To Walk in the Sun (Wiggons' School for Elegant Young Ladies - Book 1) (11 page)

“How did they die?”

She had to look away. He was no longer
smiling but had a true look of concern on his face. It wasn’t that
long ago that he lost his own parents, brother and wife, so perhaps
he understood her loss better than anyone. “They were crossing the
Channel. Father had taken his yacht out. Either a ship from her
majesty’s navy did not see him, or my father could not maneuver in
time. . .” She paused to sip from her drink. “Regardless, the two
collided and given the difference in size, there was nothing that
could be done. Both my mother and father were pulled from the
water, but it was too late.”

He reached over and grasped her hand. “I am
truly sorry for your loss.”

She turned to look in his eyes. She would
have never believed those almost black pools could be so full of
warmth and carrying. This was not good. Tess broke eye contact once
again and took a hasty drink. Her hand tingled beneath the warmth
of his, but she had no will to pull it away.

“Once I finished school, I went to live with
my uncle.”

“Did you have a season or two?”

“No.” Had she, her life could have turned out
entirely different. Her uncle would also still be alive. “He passed
before there was an opportunity.” She could claim to have had a
season, but that fact could be confirmed too easily. It was better
to stay as close to the truth as possible. “He was elderly and
though he wanted to give me a chance in London, I could not bring
myself to prevail upon him to take me the city. We remained in the
country, in quiet recluse.” That was partially the truth. Atwood
did not need to know that her uncle had died right before she
turned nineteen and before their planned trip to London for her
presentation.

“There are no other relatives?”

They all think I have run away, left the
country
. “No. Or none that I ever knew or were close to.”

“So, instead of going to live with one of
them, and getting the season you deserve, you returned to your
childhood home.”

That summed it up. Tess turned and smiled at
him. “That is exactly what happened.”

“But you are so young. Why would you throw
your life away at a school?”

Tess was not prepared for this question.
Others had asked about her family, but this question had never been
posed. She pulled her hand from beneath his and stood. “I enjoy my
position at the school and enjoy my time with the girls. It is
fulfilling in a way I never dreamed possible.”

“Don’t you long for more?” His voice was
quiet, hushed, prodding. She turned to look at him.

“In truth, Lord Atwood, the thought has never
crossed my mind.”

* * *

Vincent had seen endless waste in the world
from the dandies that wagered estates on a hand of cards to
soldiers who wagered their lives in war. Miss Crawford, with her
silver eyes, black hair, and form of a goddess, was wasting away at
a girls’ school tucked away in the country, far from London. There
she would only grow old and lonely, having never known love,
passion, or children. Waste, that was the only way to describe
it.

“I believe I should return to my room. Thank
you for the brandy.” Miss Crawford turned to leave. He was not
ready for her to go yet, but knew it was probably the wisest thing
she did.

Vincent stood to follow her. Only every other
sconce was lit, and he feared she would trip in the darkness.

Tess placed her hand on the railing and took
the first step. Her foot caught on the hem of her robe and she
tumbled forward.

Vincent stalked forward and lifted her into
his arms.

“Put me down,” she protested.

“And watch you try and negotiate the stairs
only to fall and break your neck? I think not.” His voice was harsh
to his own ears, but the sight of Veronica lying broken at the
bottom of these very stairs swam in his vision. He would not allow
another lady to share the same fate.

He cradled her in both arms and stalked up
the stairs.

“You may put me down now,” Miss Crawford
hissed once they stopped on the main floor.

Vincent knew there was very little chance of
her getting injured in the hallway, but it had been so long since
he held a woman in his arms, and one that smelled as sweet as Miss
Crawford, he did not want to relinquish her too soon.

“I prefer to see you to the safety of your
room,” he replied and strolled further down the hall.

A door banged shut at the end of the hall and
he turned to look but no one was there.

“I am sorry. It was probably one of the
girls.”

Vincent rolled his eyes. It would be
interesting to find out what tale they made up after seeing him
carrying Miss Crawford to her chamber.

“
Haste, let us away ere the dawn breaks,
for my eye

is yet too weak to endure the light of
day.”

Wake Not the Dead

Johann Ludwig Tieck

Chapter 10

“Did you see?” Eliza asked her wide-eyed
friends, her back pressed against their bedroom door.

“Who do you think it was?” Sophia asked. She
walked toward the burning fireplace, her arms wrapped around her
body as if to ward off a chill.

“Who do you think?” Rosemary turned toward
her.

Sophia shrugged her shoulders. “All we could
see was her feet.”

“And the pale robe,” Rosemary added, her tone
ominous.

Sophia looked between the two girls, her
expression blank, and she shrugged her shoulders again.

“It was her,
his wife
,” Eliza insisted
as she came forward.

Rosemary grew pale. “It must be here. Who
else could it be?”

“It is impossible. We would have heard.
Remember the story.” Sophia turned her pleading eyes on Eliza. “It
has been a calm night.”

“True,” Rosemary agreed.

“It wasn’t last night ago,” Eliza reminded
them, a small smile on her lips, her eyes lit with excitement.

Rosemary’s mouth popped open and her eyes
grew wide.

“Where do you think she has been all this
time and why did Atwood wait until now to bring her home?” Sophia
sank into a rocking chair.

“Maybe he didn’t know it worked.” Eliza sat
on the bed, then jumped back up and paced. “He had to hide in the
crypt with Miss Crawford, and then they went to the school. He
probably didn’t even know his wife had awakened.”

“Then where has she been all this time,”
Sophia asked with exacerbation.

Eliza’s pacing increased. Her fingernail
tapped against her chin. Suddenly she stopped and looked at her
friends. “I know. She was hiding in the crypt at day and hunting in
the woods at night.”

“Hunting? Vampires don’t hunt animals,”
Rosemary argued. “Or, at least I don’t think they do.”

“True.” Eliza resumed her pacing. “The poor
woman must have been hiding and waiting for her beloved husband.”
Eliza stopped in front of the fireplace and focused on frightened
Rosemary. “She must have been beside herself, wondering why she was
back and worried about where her husband may be,” she ended with a
proper dramatic sigh.

“Do you think we will see her?” Rosemary
leaned forward.

“Of course not. Atwood will have to keep her
hidden,” Eliza admonished.

“I just hope we are out of here before she
gets hungry,” Rosemary mumbled.

“Me too.” Sophia pulled her robe tight around
her shoulders.

* * *

Tess woke to a gloomy room. Then again, it
shouldn’t be a surprise since her windows faced north and would
never see the true light of day, just like Atwood’s.

She rose and walked to her armoire. The same
dress she had worn for the past two days once again hung within and
her freshly laundered chemise folded neatly on a shelf. The
servants had been kind enough to wash it each evening and repaired
some of the damage, but not all of the blood stains could be
removed. She dreaded the thought of wearing that dress again, but
had no other choice.

She exited her room and turned down the hall
only to meet Atwood strolling from the opposite direction. His eyes
raked her from head to toe.

What was wrong with her appearance? She had
glanced in the mirror one last time before she exited her room. Her
hair and clothing were neat, so what could be wrong?

“I mean no disrespect, Miss Crawford, but
shouldn’t you address the issues of your wardrobe before the
studies of your students.”

Tess took a step back. How dare he?

“While the dress is quite lovely on you, I
have never known a lady who could wear the same ensemble for six
hours, let alone three days. I find it rather impressive that you
have managed.”

So, he was not insulting her, or was he? Tess
did not know what to make of his comments. This gentleman was very
strange indeed.

“I am sorry, Miss Crawford. I see I have left
you speechless. Please pay me no mind. If you wish to wear the
dress for the rest of your days it is no concern of mine.”

He did not move on, but seemed to focus on
her forehead. She brought her fingers up to feel the injury,
wondering if she was bleeding again.

“Your cut seems to be healing nicely. Though
the bruise is an interesting mix of purple, blue and it is turning
a bit green around the edges, but the swelling seems to have gone
down.”

She let her hand drop. Atwood certainly knew
how to make a lady feel attractive, she thought sarcastically.

“I still wish you would have allowed Wesley
to stitch your head, though this may not scar after all.”

“I would rather risk a scar than face a
needle and thread, as I explained.”

He quirked a brow. “You are a rather odd
lady, Miss Crawford. First, your dress, and now no concern over a
scar on your face.”

Goodness, could he insult her anymore?

“Good day, Miss Crawford. It is time I
retire.” He nodded his head and walked past her to enter his own
rooms.

Tess turned to watch him go, unsure of what
to make of the odd conversation. However, his thoughts had mirrored
her earlier ones. It was time for new clothing.

* * *

Vincent fell onto his bed. That was not well
done of him. He was simply curious as to if she would be replacing
her clothing. Any woman of his former acquaintance would have had a
seamstress here the moment the sun rose the day after losing all of
their belongings. Yet here was Miss Crawford, still in the same
dress as if she never gave it a thought.

No matter what he said, his words came out as
an insult. And then he complimented the colors of her injury.
Worse, he mentioned the possibility of a scar. No, not well done of
him at all.

He rose and walked to the decanter of brandy.
The pounding in his head made it impossible to fully concentrate.
He had hoped to meet no one on his journey from the library,
especially her. But there she was, right in his path and he said
the first things that came to mind. It would have been better to
walk by without comment. Yet, he could not do that after last
night.

After a sound sleep and when the pain was
gone, he would seek Miss Crawford out and apologize.

As to her wardrobe, he hoped she would soon
purchase a new night gown, and a very thick robe to wear over it.
Slippers would not be remiss either. Then, when Miss Crawford
wandered the halls late at night, she would be sufficiently covered
so as not to tempt him.

Vincent laughed then tossed back the drink.
The woman could be covered from head to toe in sackcloth and he
would still desire her.

As to the scar, it could be an inch thick and
cover the length of her forehead and doubted it would take away
from her attractive face or sultry eyes.

Vincent groaned and poured more brandy in his
glass. He should not, under any circumstances, think of Miss
Crawford as attractive, interesting, or any other manner of
adjectives. With luck, the teachers and the students would be gone
from this house in a few months and he would never have to lay eyes
on them again. Besides, what could come of a relationship with Miss
Crawford? He was a person of the night and she needed to bloom in
the sun.

* * *

The girls were assembled around the long
dining room table enjoying their breakfast when Tess walked in. She
filled a plate from the sideboard and took a seat by Claudia. “I
need to go into town this morning,” Tess announced.

Mrs. Wiggons looked up at her. “Why is
that?”

Tess gestured to her bodice. “I need to
replace my wardrobe.”

The headmistress looked at Tess’s dress and
sniffed her nose in disgust. “Yes, I can see that.”

“Will I be able to replace my clothing also,
Miss Crawford?” Eliza asked. The poor girl had lost her possessions
as well, but at least she was able to borrow from Rosemary.

“Yes, and anyone else who is in need.”

“If I may be so bold,” Wesley stepped into
the room. “I have taken it upon myself to invite the local modiste
to visit here later this morning.”

Stunned, Tess looked up at him. “That is very
kind of you, Wesley, but I don’t want to be an inconvenience. The
girls and I can go into town.”

“Nonsense,” he dismissed. “Besides, I made
the arrangements on the morning of your arrival, in anticipation of
your needs.”

The teachers shared a surprised look. Tess
turned to the valet. “Then I thank you, Wesley. Please let me know
when she arrives.”

Wesley bowed and quit the room. The girls
returned to their meal.

“Miss Crawford?” Sophia asked.

“Yes.”

“When a person is buried, are they wearing
their shoes?”

Stunned silence surrounded the table and all
of the girls looked at her expectantly. “I honestly have no idea,”
Tess answered after a few moments. And, it was certainly something
she had ever thought of, nor cared to think about.