To Walk in the Sun (Wiggons' School for Elegant Young Ladies - Book 1) (9 page)

“I am very sorry, Lord Atwood. It will not
happen again. I promise.”

“See that it doesn’t.” He turned to step back
into his room and stopped. He looked over his shoulder and focused
on her, then the scene in the hallway, then back to her. “May I
ask, what
is
going on? And why is there furniture in my
hallway?”

Tess rushed forward to explain. “There were
not enough beds for all of us. The upper floor is practically empty
so we brought the beds over from the school.”

“How many more?” he groaned and dropped his
head, no longer looking at her.

She glanced to the servants for a number. One
of them held up two hands, their fingers indicating the answer.
“Eight.”

His spine stiffened and she could hear him
take a deep breath then exhale. She was glad she could not see his
face, for she did not doubt its expression was enough to send the
strongest of souls into hiding. “Hurry and be done with this move.”
He slammed the door behind him.

* * *

Vincent leaned his head back against the door
and closed his eyes. Thank goodness they had not been alone or he
may not have been responsible for his actions. Not that he would do
Miss Crawford any harm, but when she looked at his chest, then
further down, the tip of her tongue jutted out and licked her upper
lip, it was all he could do to just stand there. Had they been
alone, no doubt he would have pulled her into his arms and kissed
her senseless. However, he would have stopped there. Clearly the
woman was an innocent or she would not have turned such a
delightful shade of red.

It was also clear she appreciated what she
saw. That had been his undoing, or perhaps what released the man in
him. Had he not been so angry at being awakened, he would be
embarrassed by his physical reaction, which was why he kept his
hands folded in front of his response to her perusal of his body.
He hoped his servants had not noticed, and if they did, never
mentioned it to anyone else.

He straightened and walked toward the
decanter of brandy. It was a normal reaction, and nothing he should
be ashamed of. However, it had been so long since any woman had
looked at him in that manner, as if she wanted to explore further
because she enjoyed the view so far. Veronica used to look at him
with the same light of appreciation in her eyes, after the initial
wedding night and her fears had been overcome. Others had
insinuated they liked the sight of his form as well, but they had
been mistresses and were paid to do so. The reaction by one who was
not required to show interest was another thing entirely.

A smile pulled at his lips as he poured of
splash of brandy in his glass.

Veronica used to say she couldn’t keep her
hands away. He felt the same about her. Thoughts of Veronica had
kept him alive on the continent, through the ugliness of the
battles and while recovering from his wounds. All he could think
about when he traveled home was returning to her, their bed and
making love to her until it was impossible to do so any longer. He
never got the chance.

Vincent tossed back the glass of brandy and
poured another.

That night was not her fault. Her death was
not her fault, but his. No, the blame lay elsewhere.

He sighed and set the glass aside. At least
he wasn’t thinking about Miss Crawford any longer and may be able
to return to sleep. He wondered if Miss Crawford realized her eyes
turned a dark grey when she was aroused.

Vincent groaned. The thoughts of Miss
Crawford being aroused were not helping his current situation.

How could he be thinking about Veronica
and
Miss Crawford, and the arousal they both brought? He
picked up the glass and tossed back the contents. Was it disloyal
to think of another woman, be painfully aroused by her, when
thoughts of his former wife floated in his brain?

Yes, he should and the guilt was welcoming,
for it cooled his loins. Thank goodness because between the
servants moving furniture and his physical state, Vincent was
convinced he would not have been able to return to sleep.

With a sigh, he placed the glass back on the
table, removed his dressing gown and crawled back into bed.

A large piece of wood knocked against his
door. Vincent tried to shut out the noise.

“Oh, please, we must be quiet,” Miss Crawford
insisted. She must be on the other side of his door for her words
were clear even though they were low in volume. A low, sultry
tone.

Is that how she would sound in the throes of
passion?

Vincent sat up. He must not think of Miss
Crawford in the throes of passion. That would keep him awake longer
than the banging outside his door.

“Be careful,” she pleaded. “Don’t hit the
walls or the door.”

Vincent stood. He would never get a wink of
sleep while she was in the hall, right outside his bedroom. He
grabbed a pair of trousers and a shirt. With quick movements he was
dressed and grabbed a pillow from his bed before he stomped forward
and yanked the door open.

As before, all eyes focused on him. Miss
Crawford’s wider than the others, her face paled with fright. Was
he really such a scary person?

“I believe I will find rest elsewhere.” He
stomped past them and down the hall until he reached the stairs.
Where was he to go? Noise, and Miss Crawford, were on this floor.
They were moving furniture above, and the students were probably
taking lessons below.

His house had been invaded and he was without
a place of his own. There had to be somewhere. Ah, yes, the cellar.
A chaise and chairs had been moved down there when he and Veronica
had first married. After an intimate moment in the wine cellar, she
had deemed it one of her favorite rooms and set about making it as
comfortable as possible, in the event such activities occurred
again, in the future.

Sadly, Vincent could not recall if they had.
Oh, he wished he could remember. What did that say about his love
for her, if he could not recall such important details?

The servants stopped what they were doing
when he marched past them in the kitchen and took the stairs to the
cellar. Let them think what they will.

* * *

Tess stood in the hallway, list in hand, and
assigned the rooms. She wanted the girls settled, with their things
put away, before dinner. Though she hated that Lord Atwood was
forced to leave his chambers and find refuge elsewhere, it did make
her job a bit easier.

The younger ones were upstairs. The older
teachers had opted to take the three separate bedrooms, one of them
formally being the storage area, and would watch over the girls who
now would sleep in the large school room. The teachers loved the
idea of having a sitting room away from the others. Since those
three usually kept to themselves at the school, Tess was not
surprised.

The older girls were on the floor with the
original bedrooms. The three mischievous ones, Eliza, Sophia and
Rosemary, insisted on sleeping together, as they had the night
before, in the room across and at the opposite end of the hall from
Lord Atwood. The remaining older girls also insisted on sharing
three to a bed and in rooms as far away from Atwood’s as
possible.

“It appears there are four, perfectly unused
bedchambers,” Claudia announced. “I shall take this one.” She
selected the one two doors down from Atwood’s.

“And I will take the one across from yours.”
Mrs. Wiggons turned and grabbed the handle of the door.

Natalie and Tess shared a look. “I will take
the one across the hall from Lord Atwood.” Natalie grinned. “It is
not as if I have anything to worry about since vampires only prefer
maidens.”

“Then perhaps you should take the one next to
his,” Tess bit out. She had already seen the room and realized
immediately that it was meant for the lady of the house, Atwood’s
wife, or it would not have a door adjoining the two rooms.

“Oh, no, that one is for you.” Natalie
grinned back.

“I don’t think it is proper that anyone take
that room. Perhaps I should share with you.” Tess retorted.

“And waste a perfectly lovely, quiet and
private bedchamber. I don’t think so.” She disappeared into her
room and shut the door before Tess could say another word.

Claudia and Mrs. Wiggons did the same,
leaving Tess standing in the hallway herself.

“The bed is quite comfortable, or so I am
told,” Lord Atwood commented as he walked down the hall.

“Goodness, how long have you been standing
there?” Tess hoped he hadn’t heard much.

“Only long enough for the four of you to
decide who must have the chamber connected to mine.”

Would her face forever heat in his
presence?

“However, if rumors were to be believed,
wouldn’t Miss Pritchard be the safest candidate?”

He
had
heard that comment. Oh dear.
Such information could ruin her friend. “Lord Atwood, I must ask
you not to repeat what you may have heard.”

He stopped and looked at her. “That
Miss
Pritchard is not an innocent?”

Oh, dear, if he threw Natalie out, or worse,
said something to one of the parents, Natalie would be on her own,
alone in the world. “I beg of you, do not judge her on a past
circumstance.”

“You believe me so cruel?” His face hardened
and she wasn’t sure how she had insulted him. They were discussing
the state of Natalie’s reputation.

“It is just that, well, you know, if society
learned. . .”

“Miss Crawford,” he began, his tone harsh. “I
am sure there is a reasonable explanation for the state of Miss
Pritchard’s lack of innocence.”

Tess took a step back, not sure if he
believed she insulted him or was ashamed of her friend. Either way,
neither set well with Lord Atwood.

“Young women are vulnerable. She could have
trusted a man who promised to marry her. She could have succumbed
to too many spirits, or worse, not given a choice in the matter.
What is sad is you, and apparently everyone else, sees her as
ruined.”

Tess was stunned by his speech. Never had she
dreamed Natalie would be defended in such a manner. But she knew
Natalie wasn’t ruined, not that she could share the circumstances
of her past with anyone and never would.

“Then you don’t judge people by past
actions?” It would be too much to hope for, but she had to ask.

“Only if those actions are serious enough to
be judged, or if the person has not had to face the consequences
yet.”

All hope that he would view her in a
favorable light dimmed.

What did she care what he thought anyway?
They were only sharing a house, until they could return to the
school. She and Atwood were not even friends so it shouldn’t
matter. However, on some level it was bothersome. What would he say
if he knew of her past? The crime she had been accused of? The
crime she committed?

It wasn’t worth considering because he would
never find out. She would use any means necessary so that he never
learned the truth.

* * *

Vincent stepped into the dining room,
expecting his dinner to be served and waiting him in his usual
place. The room was empty. Not even the slightest aroma could be
detected. He turned and stalked back into the entry. “Wesley.”

The valet hustled from the end of the hall.
“Yes, my lord.”

“Where is my dinner?”

“In the dining room.”

“If you look, you will see that it is not
there.”

Wesley lifted his chin and looked his
employer directly in the eye. “Sir, as we have guests, and this is
their first night in the house, your dinner has been served where
they are taking theirs.”

“In the nursery?” Vincent questioned. This
was beyond ridiculous.

Wesley rolled his eyes. “They are not
children, Lord Atwood, but young ladies. They are in the formal
dining room awaiting your presence.”

Vincent groaned. He had not been in the large
dining room since before he went off to war. He had almost
forgotten it existed. Wasn’t it bad enough that he had to share his
house with these women and girls? Must he now take dinner with
them?

He stalked further down the hall and stopped
at the entry to the formal dining room and stepped in. Three dozen
young faces, one headmistress and six teachers looked up at him
expectantly. Vincent groaned but took his seat.

The servants immediately began placing bowls
before his guests, though none bothered to eat. His was the last to
be set and he was grateful to see the soup contained large pieces
of chicken and several vegetables. There would be more courses
later, but this was enough to get him started.

He picked up his spoon and dipped it into his
bowl. As he brought it to his mouth, he caught the eyes of his
guest. They all stared at him. Some had a look of shock, others
disapproval. He laid his spoon on the side of the bottom plate. “Do
you not find the meal to your liking?”

“It is not that, Lord Atwood,” Miss Crawford
explained. “However, one should not eat before saying grace.”

Grace? He couldn’t remember the last time he
had prayed. Perhaps it was right before he thought he was going to
die. Or maybe it was over his wife’s body.

Everyone around the table held hands. Miss
Crawford sat immediately to his right and held her hand out. Mrs.
Wiggons on his left did the same. With a sigh he clasped both of
their hands and bowed his head.

He heard barely a word of the prayer. Instead
he wondered what other changes this group would bring to his
household and doubted any would be pleasant.

For a while he gazed upon her without either
motion or speech,

and during this pause, all was again become
hushed and serene;

and the stars shone brightly in the clear
heavens
.