Page 5 of Charming the Headmistress (Spinsters and their Suitors #3)

CHAPTER THREE

R iding through the rolling hills toward Haverton House, Camden scarcely registered the idyllic countryside unfurling around him.

The green hills, painted with wildflowers and bordered by ancient hedgerows, might have stirred poetic thoughts in another man, but Camden was not one to indulge in idle fancies.

His thoughts, as always these days, were consumed by matters that refused to yield solutions: the newly inherited estate, his quietly grieving niece Helena, and after this morning’s meeting—the rather formidable Miss Langford, headmistress of Greenbrook Academy.

He tightened his grip on the reins, slowing as the familiar iron gates of Haverton House came into view.

Greenbrook was but a few miles from here, closer than he might have preferred.

Not because of any true discomfort with the academy’s location, but because proximity meant that Helena’s struggles would swiftly reach his ears.

The weight of his new title pressed upon him with a persistence he had yet to grow accustomed to.

As the estate’s drive curved toward the main entrance, a figure came into view, leaning with elegant nonchalance against the heavy oak doors of Haverton House.

A reluctant smile tugged at the corner of Camden’s mouth, despite himself.

He should have known that Lord Kensington, his closest friend—the very man who had suggested Greenbrook in the first place—would be waiting for him.

Kensington straightened as Camden dismounted, his usual devil-may-care grin firmly in place.

He possessed the sort of roguish charm that rendered him welcome in every drawing room in London, and Camden had long counted on his friend’s unfailing ability to lighten his own often taciturn nature.

Though different in nearly every respect, they had been close since their days at university, where Camden’s reserve had often needed balancing by Kensington’s perpetual wit.

“Ah, Camden,” Kensington called out, extending a gloved hand. “Back already? I feared the good ladies of Greenbrook might have claimed you as their latest project. How did your business with the headmistress fare?”

Camden scowled faintly, passing his reins to a waiting stable hand. “About as well as might be expected. The headmistress does not bend to anyone’s will, least of all mine.”

Kensington’s face fell in mock dismay. “She will not make room for Helena? I am all astonishment.”

“On the contrary,” Camden replied dryly. “She will take Helena immediately—because I promised to pay a ridiculous sum for the inconvenience.”

He sighed. He had the funds—for now—but he had not expected such a steep cost to further strain his already overburdened accounts.

The estate needed every coin, and still, it would not be enough.

And Helena, that morning, had refused to come to breakfast again.

He hadn’t known what to say to that, so he'd sent her a tray to her room, unable to tell her of his plans before he left.

Kensington’s smile widened, his eyes glinting with amusement as they turned to enter the house. “Then she is precisely the woman you need, is she not? A true stalwart to keep your niece on a schedule. Surely you chose Greenbrook for its headmistress’s reputation for structure.”

Camden shot his friend a sidelong glance, brow raised. “Structure is one thing. Stubborn practicality wrapped in polite steel is another. And as I recall, I did not choose her. I went on your recommendation.”

Kensington chuckled as they entered the grand but weatherworn hall of Haverton House, with its high, arching windows and faded tapestries that had not seen fresh mending in many years. “So she did not fall at your feet like the rest of the fairer sex?”

“Far from it,” Camden replied. “Miss Langford is no simpering debutante. She is … deliberate.”

“She refused your offer, didn’t she?”

“Without so much as blinking. Looked at me like I’d suggested she sell the school to a traveling circus.”

Kensington grinned. “Then I admire her already.”

Camden muttered something under his breath, though a flicker of reluctant amusement softened his expression.

“She’s not easily impressed,” he said. “But she listened. And then made a counteroffer like she was haggling over a grain contract.”

They reached the study. Camden lowered himself into the leather chair behind his desk as Kensington wandered to the hearth.

Kensington nodded. "When does Helena begin?”

Camden looked toward the small glove still lying on the credenza. Pale blue. Untouched since yesterday.

“Tomorrow,” he said quietly. “There did not seem to be a point in prolonging it." He sighed. "Has she made an appearance out of her room today?"

Kensington shook his head. "I was outside for a portion of the morning, but I asked the staff to inform me if she came out. I have not heard from them."

Camden nodded. "I will see if I can go and talk to her and explain the situation, but I don’t know how to reach her.”

“That is why you should let someone else try for a while,” Kensington said. “Miss Langford may surprise you both.”

Camden didn’t reply. Miss Langford may be many things, but surprising was not one of them.

But the moment he thought that, he had to amend it.

She had surprised him. He had braced for her refusal to take Helena.

It was the way Miss Langford had looked at him when she had originally refused the idea, but then she had purposefully changed her mind to a yes.

It was surprising—there was no other word for it.

Later that afternoon, Camden found himself lingering outside Helena’s door. He knocked lightly. No answer came, but he opened the door anyway, gently.

She sat by the window, curled in a small chair with her sketchbook in her lap. A candle flickered on the table beside her, casting long shadows across the floor. She looked up but did not speak.

He crossed the room slowly. “I wanted to talk to you,” he said, voice lower than usual. “About tomorrow.”

She turned a page in her sketchbook, not as dismissal but as habit. He could see the beginnings of a pencil drawing—some trees, a gate, the edge of a window.

“You’re going to a place called Greenbrook Academy,” he said. “It’s a school. A good one. I visited it today.”

Helena didn’t look at him, but her pencil stilled.

“They have gardens,” he added. “And a music room. And girls your age. I think you might like it. I hope you might.”

She tilted her head slightly, then looked up at him. Her voice was soft. “Do I have to talk?”

He blinked. “Not if you don’t want to.”

She nodded and looked back at the sketchbook. “Will I be allowed to draw?”

“Yes,” he said immediately, more certain about that than anything else. “You can take your sketchbook with you. You can draw whatever you like.”

Another nod. Then quietly, she asked, “Will you come back?”

The question pierced something inside Camden and his throat tightened, making the words hard to come out. “Yes. Of course I will.”

She nodded but didn’t say anything else.

“Would you like to come down for tea?”

She lifted one shoulder but didn’t reply.

He let the invitation linger between them, again at a loss. He wouldn’t force her to come to tea. That kind of effort wouldn’t make the situation better. He stood there for a moment longer, watching her bent over her drawing as her pencil moved across the paper in small, short strokes.

“You are always welcome to come down whenever you choose,” he said, trying once more to pull the last of the conversation out of her.

Helena didn’t look up, but her head dipped almost imperceptibly.

With a quiet step back, Camden left the room and closed the door behind him.

She hadn’t said much. But she had listened.

And that—for the moment—was enough.