Free The Headmistress of Rosemere by Sarah E Ladd Page A

to Miss Creighton, he did not know. Was it her mannerism that reminded him of another?
    Or was it true admiration of a person who had embraced family responsibility?
    Or was it purely loneliness?
    He indulged in one long swig of claret, dampening the effects of painful memories and the bitter cold.
    Tomorrow.
    Tomorrow he would once again pull himself right and focus on the task at hand—he’d keep his promise to his brother and visit his sister-in law. He’d find another broodmare for his stallion and take the necessary steps to set his life right. But tonight he would let the claret ease the pain, just as it had so many times before.
    Tomorrow . . . he watched as the last tiny flame in the fireplace flickered and then went out, leaving only glowing embers.
    He’d nearly fallen asleep, half frozen in his chair, when a rap sounded on a distant door.
    William bolted out of his chair and looked to the pistol on a nearby table.
    Rafertee.
    But before he had time to react, footsteps echoed as they crossed the stone floor of the vestibule. He recognized the shuffle. It was Cecil, his butler. William relaxed when he heard the voice of his neighbor, Jonathan Riley.
    Riley was the one friend who would still visit even though he knew the extent of William’s downfall. William quickly stoked the fire to breathe life back into it, sending sparks flying, but he wasn’t fast enough.
    The door to the library opened and Cecil stepped inside. “Mr. Riley, sir.”
    Before William could welcome him, Riley strode in as confidently and intently as if he were the master of Eastmore himself. “Egad, man, what are you doing in the dark?”
    William knelt next to the fire and used its dying embers to light a candle, and then used that to light yet another.
    William forced his voice to be as normal as possible. “Caught me sleeping, mate.”
    William turned, but his effort to hide his face was in vain.
    “Sleeping, my eye.” Riley whistled low. “They did a number on you, didn’t they?”
    “What do you mean?”
    “Was in town at Griffin’s End.” Riley sought out and opened the decanter of claret and poured himself a goblet. “Talked to Miller, who said there was a rowdy bunch in the other night, bragging about drawing a man’s cork on the moors. Said they’d been in a couple nights prior, and he figured out they must be talking about you. So I had to come out and see for myself. Sure enough, here you are. What happened?”
    William gave up stoking the fire and sank back in his chair. Noneed for pretense with a friend as old as Riley. “I was at Griffin’s End, trying to convince old Peter Symes to sell me his thoroughbred mare. I saw the men there. Should have gotten a room for the night, but like a fool I thought it would be a good idea to return to Eastmore Hall. They waylaid me.”
    “I can see that.” Riley tilted his head and squinted, struggling to see in the dark. “How bad is it?”
    “Split lip. Swollen eye. Gash on the forehead. Bruised ribs. Could have been worse.”
    “I’ll say.” Riley pointed a finger at William. “They could have done permanent damage to that dandy profile of yours, and then where would you be?”
    William huffed.
    Riley’s energy filled the space. He whipped his head around. “Why is it so blasted cold in here? I know you’re dished, but this borders on the ridiculous.” He tossed a log on the fire, and the glowing embers popped and hissed in protest. He added some kindling and was rewarded with a small flame that licked at the log’s edge. “There, that’s more like it.”
    If there was one thing William knew about Riley, it was that the man hated silence as much as he did. Riley would fill hushed moments with chatter, whether the conversation proved worthwhile or not.
    Riley adjusted the remaining wood in the pile. “I didn’t just come here to check on your wounds. I have a few matters I need to discuss with you.”
    “Of course you do.”
    “I am starting a new business