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

by Charles, Jane

  “In addition to word of my death, I know he was told I, in fact, did survive. I was afraid that after you got word of my death a letter of my survival would be viewed as a cruel joke so he was instructed to deliver that news as well.”

  He tossed back another swallow. “I know he did not relay that message to you and for that I will be eternally sorry. I should have trusted someone else. But who is more trustworthy than your boyhood best friend?” He let out dry laughter.

  Vincent closed his eyes as the horror of the night returned to him. He had been so happy to be home, away from the war and still somewhat whole.

  Once his ship made land in Dover, he could not wait for the doctor to release him to return home. He simply left. All he cared about was seeing Veronica again. He knew he would arrive a week early, but he did not care. No doubt his wife had planned a homecoming celebration, but that didn’t matter to him. He just wanted her in his arms at the earliest opportunity.

  When he arrived at the house, no light shown through the windows. He dismissed the idea that anything was wrong. After all, it was close to midnight and his wife was probably already asleep. He just hoped he wouldn’t frighten her when he awakened her.

  He let himself in and mounted the stairs. The closer he came to his rooms, the louder their voices could be heard.He tried to focus on what was said. He stopped and turned around in the hall. Why was Percer up here with his wife?

  He shook his head to clear the fogginess brought on by the laudanum. Perhaps he should have waited to take the swig until he was home, but he was not sure he could climb the stairs without the pain being lessened in his thigh.

  “I don’t know what I will do without him.”

  “Shush, Veronica. I will take care of you.”

  He could hear her gently crying. It seemed surreal at the time. Why was she wasting tears over him? He was alive.

  With slow, steady steps he walked toward his wife’s chamber. His uneven and painful gait grated on him as he was hampered from moving quickly down the hall.

  “No, I can’t,” his wife protested.

  “But I love you, Veronica. I always have.”

  Vincent’s blood boiled. His best friend didn’t even wait for his body to turn cold in the grave before he set out to seduce his wife. Besides, Percer knew he wasn’t in a grave.

  “It is wrong. I love my husband.”

  “Your husband is dead,” Percer insisted gently. “And, I know you are lonely. I will stay with you tonight and if you wish me to leave in the morning, I will.”

  He swayed when he attempted to increase his pace and had to stop to hold the wall for support. Their rooms were too far away and he could not get there.

  “I think you should go now,” Veronica insisted.

  “Hush, you don’t mean that.”

  Vincent dearly wished he was hard of hearing for the next moments would not have been so painful. He thought of calling out, to let them know he was home, but he determined his foggy mind was fabricating his worst fears of losing his wife, and he would see he was mistaken once he reached them.

  “I am lonely, afraid, at a loss and I long to be held, just one more time,” Veronica sniffed after a few moments.

  “Let me,” Percer replied.

  Vincent’s pace quickened as he continued down the hall. He would have run to her

  if the wound didn’t threaten to collapse his leg. Instead he was forced to painfully limp toward her room.

  Veronica’s door was wide open. No wonder he had been able to hear them so well. No further conversation followed. He stepped into the room, convinced he had misunderstood their words and all would be well. Veronica would run and wrap her arms around him and kiss him with the love he remembered.

  There they both were, lying on his wife’s bed. Percer practically on top of her, kissing her. Veronica’s gown pushed down to her waist. His gut tightened and Vincent thought he would vomit.

  He swallowed the bile and cleared his throat. “Did you not get my message?”

  Veronica’s head came up and a look of true elation lit her face before it was replaced with the horror of being found in such a compromising position. “I thought you were dead,” she cried.

  How could he blame her? She was in mourning and he had seen Percer work his seduction so often in the past. She succumbed, like so many others before her.

  Percer sat up and simply smiled. “You’re a week early.”

  “You bloody bastard.” Vincent stormed into the room.

  “My timing was a bit off. I hoped to have what I wanted before your return.”

  Veronica’s eyes went wide and she pushed Percer away from her and jumped off the bed. “You knew he was alive!” she accused.

  Percer shrugged his shoulders and stood.

  “Why?” she screamed.

  “He has something I want. I hoped to get it from you.”

  “You could have asked,” Veronica screamed.

  “Oh, but I did. You said you didn’t know where it was.” Percer stood and straightened his coat.

  “You lied and seduced me over a piece of paper?” Tears streamed down her face.

  “Ah, it is so much more than paper.”

  “It is a myth. A story my grandfather made up to entertain young boys,” Vincent ground out.

  Percer turned to him. “Ah, there you are wrong. There are six pieces. I have already obtained two.”

  Vincent’s blood boiled. His former best friend had set out to ruin, if not destroy, his heartbroken wife over a non-existent treasure. “I will meet you in the west field at dawn.”

  Percer threw back his head and laughed. “You are calling me out?”

  “No, Vincent, don’t.” Veronica rushed to him. “He is not worth it.” She fell to her knees and hugged his legs. “I am so sorry. I was so lonely, weak. I didn’t know what I was going to do without you.”

  Vincent glanced at her tear streaked face. His wife had nothing to be sorry for. The anguish in her voice was too real. She would have never betrayed him had she known he was alive and Percer was an expert at attacking a woman’s weakness to get her into bed. All of this was Percer’s fault. The man had known for five days that he was not dead. No doubt he used every single second to strip away any resolve Veronica still had. The filthy bastard.

  “Dawn!” he insisted. “You name the weapon.”

  Percer grinned back at him. “What of seconds?”

  “I have Wesley and I don’t care who you have. I won’t be surprised if you can’t find one man in the country who would stand by you.”

  Percer rolled his eyes and strode past Vincent and out the door. “I will not waste my time with this. Besides, I would likely kill you and since your first death did not bring me what I need, your second one surely will not.”

  Vincent stalked after him. His legs moving faster than he thought possible. “Come back here and discuss this like a man, you sniveling coward.”

  Percer turned on him and had the audacity to laugh again. “You insult my manhood? What of yours? I heard about your injuries. How you can no longer read, or write, or be in the light of day.”

  “Greatly exaggerated,” Vincent bit out.

  “Regardless, unless all the doctors consulted are wrong, it will not be possible for you to meet me as the sun rises for that would surely cause enough pain to bring you to your knees and I would rather kill a man who can face me on his own two feet.”

  Percer reached the stairs and turned one last time. “It was a pleasure, Lady Atwood. And, if your husband dies on you again, please send word around so that we can renew our acquaintance.”

  At least Percer had sense enough to run. Vincent raged after him, taking the steps two at a time. Pain knifed through his thigh, but it didn’t slow him.

  Veronica followed, crying for him to stop. He turned to ask her to wait. She did not need to witness him kill his former best friend.

  Her foot caught on the rug at the top of the stairs. Her scream rent the air. He reached for h
er. His fingers brushed the soft fabric of her gown as she tumbled over the railing. The crash of the entry hall table and vase shattered the silence.

  “Veronica,” his own anguished voice cried and he rushed to the bottom of the stairs and into the hall where she lay. Her blood streamed into the glass, flowers and water spilled on the floor. The leg of the delicate table protruded through her chest. Vincent knelt next to his wife and lifted her into his arms. Blood trickled from her lips and her pain filled eyes looked up into his.

  “I am sorry. I did not know.”

  “Hush, love.” He placed his lips to her forehead. It was already cold.

  “I missed you.” A tear leaked out the corner of her eye.

  “All I ever thought about was you. I love you, Veronica.”

  She tried to lift her hand, but it fell limp to her side.

  “I love you. Please, forgive me.”

  He graced her with a smile, though he didn’t know where he had summoned it from. “There is nothing to forgive. You have always been my love and always will be.”

  She coughed, more blood seeped out. He had seen similar wounds on the battlefield and knew there was nothing he could do.

  “I am cold,” her voice whispered.

  “I will warm you.” He pulled her closer, willing her heart to beat in tempo with his.

  She sighed and went limp. Vincent looked down. Her blue, lifeless eyes stared up at him.

  Vincent threw his head back and roared, “No!”

  By the time Vincent was pulled away from his wife’s broken body, Percer was long gone and he had not seen him since.

  “So, my dear,” Vincent concluded, looking at his wife’s grave. “His accomplice has come to do what he could not. I will now have my revenge and can leave you in peace.”

  He touched his fingers to his lips then placed them on her headstone. “Sleep well, my love.”

  * * *

  Tess could not think. She was too tired to concentrate on teaching the girls anything. She leaned against the desk and took in their expectant faces. Perhaps she should have them teach her something. She glanced at the books on the shelves. There were so many to choose from and not one subject had been left unnoticed. A thought came to mind as she focused back on the girls.

  “I would like each of you to write a paper.”

  Their groans were in unison.

  “First, you will pick one country. Then, you will find one of the books on the shelf – not fiction -- and write a paper on their origins, beliefs, pasts. Tell me something about these people that make them who they are.”

  “Their myths?” Rosemary asked.

  “Possible.”

  “Their history,” Sophia suggested.

  “Yes, but it needs to be something in their history that could define them, or perhaps defined them at one time.”

  “Their superstitions.” Eliza grinned.

  Tess rolled her eyes. Leave it to Eliza to find and target a spooky topic.

  “If that can be used to define who they once were or are.”

  She gave the girls permission to peruse the books and settled into the chair behind

  Atwood’s desk. The papers should keep them occupied for at least a week. Hopefully by then she would be able to finally sleep and no longer let Atwood disturb her.

  “Miss Crawford, I would like to see what I can learn of Ireland.”

  Tess glanced up to find Eliza holding the book. “I am sure you will find several topics upon which you can write your paper.”

  One by one the girls brought books to her which she either approved or sent them back for another choice. She hoped Atwood did not mind the books missing from his library, but he had given permission.

  A knock on the door interrupted her discussion with Sophia on Greece. She looked up and called for them to enter.

  Wesley opened the door and stopped at the entrance. “Excuse me, Miss Crawford, but Sir William Fairview is here.”

  “Papa?” Rosemary cried with excitement. She turned anxiously to Tess.

  “You may go see your father.” She smiled at the girl.

  Sophia and Eliza shared a worried look.

  “What is it, girls?” Tess asked them.

  “Rosemary will soon go home,” Sophia pouted.

  “Oh, I doubt her father will remove her from school,” Tess tried to reassure them. “It isn’t as if we haven’t continued on, even if it isn’t in the same building.”

  “That is not what she means, Miss Crawford,” Eliza responded. “Once he hears what Lord Atwood is, he will pack up his daughter and take her far away.”

  Tess closed her eyes and took and took a deep breath before she spoke. “Girls, you must cease letting your imaginations get the best of you. Wake Not the Dead is a fictional novel. Vampires do not exist. Do you understand me?”

  The girls shared a doubtful look, but nodded in agreement. With their heads hung, they wandered to the window to look out on the vast lawn. Tess followed behind. She could see Rosemary talking to her father, who sat and smiled up at her. He was much calmer than his daughter, who stood, twirled and talked to him with expressive arms and body language. The man had been laughing until his daughter turned serious. Though Tess could not hear what was said, but she could guess. Rosemary pointed to her teeth and pointed to the house.

  Sir Fairview followed her line of vision. All humor left his expression and his face turned pale and stern.

  Oh dear. It appeared Sir Fairview was not at all pleased with idea of his daughter staying in the house of a vampire. Hopefully the man could be made to see reason or all of the girls would beg their parents to take them from here. If that turned out to be the case, there was no point in rebuilding the school.

  "Thou too art doomed to perdition"; so that the aspect of death

  seemed more full of dread to him than aught beside,

  and this unconquerable terror compelled him to abandon

  the battle-field. At length, after many a weary

  and fruitless wandering, he returned to his castle.

  Wake Not the Dead

  Johann Ludwig Tieck

  Chapter 13

  “What?” Vincent shouted as he sat up in bed. “Quit that incessant knocking and get in here.”

  The door opened and Wesley stepped inside.

  “Is it too much to ask for undisturbed sleep?”

  “I thought I would alert you to a guest and thought perhaps you would like to join him and the teachers for tea.” Wesley turned, walked to the wardrobe and removed a jacket and pants.

  Vincent fell back on the bed and pulled the blanket over his head. “I don’t care who is here. I only want to sleep. The females can entertain him over tea and if he is still here at dinner, I’ll offer a cigar and brandy afterward.”

  The covers were ripped from his face and he glared up at Wesley.

  “This is a guest you will want to see now.” Wesley held up a shirt and waited.

  Vincent got out of bed and allowed his valet to help him dress. “Who is this exalted person? The king?”

  Wesley snorted but did not answer him.

  Once his cravat was neat enough to please Wesley, Vincent stepped back and narrowed his eyes on the servant. “Who is here and why is he so important that I must greet him now?”

  “A father of one of the students,” Wesley sniffed.

  Vincent could not believe he had been awakened for this. “Why can’t Mrs Wiggons or one of the teachers deal with him? I have nothing to do with the school or the students. I am simply providing a temporary roof over their heads.”

  “The father is most insistent on speaking with you, sir.”

  Vincent strode for the door. “Very well.”

  He grumbled all the way down the hall, down the steps and had formed the perfect set down for making demands in his house when he stepped into the parlor. The words died on his lips and a grin spread across his face. “Lieutenant Colonial Fairview,” Vincent greeted and stepped forward with his right hand
extended.

  “Atwood,” the man returned. “Call me Fairview. I’ve retired and my rank is too much of a mouthful.”

  “Very well,” Vincent chuckled. “I did not realize one of the students was your daughter.” Perhaps if he had bothered to remember any of their names he may have, but Vincent tried to know as little about them as possible.

  “Would you care for tea, Lord Atwood?”

  He turned to find Miss Crawford holding a cup and looking at him. Her pleasant smile did not reach her wide eyes. He wondered if she planned to poison him. He shook the thought from his mind. She had the run of his house. She did not need him unconscious to search. “Yes, please.”

  “Sugar, milk?”

  “Neither,” he grunted and turned his attention back to Fairview. He did not want his focus to be on Miss Crawford or he would forget his purpose. No, her purpose. He could also strangle Wesley for helping to replace her wardrobe. She looked utterly delicious in the dark blue dress. Usually he did not like women to wear dark, somber colors, but the blue brought out the silver in her eyes and contrasted with her pale, milky skin. It made a man wonder if all of her skin would be as pure, sweet and soft as her face.

  “I hope you find your daughter well and not too disturbed by the events of these last few days.” This visit did make him wonder why only one parent had bothered to check on their child and found he held more respect for Fairview to show he at least cared. On the other hand, the tempest hadn’t been that long ago. Should he expect more parents to show up on his doorstep?

  The man chuckled. “I am sure she will settle in eventually.”

  “They all will, I am sure,” Mrs. Wiggons assured him.

  Vincent really did not want to exchange pleasantries with the women. However, he did want to visit with his former commander so he sat in the only empty seat available. Too bad it was directly across from Miss Crawford. “Have you been by to see the school, Fairview?”