The Whispers on the Moors Collection, page 39
“Uh, Miss Creighton.” She had caught him off guard. He swept his hat from his head and pushed his hand through disheveled hair. “My apologies. I did not see you there.” He offered a stiff bow.
Perhaps it was the effect of the wind’s bite, but Patience thought she noticed Mr. Sterling’s face redden.
Finding her voice, she set the basket down and stood up. “No, please, do not apologize. I was only visiting Charlie. How is your arm?”
He lifted the wounded arm and cocked his head to the side, the hint of a smile dimpling his cheek in the subtlest manner. “I am managing fine. Thank you.”
She hesitated and placed her hand on Charlie’s shoulder. “Again, Mr. Sterling, I cannot thank you enough for your generosity in allowing the animals to stay here. And, of course, Charlie. I am sure he is as comfortable here as he ever was at Rosemere.”
Mr. Sterling patted his horse’s rump as Lewis led the animal away. “Think nothing of it, Miss Creighton. I am happy to be of service.” He nodded toward the empty stalls. “As you can see, we have plenty of room. My horses could use the company.”
Patience looked down the row of empty stalls. She’d always heard that William Sterling was rumored to be an expert horseman. But now that she took the time to look, she wondered where all the horses were that were said to be housed here.
She turned back to Mr. Sterling, trying to stay focused as he drew nearer. In the hustle of the fire, she had failed to notice that the bruising around his eye had faded and the cut on his lip was barely noticeable with the slight stubble on his chin. The light brown hair falling over his forehead hid the spot where the gash had been. His eyes appeared piercing and intense under the lantern’s glow, and a flush crept up from her neck.
What a silly schoolgirl inclination. She was here for Charlie. “I see that your eye appears to be much improved.”
“It is, thank you. How is the little girl?”
Patience relaxed at the sincerity in his voice. “Emma grows stronger by the hour. She will no doubt be back to her mischief in no time.”
The sound of Charlie rustling in the basket brought her back to her senses. She needed to be on her way if she didn’t want to cross the moors in the black of night. She knelt next to Charlie, giving him her best reassuring smile. “It will soon be dark. I must go, but I will return in a few days to see how you are. George said he’ll be here in the morning. Are you sure you are all right?”
Charlie nodded and wiped his hand on his trousers. “Yes, ma’am. I am sure. Thank you for the basket.”
“Of course, Charlie. You were so brave yesterday. I am proud of you.”
He beamed at the praise and then cast a sheepish glance at the men. Patience felt reluctant to leave him. Yes, he was their stable boy, but he held a special place in her heart. She squeezed his shoulder, turned, and walked down the corridor. Mr. Sterling was waiting at the entrance.
She smiled and nodded. “Good evening, Mr. Sterling. And thank you again.”
Mr. Sterling followed her from the stable and looked around. “Where is your horse? I will fetch him for you.”
“That is not necessary, Mr. Sterling.” Patience adjusted her cape. “I walked.”
Her answer brought a frown to his face. “You walked? But surely you cannot walk home. It is getting far too dark. Here, I will have Lewis ready the carriage.”
Patience lifted her hand in protest as he started to step past her. “You needn’t bother, sir. ’Tis but a short walk. I should be home before the sun sets.”
“At least allow me to saddle one of our horses for you. We have a sidesaddle, I am sure.”
“Oh no, we have no stable in which to give your horse shelter tonight. And in any instance, I do not ride.”
He blinked, shocked, as if she had told him that she didn’t believe the sky to be blue. “You do not ride?”
“No.”
“Why ever not?”
“Darbury is a small town. I can walk anywhere I need to go. I never had the need to learn.”
“Miss Creighton, everyone has need to learn to ride a horse.”
His enthusiastic certainty brought a smile to her lips. She shrugged. “My father forbade it.”
“But your pupils ride, do they not? I assumed the students would ride the pony.”
“Violet belongs to one of our former students who took a position as a governess in Somerset and could no longer care for the animal. The pony has been with us ever since.”
“Did your father never ride? Your brother?”
“Perhaps you recall my father walked with a limp. As a boy he was thrown from a horse and broke his leg. He never rode again, and I was not allowed to learn.”
“A true shame, Miss Creighton.” He looked in the direction of Rosemere, his straight nose and fine profile a black silhouette against the unstable clouds. “Well then, you must at least allow me to escort you back to Rosemere.”
The lighthearted banter she had been enjoying with him suddenly fell flat. Surely he was in jest. Patience looked at the ground, unable to meet his gaze. For what sort of man—what sort of gentleman—would ask to escort her home alone? It was preposterous!
“Thank you for your concern, but that is not necessary.”
He pressed his lips together. His confident composure had slipped, and he pushed his fingers through his hair. “I know how that must seem, Miss Creighton, but allow me to explain.” He lowered his voice as if he were someone with a great secret to tell. “I suspect you are aware that I was not thrown from my horse the other night. I do not mean to frighten you, but all is not as it seems. And with the fire . . .” His voice trailed off and he lifted his eyes to the moors. “I ask you to trust me when I say this. I insist upon seeing you home. For your safety.”
Her eyes locked with his. No trace of a smile warmed his expression. His relaxed countenance had sobered.
So her suspicion was now confirmed. It made sense. The split of his lip. The swelling of his eye. He’d been attacked. And was he suggesting that the fire might not have been an accident?
A little shudder traveled her spine, and she looked back to the moors, where blackness was already swallowing Sterling Wood whole. She’d never been frightened of the moors, but then again, she’d never been issued such a warning.
He continued, “I will bring my horse for the return ride.” She swallowed and nodded, propriety trumped by caution. He disappeared back into the stable, and she tightened her shawl.
As she waited, her thoughts jumbled in chaotic disarray. Yes, she knew what was proper. She should stop him. The impropriety! Walking alone with a man—on the moors—and in the shadow of twilight, no less! And not just any man, but a man of Mr. Sterling’s situation. His reputation. She tried to think of any excuse. But it was hard to argue with the visible manifestations that had marred his face. If vagabonds would do so much to a man, what would they do to a woman?
But another sensation, stronger and more prevailing than fear, refused to leave. The unmistakable flutter within her when he touched her cheek last night, in the silence of Rosemere’s kitchen. After the fire. When he asked if she would be all right. When, if ever, had anybody, with the exception of Cassandra and perhaps Mary, cared to ask? The idea that he might care, sincerely care, moved her and pushed away her sense of propriety.
He returned from the stable leading a large horse, his beaver hat atop his head, his caped coat billowing around him in the failing light. His face was shadowed, and yet she noticed he was smiling at her.
“Are you sure you will not ride?” he said as he approached. “I can teach you and make a fine horsewoman of you yet.”
The humor in his voice had returned but did little to set her at ease. “No, I am certain. I am sorry for you to have to saddle your horse again after you have just taken it off.”
“Think nothing of it. Angus here fancies a walk.” He nodded toward the path leading to Wainslow Peak. “Shall we?”
At first they walked in silence, their feet crunching the snow and ice the only sound. She was rarely at a loss for words. But he made her . . . nervous.
She could scarcely recall being nervous in the company of others. Not even Ewan O’Connell all those years ago. And yet a new thought fluttered within her, and her palms were clammy. The mystery of William Sterling intimidated her as much as it intrigued her. She tried to think of something clever to say, something to fill the silence. And yet, she was distracted. Distracted by the directness of his gaze when he looked her way. Distracted by the slightest hint of a cleft in his chin. The rich timbre of his voice when he said her name.
Fortunately, it was he who spoke first. “Thank you, Miss Creighton, for tending to my arm last night.”
The memory of his closeness renewed her shyness. “My pleasure.”
“I, uh”—he looked at the ground as he walked—“I apologize if I made you feel uncomfortable. I did not mean to overstep my bounds. Forgive me.”
Patience knew immediately what he was speaking of and was grateful for the darkness, for no doubt her cheeks were flaming pink. “No need for apology, Mr. Sterling.”
“I was impressed with the manner in which you handled the children and managed to keep them calm. I would imagine that can be quite a difficult undertaking.”
At his questions, she felt her tensions ease, for his interest seemed genuine. “I have been around the school and the children my entire life. Experience has taught me that the best way to keep the children calm is to stay calm myself.”
She felt his gaze on her. It warmed her.
His voice was strong and sure. “That school seems to be a great deal of responsibility for one person.”
The weight of his praise at first made her uncomfortable, but then a smile tugged at her lips. He had noticed her. Noticed the work she was doing. It felt . . . good. “My father was an excellent teacher. He prepared me well. And my mother is there, of course.”
“And what of your brother? Does he not assist?”
Was he yet another person who would believe her brother to be the only one who could tend to the school effectively? And yet, no judgment weighed in his words. She relaxed her shoulders. It was merely a question. “If the truth be told, Mr. Sterling, I do not know where my brother is. In fact, we have not heard from him in months.”
She regretted the words as soon as they were free from her mouth. How carefully she’d tried to give the impression that all was well within the walls of Rosemere. But the admission of her brother’s betrayal, in a small way, made her feel more free than she had felt in a very long time.
Mr. Sterling looked over at her, his expression sincere. “I’m sorry to hear it.”
“We are managing quite fine, my little staff and the girls.” She decided to change the subject. “Are you fond of children, Mr. Sterling?”
“Me? Fond of children?”
She cast a sideways glance at him, almost finding amusement in the difficulty he was having answering such a simple question.
He cleared his throat. “Well, with the exception of my niece, I’ve never been around any.”
She’d hoped to hear more about his family, but when he offered no more information on the subject, she said, “Emma seemed quite taken with you.”
“Well, she wasn’t too pleased with me in the stable during the fire, I can tell you that.”
His tone was so light, so seemingly carefree, that she felt her shame of walking alone with a man on the moors dissipate.
They continued down the snow-blanketed path. Patience felt no fear. In fact, the cold silence of the moors calmed the anxiety that had been battling in her mind. She allowed the wind to wash over her. She looked up at the clouds. No stars shone down on her.
The ground beneath her half boots was rocky and uneven, and under the shadow of twilight it would be easy to misstep. Twice she had to sidestep the path, where the mud had turned to slush and snow had blown over the path. She did not wish to seem awkward, yet at the same time, her half boots were no match for the terrain.
She tried to hide her effort, but he noticed. He noticed everything. He extended his arm toward her. She looked ahead toward Rosemere. The walk was still a distance, and with the darkening night and the insufficient support of her shoes, she hesitated. Not only walking alone with a man, but on his arm?
“I only mean to be of assistance.”
She allowed her eyes to meet his for a moment, and her heart fluttered.
She stepped as close as she dared, kept her eyes low, and tucked her gloved hand in the crook of his arm. Fire seemed to reach up from the touch, and yet, at the same time, it felt natural. Emotions battled within her as she could feel the muscles in his arm twitch, even beneath the thick wool of his coat. She felt safe. Protected. What surprised her the most was the emotion tightening her throat. How long had she missed this? How long had she longed for support, for someone to share her load, even something as simple as offering her their arm?
She stole a sideways glance at him as he pulled the horse into movement with his other hand. Her heart ached at the beauty of him—handsome out of a fairy tale. Quickly her brief romance with Ewan flashed before her. Could it be William Sterling she had been dreaming of? Waiting for ever since that day that Ewan quitted Rosemere?
But she needed to remember he was beyond her reach. She would be a fool to assume otherwise. He was doing her a kindness. Perhaps out of responsibility. Out of pity. She could not know. For did he not have the name of another woman on his lips just days ago? Were she not careful, her heart would pay a price for her folly.
“I remember you, Miss Creighton.”
“Oh?”
“From when we were children. You came with your father to Eastmore. You were sitting in the foyer, waiting.”
She did not recall the incident, but the fact that he did brought a smile to her lips.
“You had a doll with you,” he added, “and you were showing it to my mother.”
“That would have been a very long time ago, indeed.”
“Amazing how quickly the years slip by.”
He sidestepped to lead his horse around a rock in the path, and by doing so he moved closer to her.
“I heard that you spent a great deal of time in London.” She felt brave for bringing up what she had heard of him, but at her words, his lips formed a tight line.
“That is another world away, Miss Creighton. One best left in the past.”
“But do you not miss it?” she asked, suddenly hungry to learn as much as she could about him. “Darbury is so small.”
His steps slowed until finally he stopped walking altogether. He hesitated and then turned to face her. Night’s shadow blurred his features, but his voice was sure. “Have you ever been to London?”
“I have not.”
He looked off to the distance, as if carefully choosing his words. “London is brilliant, but it also has a dark side. Do not doubt it, Miss Creighton. For a number of reasons, London is no longer my home.”
She searched for the meaning behind every word. “So you will be staying at Eastmore, then?”
A smile warmed his expression in the twilight’s bitter cold. “Right now I can think of no reason to leave.”
There could be no mistaking his meaning, for at the words, with lead rope in hand, he covered her hand in the crook of his arm with his other hand. At the simple movement, the blood raced through her ears with unprecedented fervor.
“Miss Creighton, I hope I do not overstep my bounds when I tell you that I admire the work you are doing. I do not question your abilities. I only wish to say that if you are ever in need of assistance, I am at your service.”
“I thank you for that.” Whether it was the darkness of the night or the honest nature of the conversation, she felt emboldened. “I might accept your kind offer. For as much as I love the school, there always is so much to be done.”
“And your mother? Does she help?”
She wondered if she would regret sharing her thoughts, her fears. But as the words started to slip from her lips, her confidence grew. She shared snippets of her struggle, and he listened with earnest interest.
They finally stopped outside the courtyard wall’s wooden gate. Despite the impropriety of the situation, her heart felt light, her soul, free. Her hand slipped from his arm.
Now that they were back at Rosemere, reality pricked her. She suddenly felt anxious about being discovered, painfully aware of how it would appear for her to be discovered alone with him under the shadows of the birch branches. Her eyes flicked nervously to the top of the house, the only part visible over the courtyard wall. “I must go.”
He nodded, but the look in his eyes, the affection in his expression, fixed her to her spot, unwilling to let her go.
Her feet did not seem to obey her command. She tightened her cape around her shoulders, hoping her words did not sound as hopeful as the thoughts running through her mind. “Will we see you at Rosemere soon, Mr. Sterling?”
He looked toward the house and then back at her. A grin dimpled his cheek in the night’s dark shadow. “Nothing could keep me away.”
He should not be so eager to see the woman.
Yet William could think of little else.
How was it possible that in such a brief time, memories of her infused themselves into his mind? Miss Creighton’s soft touch when she tended his arm. Her gentle voice as she soothed Emma. The innocence in her expression and the feel of her hand on his arm during their twilight walk on the moors. And those magnificent green eyes.
Ever since the fire he’d been able to entertain no other thought. He had searched for any excuse to visit.
And rebuilding the stable was the perfect reason. Hardly romantic, yet practical. He guessed she would fly away if he should express romantic interest, but the stable and the school were important to her. And with each passing day, they were becoming important to him too.
William knocked sharply on Rosemere’s door.
While he waited for an answer, he reminded himself of one important fact: their lives were different. At one point, the mere fact that he was master of Eastmore Estate and she was the headmistress’s daughter would have been enough to keep them apart, but recent events were closing that gap. But if he wanted to rebuild his life and restore Eastmore Hall to its former glory, he needed to stay focused on the prize. Any diversion could prove disastrous—or deadly, if Captain Rafertee’s men had anything to do with it.
