Page 6 of Charming the Headmistress (Spinsters and their Suitors #3)

CHAPTER FOUR

T he sound of young voices echoing through the halls of Greenbrook Academy was usually a comfort to Eleanor.

Today, however, the noise seemed more of a distraction—a constant reminder of the new challenge that would soon arrive on her doorstep: the Marquess of Camden's niece. It had only been a few hours since Lord Camden had arrived here unannounced. Her mind still spun from the conversation. Preparations were already underway for the arrival of his niece tomorrow, but she still had lessons to attend to and students who needed her attention today. Yet, she couldn’t seem to think straight through any of it.

Finally in her last lesson of the day, Eleanor stood at the head of the long, light-filled classroom, her sharp gaze sweeping over her students.

Twenty girls sat with backs straight and hands folded, their pens poised above neatly lined paper.

They were halfway through their dictation lesson, but Eleanor’s mind was elsewhere.

She fiddled absently with the broach on her dress, willing her mind to calm.

The schoolroom was one of her favorite places in the academy—orderly, productive, with a sense of purpose that matched her own.

The large windows allowed generous light to spill across the wooden desks, and the walls were lined with well-thumbed bookshelves, filled with volumes she had carefully curated.

It was a sanctuary of learning, a place where girls could grow in both mind and character.

She should not feel such an excitement of nerves. She could not think straight.

Anxiety of adding a new student in the middle of the semester creeped into her thoughts. There had been other times when a girl left or joined at odd times of the year, but it was rare, and those interruptions disrupted the flow of the school for a time. How would she cope with it this time?

She did not even know the girl’s name—how had she not had the presence of mind to ask such an important question when Lord Camden was here?

She only knew the girl was twelve. At least that had been a valuable piece of information that she gathered.

It made her preparations for today easier as she thought through the process of integrating Lord Camden’s niece into the age-appropriate classes and activities.

Eleanor’s thoughts turned to Lord Camden.

The man had been infuriatingly sure of himself, arriving at Greenbrook without so much as a letter of introduction or prior notice.

His towering presence had filled the receiving room, his authoritative tone grating against her usual calm.

And then, of course, he’d tried to pay his way past her policies—as if she were a tradeswoman to be bargained with.

Yet beneath the arrogance, she had seen something else. Something unsettled. And she had not been able to refuse his plea of desperation for the help he needed.

A flicker of a smile tugged at her lips. Perhaps it was not his niece who would be a challenge.

"Miss Langford?" A soft voice pulled her from her thoughts. One of her younger students, a girl named Lottie, had timidly raised her hand. “Could you repeat the last sentence you dictated?"

Eleanor blinked, realizing she had left the class hanging mid-sentence. With a small shake of her head, she resumed her usual poise.

"My apologies, girls," she said, her voice clear and firm. "The sentence is as follows: 'To lead is not to demand submission, but to inspire trust.'"

The girls dutifully copied down the phrase, their pens scratching on paper. Eleanor’s gaze softened as she watched them. These were the moments she cherished—shaping young minds, guiding them to think for themselves.

She stepped lightly between the rows of desks, pausing by Lottie’s side. "Very good posture, Miss Westfield," she said, her tone approving. "And your penmanship is improving. Well done."

The girl blushed and beamed up at her. "Thank you, Miss Langford."

Eleanor continued her inspection of the girls’ work, her hands clasped lightly behind her back. In the far corner of the room, another student, Alice Thorne, was fidgeting with her quill, her brow furrowed in frustration.

"Miss Thorne," Eleanor said gently as she approached. "Are we having trouble with the sentence?"

Alice looked up, her cheeks coloring. "Yes, Miss Langford. I—I can’t seem to get it right. My letters all lean the wrong way."

Eleanor studied the page for a moment, noting the crooked script. "It is not as dire as you think, Alice. Your letters only require a steadier hand. You’re rushing through your work."

Alice nodded, biting her lip. "I’m sorry."

"Do not apologize for effort," Eleanor said firmly. "But do allow yourself time to be precise. If you rush, you will only have to correct it later. Try again."

Alice smiled gratefully, her shoulders relaxing a little. Eleanor gave her a small nod before returning to the front of the room.

As the girls continued their work, Eleanor’s thoughts wandered once more to the upcoming situation.

According to Lord Camden, the girl was ‘difficult,’ though Eleanor suspected that meant intelligent and grieving.

These qualities were not uncommon in girls who had experienced trauma or lacked consistent structure.

Still, there was a challenge in this situation that she did not know how to address yet.

Eleanor had handled unruly students before—most with quick success.

But this would be different. The child had lost both parents and was under the care of a guardian who, for all his control, seemed at a loss for how to truly reach her.

And then there was the matter of the tuition.

A generous one. Far too generous for Eleanor’s comfort.

She had given the sum to Lord Camden more as a challenge than anything.

And he had agreed to it. The academy needed the funds—badly—but it galled her that such necessity had compelled her to say yes to a man she might otherwise have refused outright.

She dismissed the girls with a few reminders about their assignments and lingered near the doorway as they filed out into the corridor.

Mrs. Carter appeared in the doorway just as the last student left, her sharp eyes immediately honing in on Eleanor’s pensive expression.

"You’ve been thinking about the new arrival," Mrs. Carter said, more of a statement than a question.

Eleanor nodded, her lips pressing into a thin line. "Lord Camden’s niece is likely to create a wave amidst our calm.”

Mrs. Carter’s smile was kind. “It does you no good to talk yourself into the worst of the situation before the situation is before you.”

Eleanor raised an eyebrow. “You believe I am needlessly worrying? There has to be a reason that he was willing to pay double the tuition and refused to provide any of our needed paperwork.”

Mrs. Carter put a hand on Eleanor’s arm.

“There very well could be a reason to worry, Miss Langford. But preemptively starting down that path will not serve you at the moment. Each day brings with it its own set of challenges. Let us not assume the worst about every future day, and take the troubles as they come. We do not know what to expect, so trying to keep all the worries from every possibility is unnecessary.”

Eleanor nodded. “You are very wise, Mrs. Carter. I strive to have your wisdom and your way of looking at the world.”

“It is merely experience, Miss Langford. When you are my age, you will undoubtedly have the same wisdom.”

Eleanor smiled faintly at Mrs. Carter’s reply, though a tightness still lingered in her chest. “Experience, perhaps. But I sometimes wonder if I will ever feel as calm as you sound.”

Mrs. Carter chuckled. “You would not be the headmistress of this academy if you did not have a clear head and a strong heart. You simply care more than most would admit.”

Eleanor glanced toward the corridor, where the last echo of youthful laughter faded away.

The empty hallway felt like a moment suspended—still and waiting.

“Perhaps that is what frightens me most,” she murmured.

“That I care too much. And that this girl … this niece of Lord Camden’s …

will prove to be the one I cannot reach. ”

Mrs. Carter tilted her head, her voice gentler now. “Have you ever met a girl you could not reach?”

Eleanor was quiet. Her mind scanned back over the years—over difficult pupils with hardened hearts and biting tongues who had, with time and steadiness, softened under her care.

But this situation was different. The girl was not difficult, but loss and grief had shaped her recently.

And her guardian, it was clear, knew little of how to care for such a girl.

And Eleanor could not forget the fleeting shadow of grief she had glimpsed in Lord Camden’s eyes.

As though he carried burdens of his own that no title could lessen.

“No,” she finally said. “But there is always a first.”

Mrs. Carter gave her arm a squeeze. “Or perhaps there is always another chance for compassion to do its work.”

The soft toll of the academy’s afternoon bell drifted down the hall—measured, familiar, and oddly out of place against the thrum of Eleanor’s thoughts.

Mrs. Carter glanced toward the door. “The girls will be off to their reading hour.”

Eleanor nodded, but her feet remained rooted to the floor. “Go on without me. I’ll join you shortly.”

Once Mrs. Carter had gone, Eleanor stepped back into the quiet classroom. The desks sat empty now, rows of ink-stained blotters and forgotten ribbons catching the light from the tall windows.

She walked to the front of the room and let her hand rest on the lectern.

There had been many changes at Greenbrook over the years—new pupils, new teachers, shifting seasons of difficulty and joy—but this felt different.

She could not name exactly why, only that something about tomorrow carried weight.

Perhaps it was the earnest desperation in Lord Camden’s eyes.

Perhaps it was the way his voice had faltered—just once—when he spoke of his niece.

Or perhaps it was her own unspoken fear—that the girl would arrive tomorrow and Eleanor might not be enough this time.

Perhaps that was why her heart felt so restless.

She pressed her fingers to her temple, then lifted her chin.

“No,” she said aloud to the empty room. “I will meet this child with open eyes and an open heart.”

And then, with a small exhale, she turned and crossed the room. Whatever the morning brought—be it stubborn silence or wounded grief—Miss Langford would be ready.