Inside, the familiar sweet scent of hay and the comforting sounds of the horses soothed him, but only a little. When he stepped back outside into the bleak morning, gray streaks of light spread like ribbons over the steely sky, and he breathed in the scent of cold and
snow. He was about to pick up a bucket when he looked toward Wainslow Peak.
A glimmer of light caught his attention. A fire? A lantern? It moved, then lowered and was still.
He squinted, unsure of what to make of it. The knowledge that Rafertee’s men had been on that path not so long ago nagged him. He shifted his weight and looked again.
Rafertee’s men, he decided, would hardly light a lantern. He went back in the stable, tossed the rope he had been carrying to the side, grabbed his coat from over the stall wall, and began the long trek up the hill.
The sound of the wind through the barren branches drowned out all other sounds of the morning, and with every step, his heart seemed to beat harder. For as he drew closer, he knew he saw a person. The only ones he had ever encountered on the hill prior to this were a nearby farmer and someone from Rosemere. As he got closer, his anticipation grew.
Could it be? But why this early? And alone?
Had he only imagined that her eyes had been on him at times at the gathering the night before? No, he was certain he had read her correctly. Her encouragement had been clear. And the fact that she rejected O’Connell, and in such a public manner, gave him reason to hope.
As he was deciding how best to proceed, he stepped on a twig and it snapped. The woman gasped and turned.
A thrill rushed through him, unsettling him, yet infusing him with strength. In the light from the lantern was Patience Creighton.
He stepped free from the brush. “Do not be alarmed, Miss Creighton. ’Tis only me.”
She jumped to her feet, the expression in her eyes turning from fear to recognition. A nervous laugh escaped. “Mr. Sterling! I did not expect to see anyone here. Not at this early hour.”
“I was in the stable and saw your lantern.” He stepped closer. “I was concerned something was wrong.”
She smiled up at him. “I know you warned me of being out on the moors while it was dark. One of our teachers departed this morning for Manchester, and after saying farewell, I thought I would take advantage of the silence to clear my mind.”
“I did not mean to interrupt your solitude. I should leave you—”
“No, no!” Her words were immediate, and she raised her hands to stop him. As if suddenly realizing the haste of her response, she smiled and dropped her hands. “That is to say, there is no need to leave on my account. Please, join me,” she said as she returned to her seat.
He sat next to her on the boulder, acutely aware of how close she was—the way the breeze blew a long lock of ebony hair across her cheek, the redness of her nose in the morning chill.
“Are you all right?” he asked.
“Oh yes, I am fine. Thank you.”
Always proper. Always polite. But he noticed how the light illuminated the tear tracks on her smooth cheeks, and her eyes were wet and rimmed in red.
Perhaps she misunderstood his question. “I meant to inquire if you were all right after last night. I . . . The situation you were in last night was a difficult one, Miss Creighton. O’Connell is intolerable.”
Her smile faded and she sat in silence, looking out at the awakening valley below, and then she switched the topic. “I was surprised . . . pleasantly surprised . . . to hear that you sold the land to my brother. Such news would have so pleased my father.”
“In truth, Miss Creighton, that house should belong to the Creighton family. It is long overdue.”
“I remember my father trying almost every spring to purchase the house and the land from your father, but to no avail. He always
said he would not give up.” She paused. “Rawdon has great plans to improve the school. He plans to expand to a school for young men and—”
“And you, Miss Creighton? What plans do you have?” Perhaps it was the faint hint of the morning light, of a new beginning, that made him bold. Or the vast open space. Or the intimacy of the dawn. But at this precise moment in time, he had little desire to speak of her brother. Or of schools. He wanted—no, needed—to know about her.
She tightened her shawl and diverted her eyes. She stuttered her words. “I . . . I plan to continue on as I have been.”
“Without Mr. O’Connell?” He needed to be sure.
Even in the morning’s shadow, he thought he saw the stain of a blush on her cheek. She studied the fringe on her cloak. “Yes. Without Mr. O’Connell.”
The acknowledgment sent a rush of relief through him, energizing him and emboldening him with an unusual fervor. Words jumbled within him, waiting to be spoken, but she spoke first.
“I must know, what was it that made you decide to sell the land?”
Her question could have been innocent enough. She turned her eyes to him. But he sensed she was asking a far different question than the one merely on the surface.
He let his shoulders slump a little and stretched out both legs. How he wanted to share all. Unburden his heart and declare all wrongs. But where would he begin? “Everything is not as it seems, Miss Creighton.”
“What do you mean?”
The truth was difficult, but if the lapses in his judgment had taught him anything, false pretense could cause more damage than revealing the truth. “I did want to see the house in your family’s possession, that is true. But the whole truth is that I need the money.”
“Oh.” She nibbled her lip. “But you rebuilt the stable for us. I thought the money wasn’t—”
“You needed it. That is to say, the school needed it.”
She stood up and walked away from him, the cold air putting even more distance between them. She stood with her back to him, the moors spread out before her. “I . . . I’ve heard a report that the fire in our stable was not an accident.”
He felt both anger and embarrassment at her statement. Where she heard it was not important. What she thought about it was another matter entirely. “You heard correctly. It was recently brought to my attention that foul play did have a hand in the fire.”
Miss Creighton’s eyebrows drew together.
“But why did you not say as much?”
William hesitated. Did she think he had a hand in the deed? “If I had known earlier, I certainly would have.”
She whirled around to face him. “So you sell my brother land that is targeted?” Her voice remained soft. Calm.
“You are painting an inaccurate picture, Miss Creighton. The people who were responsible for the fire were attempting to coerce me. I only regret that you and your family were brought into it.”
“But how can you be certain they will not try again?”
He sat for several moments, his eyes locked with hers. If, by some miracle, she returned his regard, she deserved to know the truth about him. All of it. “Do you recall how I said that I had plans to build the textile mill on Latham Hill?”
She nodded.
“Apparently my colleagues had their sights set on the plot of land where Rosemere sits. I told them repeatedly I would not sell. They thought that if the stable burned, I would be unable to fund repairs and you would leave the land for more suitable accommodations. Then I would not have qualms about selling the land and Rosemere.”
Her voice held skepticism. “If that is the case, then why did you sell it to my brother?”
“Because I have debt, Miss Creighton. Significant debt that I cannot repay. The sale of the land will conclude my responsibility in that matter.”
The words were out. His shame was out.
She looked away, again scanning the moors. He slid off his coat. “Here, put this on. It is too cold.”
“But you will be cold,” she protested.
“I will be fine.”
She slid the heavy woven work coat over her shoulders. She looked so fragile. So small. So perfect.
He pulled the brooch from his waistcoat pocket. His fingers felt cold and thick as he held it out to her. “Do you recognize this, Miss Creighton?
She reached out and took it from him, her bare fingers briefly touching his. “Why yes! This belongs to one of my students.” She looked puzzled. “Wherever did you find it?”
The jewel glimmered in the lantern’s light as she turned it over. He cleared his throat. “I saw it in your study after you left me the other day.”
She frowned. “How did it come to be in your possession?”
“I took it. I had to be certain.”
“Certain?” Her confusion was obvious. “Of what?”
William was finding it difficult to look her in the eye. “I know whose brooch that is.”
“You do? Well, that is wonderful! I have been trying for weeks to learn more about this student’s family.”
He lifted the lantern from the ground and held it close. “Turn it over and look at the engraving.”
She turned the brooch over to catch the light. “EAS.”
“Elizabeth Ann Sterling. My mother.”
Miss Creighton shook her head. “But I don’t understand. Why would your mother’s jewelry be in Emma’s things?” She tucked the brooch in her pocket. “Please tell me.”
“Perhaps you had better be seated.”
William waited for her to sit back down. “Several years ago I was involved with a young woman named Isabelle Simmons, a niece of Mr. and Mrs. Hammond’s.”
“I remember her.”
“Eight years ago I was very much in love with Miss Simmons. I made an offer of marriage, and she accepted. But when a gentleman from her past learned of our engagement, he made an offer as well. She chose him.”
Miss Creighton cocked her head to the side but remained silent.
“Regarding the brooch, I had given it to Miss Simmons just days before she left Darbury. I never saw her again, and to be quite honest, I had forgotten about the brooch until I saw it in your study.
“What I did not know, Miss Creighton, is that when Isabelle left Darbury, she was with child.
My
child. And when her husband learned of her deceit, he forced her from their home. Isabelle passed away four years ago, but before she did, she placed her daughter in the care of the Hammonds, who in turn placed her at Rosemere.”
Miss Creighton stared at him, her eyes not leaving his face. “Emma.”
“Yes.” He paused, trying to interpret her expression, and when he could not, he continued. “I am not proud of my actions after Isabelle left. I made many bad decisions. Did things I am not proud of. Isabelle had made Mr. Hammond promise not to reveal that the child was mine, and Mr. Hammond, aware of my decline, decided not to tell me.”
“What made him change his mind?”
“I am trying to change my course, and I believe Mr. Hammond
recognized that. He and I agree that no child deserves to not know her father.”
A cautious smile played on her lips. “Well, I, for one, am pleased. I think you will make an excellent father.” She swallowed, and he thought he saw tears in her eyes. “I see the resemblance. Your eyes are like hers. And you both share the dimple in your cheek when you smile.”
Excitement surged through him. “With your blessing, I would like to tell her as soon as possible. I have a lot to make up for.”
“Of course. This is the best news, Mr. Sterling.”
“And I will reimburse the school for the tuition.”
“But her bill is paid. We receive money regularly. Every month.”
William frowned. Hammond did not say anything about who had paid for the child to attend the school. He would find out and repay them.
“Mr. Sterling, I have to say that Emma is special to me.”
“I know. And I am glad my daughter was not alone during these years. I am anxious to get to know her, Miss Creighton. But this will be quite a shock for her.”
“Yes. But surely you do not intend to take her away from Rosemere.”
The woman’s love for the child was evident. Miss Creighton had been selfless and had been his daughter’s family when he could not be. “You have cared for my child in a manner in which I never could. I shall never take her from you.”
William tried to interpret her silence, but her breathing seemed to quicken and she sank into his coat. Now was the time. He needed to tell her the rest. Tell her how she had captured his thoughts. His mind. His heart—
A shout sounded from Eastmore Hall. Horses neighed. More shouting. They both stood up to look down at Eastmore.
William tried to see through the branches down to the
courtyard. He saw nothing, but alarm took hold. Another shout. Was it Lewis calling him? Then the frantic neighing of the horses told him all was not well.
He did not want to leave Miss Creighton, but every instinct screamed for his return to Eastmore. “Excuse me. I must see what that is. I cannot imagine what it would be at this hour.”
“Can I be of assistance?”
“No, no, Miss Creighton. Please, return to Rosemere. Quickly.”
He bowed slightly, then headed back down the hill. Shouts carried on the wind. Horses neighed.
Something is not right
.