Page 4 of Charming the Headmistress (Spinsters and their Suitors #3)

Eleanor smiled, straightening a little. “I am proud to say that it is possible. I know each of the girls by name," she said, leading him down the hallway to see into the classrooms. Girls were busy writing in one room and listening to a lecture on history in the next.

Eleanor continued alongside Lord Camden as they walked down the hall and entered the first of the common rooms. It was an airy space with wide windows, a fireplace flanked by worn but comfortable armchairs, and a long table used for afternoon study and quiet games.

Lord Camden looked around slowly, taking in the neatness, the subtle order of the space, and the soft murmur of two girls working on stitching in the corner.

“This is the west common room,” Eleanor explained. “The girls in the middle forms gather here for study and some recreation after their lessons. We rotate supervision but emphasize responsibility. There’s always a faculty member nearby.”

Lord Camden nodded, thoughtful. “It’s cheerful. Not overdone. But there’s warmth in the space.”

She led him toward the library next, where girls in uniform blue dresses sat bent over readers and papers at a long table. One stood to return a volume to the shelf, glancing curiously at Lord Camden but quickly looking away.

“We’ve built this slowly,” Eleanor said, keeping her voice low as they walked the perimeter of the room.

“Many of these books were donated. The rest came from a fund established by one of our board members a few years ago.

I, myself, have also donated many volumes.

As you can see, there are many ways in which others may be involved in the building and maintaining of this great academy. "

Lord Camden traced a finger along the top of a low bookshelf, then glanced back at her. “This was your idea? All of it?”

“The school was founded by my aunt, but I’ve run it these last seven years.”

He offered another small nod. “That explains the structure. And the spirit.”

She arched a brow at that but led him onward without reply. The music room came last, where a younger girl practiced scales on a pianoforte with impressive concentration.

“We offer music instruction twice a week. Some take to it more than others, but they all learn the basics.”

Lord Camden listened quietly to the rising and falling notes. Then, finally, said, “It’s clear this place is cared for. The girls, the staff ... they have purpose. And pride. There’s a sense of steadiness here—it feels lived in, not just managed.”

Eleanor tilted her head, studying him. “That is what we aim for. Each day follows a predictable structure—lessons from half-past eight until three, with breaks for meals and recreation. Afternoons are for reading, writing, sewing, and music, depending on the age group. The older girls tutor the younger ones in some subjects and help manage the evening routines.”

“That’s good,” he said, then added more quietly, “Routine matters.”

They paused in the doorway as the music tapered off.

Eleanor led him down the stairs to the main floor again.

She showed him the dining hall, where rows of long wooden tables filled the space.

Morning light streamed through tall windows, warming the stone floor and lending a sense of energy to the room despite its modest furnishings.

Lord Camden paused to take it in, nodding faintly.

“This is where the girls gather for all meals,” Eleanor said. “We emphasize routine and shared responsibility. Each girl helps in small ways—clearing, setting, and maintaining order.”

Lord Camden glanced at the neatly arranged table settings. “Efficient. And it fosters ownership.”

“Exactly.”

From there, Eleanor led him briefly through the front hall again and out through a side door onto the garden path. The drizzle had slowed to a mist, and though the ground was damp, the air was fresh with the scent of wet earth and early blossoms.

“We believe in the value of outdoor exercise,” she said, guiding him along a gravel path that bordered the school’s modest garden beds.

“Weather permitting, the girls are outside every day. They walk, they run, they tend to the flowers in spring and harvest herbs in autumn. Physical exertion is essential for their health—and for helping some of them settle their thoughts.”

Lord Camden watched as two younger girls in navy cloaks passed with a basket between them, likely headed to the kitchen. “That explains the energy I noticed in the classrooms. They aren’t idle.”

“They’re rarely allowed to be,” Eleanor said with a dry smile.

He glanced sideways at her. “You run a tight ship.”

“I run a school that changes lives, Lord Camden. We pride ourselves in making this academy the best it can be.”

He didn’t argue. And she found she appreciated that more than she expected.

Lord Camden smiled with approval. "That is most impressive, Miss Langford. May I ask about the average tenure of your students?”

She nodded. “Three years is the average length, though some stay through their full education.”

“What are your expectations around discipline?”

“Firm, but not harsh. We lead through consistency and kindness.”

“And your staff—how long have they been here?”

“My assistant, Miss Ludlow, has been with me for six years. The other instructors vary—some are former pupils who returned.”

He nodded slowly, absorbing everything. “And what about your curriculum? Rote memorization, or do you teach them to think?”

Eleanor’s mouth curved slightly. “We begin with memorization. But we encourage questioning.”

He said nothing more, just walked beside her in thoughtful silence. When they returned to the receiving room, Eleanor felt more like she’d been inspected than challenged—and yet, not unpleasantly so.

He turned to her with a subtle nod. “You built this place. I want to understand what kind of guidance she’ll be under.”

Eleanor studied him again. That shadow was still behind his eyes, but it wasn’t disinterest. It was weariness. The kind that sank deep into the bones.

“We still haven’t come to an agreement,” Eleanor said, her tone measured but firm.

Lord Camden didn’t waver. “Is there room for her now?”

“That’s beside the point,” she replied. “There is protocol to follow—an application process, references. We do not set those aside on a whim.”

“I don’t have time for that,” he said simply. “She needs a place now. And I need assurance that she will be safe and guided.”

Eleanor crossed her arms. “It isn’t as simple as handing over funds and hoping for the best, my lord.”

“I’m not hoping,” he said. “I’m offering a solution. I will pay double her tuition—up front—if you’ll admit her on a temporary basis.”

Eleanor stared at him. “You don’t even know the tuition.”

He met her gaze evenly. “Whatever it is, double will be more than sufficient for the inconvenience of starting in the middle of a semester. Wouldn’t you agree?”

She inhaled slowly. The school needed repairs. Supplies. The roof was still leaking in the eastern wing. And yet, he was most assuming that his rank would clear the way. And now, he’d added the insult of believing money would do the same. That irritated her far more than she let on.

“Very well,” she said at last. “A temporary basis. We will evaluate her placement weekly over the first month to make sure that she is a good fit here."

He nodded. Some of the tension seemed to lift from his features—his jaw easing, the tightness around his eyes softening. For the first time since his arrival, he looked less like a man carrying the weight of a crumbling world and more like someone beginning to hope. "That is all I can ask for."

Eleanor gave him the sum of the school tuition doubled, then watched as his eyes widened. "That is quite the sum, Miss Langford."

"It is double the regular tuition for the semester, as you agreed to, Lord Camden. One cannot put a price on creating women of quality."

"I believe you have done just that, Miss Langford."

"If that sum does not agree with you, I can always place your niece on the waiting list for the next school year. And of course, you are welcome to take your patronage elsewhere."

He shook his head. "That will be unnecessary. The funds will be sent. You have my word as a gentleman." Then, as if the matter were settled entirely, he added, "I trust you will handle everything from here. If anything is needed—paperwork, forms, whatever it is—you will see to it, I am sure."

Eleanor bristled. His insinuation that she would dismiss the paperwork or fill it out herself was frustrating.

“Bring her tomorrow morning,” Eleanor said, trying to resume the air of control in this situation.

“We begin lessons at half past eight, but I would rather she gets settled at Greenbrook and start her lessons after lunch.”

“I look forward to it.”

As she moved to open the door, he paused.

“Miss Langford,” he said more quietly. “Thank you.”

She turned. “We care for girls here. That is our work. We do not take it lightly.”

His eyes met hers again. This time there was no practiced civility. Only bone-deep fatigue. “I believe you.”

After he left, Eleanor returned to her study and closed the door with more force than necessary.

He had been presumptive. Entitled. Dismissive of the systems she had worked so hard to establish.

And yet, the tuition his niece would bring would fund the roof repairs. The overdue wood delivery. The replacement slates for the older girls. Perhaps even the new wool cloaks she had pushed off ordering.

She hated that it came down to money. She hated more that she had agreed to a trial placement before asking for even a reference.

The terms of the trial period were hers—but it still felt like a compromise she hadn’t meant to make.

The girl hadn’t asked for any of this. It was not her fault her guardian was both desperate and difficult. She did not even know the girl's name.

What Eleanor disliked most, though, was that something in her had responded to that look in his eyes. Not pity. Not attraction.

Recognition. Because once—years ago—she had looked that way too.

He wasn’t just trying to place a child.

He was trying not to fall apart.