The Headmistress of Rosemere by Sarah E Ladd

whipped raw and vicious around his head. A sudden giggle caught his ears, and then a girl’s shout. He looked to see a group of girls beyond the stable dressed in dark coats, their faces hidden by matching bonnets. He stayed to the far side of the drive lest they take notice of him. He did not need to have a gaggle of girls staring at the wounds still marring his face.
    A young boy, probably nine or ten, did notice him and came trotting from around the west end of the building. “Take your horse, sir?”
    William pulled his tall hat tight and kept his eyes down, but not before recognizing that this was the boy who had attempted to hold Angus steady while he had mounted in his hasty departure. He tossed the child the reins. “Thank you.”
    The boy led Angus around the back, and William walked up to the house, taking the lion-shaped iron knocker in his hand and letting it fall heavily against the wooden door. A servant answered—an older man with thick white hair and rheumy brown eyes. At thesight of his wounds, the old man’s eyes opened wide. “Mr. Sterling.”
    This man knows who I am .
    William entered the large entrance hall paneled with dark wood. At the far end of the room, a roaring fire bathed the foyer in warmth, and the large mullioned windows flanking the doors filled the room with the evening’s fading light. The scent of bread mingled with smoke from the fire teased him. The sound of a pianoforte met his ears. At the far opposite corners of the room, two symmetrical and intricately carved staircases disappeared to the upper floors.
    William placed his coat and hat in the servant’s outstretched hands. He followed the man down a narrow hall. Now that he was here, curiosity took hold. Vague recollections surfaced of being inside Rosemere as a boy with his father. William stepped into the study, almost relieved to see that Miss Creighton was real—and not at all imagined.
    She sat in a wingback chair, a young girl with long mahogany hair and startling blue eyes on her lap.
    Gentle light from the fire seemed to soften Miss Creighton’s expression. Her hair was no longer in a careless braid but was swept tidily away from her face and atop her head. Her eyes were not as brilliant by the light of day but larger than he had recalled.
    William cleared his throat. “I hope I am not intruding.”
    “Of course not, Mr. Sterling. It is a pleasure to see you.” She whispered in the child’s ear, and in a flash of muslin and ribbon, the little girl promptly hopped from her lap. Miss Creighton stood and placed a hand on the child’s shoulder and nudged her out from behind her. “Allow me to present Miss Emma Simmons.”
    The child made him nervous, for what was one to say to a child, let alone a girl? Not knowing what else to do, William bowed to the little person. “How do you do, Miss Simmons.”
    The girl curtsied, but when her gaze landed on William’s lip,she stood frozen for several seconds, mouth agape, eyes fastened on his lip.
    Miss Creighton gathered some papers from the table. “Emma, why don’t you take your word cards into the morning room? I believe Miss Baden is in there with the others.”
    The little girl seemed oblivious to her guardian’s direction. Her attention was fixed boldly on William’s face. “What happened to your eye?”
    Miss Creighton’s dismay at the innocent question far outweighed his own discomfort. She blurted out, “Emma! It is not polite to ask such things!”
    But the young Miss Simmons seemed too concerned about his eye to hear.
    “It’s fine, Miss Creighton, really.” William knelt down on one knee. “See, it isn’t that bad. It should be better soon. Doesn’t hurt a bit.” But her small face scrunched in disbelief. He scrambled for an answer appropriate to say to such a small person. “I fell from my horse.”
    Emma’s tiny eyebrows drew together. “Naughty horse.”
    Miss Simmons’s emphatic disapproval almost brought a laugh to his lips. “It was not