding. Eagerly, from what I understand.”

Weatherby stiffened. “I hardly see what that has to do with—”

“It has everything to do with it,” Camden cut in smoothly. “You need backing from men who value discretion and credibility. This situation—your name tied to a dispute with a charitable institution—does not help your case.”

Weatherby’s jaw tightened.

Camden opened the folder, revealing a draft agreement. “Relinquish your claim. Formally and permanently. In return, I’ll ensure your introduction to three investors who can fund your entire venture. Quietly. Respectably. And your name comes out of this untouched.”

Weatherby looked between them, his gaze calculating. “And if I refuse?”

Kensington leaned forward slightly. “Then I’m afraid the school’s cause becomes public. And I daresay the press might find it irresistible—a gentleman attempting to strip land from a girls’ academy? I’m sure The Morning Register would have a field day.”

There was silence.

Weatherby exhaled through his nose, his pride warring with practicality. “You’ve crafted quite the trap, gentlemen.”

Camden met his gaze squarely. “No. We’ve offered you an exit. It’s yours to take.”

Another long pause, then Weatherby reached for the pen beside him. “Draw it up properly. I want signatures before dusk.”

“We already have,” Camden said, handing him the official documents.

Weatherby reviewed them, then signed. “Done.”

As they stood to leave, Kensington said lightly, “You’ll find Nottingham quite lovely this time of year. Best of luck with your enterprise.”

Once they were outside and climbing into Camden’s waiting carriage, Kensington let out a low whistle. “You are ruthless when you wish to be.”

Camden’s expression didn’t shift. “For Greenbrook, I could have been worse.”

They rode in silence for a while. Then Camden said softly, “I hope she never has to know what he asked in return.”

“She won’t,” Kensington assured him. “And she’d thank you for it, if she did.”

Camden turned to the window. “No. She deserves a victory clean of shadows. The board will not have a reason to shut down Greenbrook Academy. She will have her school back, without another worry about its future.”