Read The Headmistress of Rosemere for Free Online

own mother.
    Patience fixed her eyes on the floor’s broad wooden planks. Their father, whether she liked it or not, had named Rawdon, not her, as the one who was to care for the school. “I wrote to him and explained the situation this morning. George will post it today.”
    “Surely after such news he will return to Darbury.” Wistful hopefulness haunted her friend’s tone, who then said, with forced gaiety, “But the next time there is such a happening, I expect you to come get me. I am starved for excitement.” She stood and reached to pull Patience to her feet. “Have you had breakfast?”
    Patience looked at her mother’s door—again. In the past, the Creighton family ate breakfast in the privacy of their family dining room instead of the dining hall with the staff and students. It had been part of their effort to maintain life as a normal family unit—as normal a family life as could be had in a house shared with dozens of students and a full teaching staff. But with her father dead, herbrother out of town, and her mother indisposed, it seemed silly to take breakfast alone. “No.”
    “Then come and eat with the teachers in the dining hall.”
    Patience didn’t protest as her friend nudged her along the narrow corridor and down the stairs. With each step toward the dining hall, the comforting sounds and scents of morning intensified. She took a deep breath, appreciating the scent of jams and rolls, coffee and tea.
    The dining hall was in the oldest part of Rosemere. Exposed beams ran the width of the airy room. A fire blazed in the wide stone fireplace, its cheery crackle helping to combat the cool chill seeping in the broad paned windows. The stone floor felt cold to Patience through the thin soles of her kidskin boots. She looked out the windows at the bleak moors, stretched out broad and desolate, and found herself grateful for the welcoming warmth of the wood fire.
    She always liked the sound of the children’s chatter. Many institutions similar to Rosemere forbade talking during meals. But her father had hardly been one to follow convention. He’d believed camaraderie among the students was important for a well-rounded education, and he always allowed—nay—encouraged the interaction.
    Six long wooden tables flanked with equally long benches filled the large room. At the farthest table sat the teachers. The girls were seated at the other tables according to their age, each one dressed in the school gown of blue muslin with gray trim, white stockings, and half boots made of black kid leather. At the closest table were the youngest girls—ages six to eight. Patience put a hand on the shoulder of young Miss Charlotte Allenham and leaned in close. “Has that tooth come loose yet?”
    The plump girl turned her flaxen head and flashed a broad, toothless smile.
    “Well!” exclaimed Patience. “Very becoming.”
    She patted Miss Georgiana Mussy’s shoulder and smoothed the thick mahogany braid of Miss Emma Simmons. These girls were more than her students. Yes, she took great pride in overseeing their education, but she’d also found strength—and distraction—in the busy happenings of their everyday lives.
    For today at least, she resolved to put her troubles aside and enjoy her day.

    A voice, familiar yet distant, pulled William from slumber.
    “What in blazes happened to you?”
    William jerked his head around to look at Lewis and moved to rub his hand over his face, but when he touched his mouth, searing pain catapulted him upright, bringing back the memory of the previous night. He groaned, more from the recollection than the pain.
    Lewis, in heavy boots, thumped across the bedchamber’s wooden floor and stopped at the foot of the bed. Even with his eyes pressed shut, William could picture Lewis McOwen, Eastmore Hall’s groom, standing, arms folded across his chest in customary fashion, an incredulous expression on his long face.
    Most men of William’s situation would never allow their