Page 7 of Charming the Headmistress (Spinsters and their Suitors #3)

CHAPTER FIVE

T he carriage rocked slightly as it made its way down the narrow country lane toward Greenbrook Academy. Inside, Camden sat across from his niece, Helena. Helena had barely spoken a word since they left Haverton House.

She sat curled in the farthest corner of the carriage, her shawl wrapped tightly around her shoulders, her sketchbook clutched against her chest like a shield.

She had drawn nothing this morning. She hadn’t even opened the pages.

Her gaze stayed fixed beyond the window.

Her dark eyes reflected the passing countryside as though she could will the world to pass her by.

The last few months had rendered her nearly mute, except for the occasional answer to simple questions.

The silence from her was deafening—he almost wished she would display some sort of emotion, even if it was anger.

He wasn’t ever sure if what he said or did was helping the situation or simply making it worse.

Camden watched her in silence. Helena was only twelve—too young to have endured such tragedy, but old enough to feel it deeply.

She was, by all accounts, a shadow of the lively child she had once been.

Every attempt he had made these past few months—to draw her out, to encourage her, to simply speak—had fallen flat.

The girl who used to chatter on about birds and ink washes, who once painted the world with curious delight, had vanished entirely.

That was one of the reasons for Greenbrook Academy.

He sighed, leaning back against the leather seat. This wasn’t how it was supposed to be. He hadn’t spent his life preparing to manage estates, to deal with tenants and land disputes—or to raise a young girl. But when the title and responsibilities had fallen to him, so too had Helena.

And now, here he was, bringing her to Greenbrook, placing his faith in a woman he had only just met—Miss Eleanor Langford.

Despite his best efforts, Helena was not improving—if anything, she was becoming more reclusive and sullen.

This change would be good for Helena. It would help her.

Although they had only met once, he was certain that Miss Langford would see that Greenbrook would be a positive situation for his niece.

He glanced at Helena again. She hadn’t so much as acknowledged him since they left. Her gaze never removed from the fields and the trees outside the window.

“I expect you'll find Greenbrook to be a fine place,” he said gently, though he did not know whether she was listening. “They’ve an excellent library. A garden. Art instruction, I believe.”

Helena gave no sign she’d heard. Her fingers simply tightened around the edge of the sketchbook, white-knuckled and unmoving. Her eyes remained focused on the landscape, her lips pressed into a thin line.

Camden shifted, stretching out his legs and then folding them again, uncertain what to do with the silence. He cleared his throat, resisting the urge to sigh. “Miss Langford is a capable woman. The best headmistress in the region, by all accounts. Perhaps you’ll like her.”

Still nothing, only silence. Only the quiet rhythm of wheels on the road and the faint creak of the carriage frame.

He hesitated, then leaned forward slightly, his voice low. “I know I’ve not done everything right. And I know I’m not …” His throat tightened unexpectedly. “I’m not your father. But I am trying, Helena. I hope you know that.”

Her posture didn’t shift. Her eyes didn’t flick toward him. She simply stared out the window, unmoved and unreachable.

Camden slowly sat back again, the space between them pressing in like a wall.

He didn’t know what answer he had expected—he rarely got one at all these days—but somehow, her silence stung more than a sharp retort ever could.

“This is not a permanent situation, of course. That is, you will choose if you like it here. I want you to be happy.”

She didn’t respond. Her shoulders were rigid, her jaw set in a way that reminded him far too much of his late brother. Stubbornness ran deep in the Moreland family.

He leaned back, defeated. He had failed to connect with her again. The same as always.

The carriage rolled on, its wheels crunching over the gravel as they drew closer to the gates of Greenbrook Academy. In the distance, the tall spires of the school came into view, set against a backdrop of trees and rolling hills.

Camden felt a knot of anxiety tighten in his chest. The difficulties of the estate, the land, the tenants—all of that seemed more surmountable than trying to understand the emotions and feelings of a grieving young girl. He wasn’t unwilling to try, but he felt sorely unprepared at each turn.

The carriage pulled to a stop at the front entrance of the academy.

Camden hesitated for a moment before opening the door and stepping out into the crisp afternoon air.

The grand stone building loomed before him, its ivy-covered walls giving it an air of quiet authority.

He hoped—no, prayed—that Miss Langford's reputation was as impressive as he had been told.

He turned back toward the carriage, but Helena didn’t move, her eyes still fixed on the horizon. Camden took a deep breath and extended a hand.

“Come along, Helena,” he said, keeping his voice as gentle as possible. “It’s time to meet Miss Langford.”

For a moment, he thought she might refuse. But then, she slid out of the carriage, ignoring his outstretched hand as she stepped onto the gravel drive. Camden suppressed the urge to sigh. This was going to be even harder than he had anticipated.

They approached the school’s entrance together, though it felt more like a battle march than anything else.

Camden’s eyes scanned the grounds, noting the neat rows of flowers and the orderly lines of the students in the distance.

This was a place of structure, of discipline—a place that might just be able to accomplish what he could not.

The large oak doors opened.

Miss Langford stood at the threshold, her posture as upright and composed as the building behind her. She wore a gown of deep navy. There was a softness in her eyes.

“Lord Camden,” Miss Langford said in greeting, inclining her head ever so slightly. “Welcome back to Greenbrook.”

“Miss Langford,” Camden returned, bowing slightly.

Then, turning, he gestured gently toward Helena.

“May I present my niece, Miss Helena Moreland.” His voice was measured, though his thoughts were anything but calm.

There was something about this woman that unsettled him—perhaps it was the calm confidence in her voice, or the fact that she seemed to hold complete control over everything around her.

A control that he sorely lacked at the moment.

Helena did not lift her gaze, nor did she curtsy. She clutched her sketchbook tighter, her arms crossed over it protectively.

Miss Langford took a single step forward and then she crouched down so she was at eye level with his niece. The action was kind and thoughtful. It felt unexpected, and a rush of gratitude filled Camden.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Miss Moreland,” she said, her voice warm and even. “I hope the journey wasn’t too tiring.”

Helena didn’t answer.

Miss Langford's eyes flicked to the sketchbook. “Do you enjoy drawing?”

A pause. Then, a faint, nearly imperceptible nod.

“I thought you might,” she said kindly. “We have a rose garden and a view of the hills from the east windows. We have easels available for all of our students. Perhaps we can set something up there for you.”

Camden caught the flicker of attention in Helena’s face—just a small shift, a breath of something like curiosity.

Miss Langford straightened. “Would you both come in?”

She stepped back to allow them through the doorway. The entrance hall was airy and bright, sunlight pooling across the polished floors. A few girls passed quietly in the distance, their laughter hushed and polite. The scent of lavender drifted from somewhere nearby.

“I’ve arranged for Miss Moreland’s trunks to be brought to her room,” Miss Langford said, gesturing toward the corridor. “We’ve placed her in the east wing, near the others in her age group. It’s quiet there, and the window looks out toward the garden.”

Helena said nothing, but her grip on the sketchbook eased just slightly.

“If you’d care to see the room before you depart, my lord,” Miss Langford offered, “you are most welcome.”

Camden nodded. “I would, thank you.”

“But first,” she added, turning to Helena, “I wonder if you might step into my office with us, just for a moment.”

Helena didn’t respond, but she followed when Miss Langford began to walk. She didn’t reach for her hand. She simply walked beside her, slow and steady, keeping pace.

Inside the headmistress’s office, the air was warm and inviting.

The walls were lined with shelves filled of books.

Maps hung on the walls, and a vase of fresh lilacs was on the sideboard.

The furniture was well made but unpretentious.

Camden felt, for the first time, that this was not just a school—but a place where someone cared about the details.

Helena stood near the doorway, quiet and unmoving.

Miss Langford didn’t press her. She simply offered, “I wanted you to know exactly where my office is, should you need me for anything, Miss Moreland. You’ll find this space always open to you.

If there’s ever something you wish to say, or even if you simply need a quiet place to sit, you are welcome here. ”

Camden glanced at his niece. Her posture was still guarded, but not rigid. She was listening—even if she wasn’t ready to respond.

“That is most kind of you,” Camden said, feeling touched that the first place she would show new students was where they could find her personally.