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

Hiding from a dangerous man, Tess Crawford thought The Wiggons’ School for Elegant Young Ladies would be the perfect place to disappear. Or it would be if the local villagers weren’t on edge because of the vampire in their midst. 

            Vincent Latimer, Viscount Atwood, is not a vampire, no matter what the villagers believe.  When a storm thrusts Tess into Vincent’s path and destroys the school, both of their pasts collide.

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One

 

Cornwall England, 1802

Lightning flashed in the distance and Tess Crawford gripped the ladder as the wind whipped hair across her face and skirts against her legs. She couldn’t have asked for a more perfect night and looked up toward the open window. It was past ten and her students should be asleep by now, but a lamp still burned.

With slow deliberation, Tess inched her way to the destination. Upon reaching the top, she ducked to the side and listened. It would do no good for the girls to catch her.

“At length Walter, heated with wine and love, conducted his bride into the nuptial chamber:”

Yes, that was Eliza reading. Why wasn’t she surprised?

“…but, oh! horror! Scarcely had he clasped her in his arms ere she transformed herself into a monstrous serpent, which entwining him in its horrid folds, crushed him to death.” Eliza’s voice rose with further anticipated horror.

Tess peeked around the corner of the window frame. One candle sat on the table and flickered with the breeze. Further into the room, three girls sat huddled together, their robes wrapped around their legs. A lamp burned brightly behind Eliza’s shoulder, casting a halo around her red curls. 

Tess grinned. Her timing could not have been more perfect.

“Flames crackled on every side of the apartment;” Eliza continued. “in a few minutes after, the whole castle was enveloped in a blaze that consumed it entirely: while, as the walls fell in with a tremendous crash, a voice exclaimed aloud -- "Wake not the dead!"

Tess blew out the candle and ducked out of sight. In her most dramatic voice, she moaned, “Not the dead.”

Screams erupted from inside the room. One of the girls slammed the window shut, apparently too frightened to notice the ladder or Tess, and yanked the curtains closed. Tess bit her lip to keep her laughter inside as she edged down the ladder. The wind grew stronger, and Tess hastened her descent before Mother Nature helped her to the ground in a most unpleasant manner. She tipped the ladder so that it lay on the ground and raced to the door. She could not wait to hear the explanation the girls offered for their screams.

***

Sophia sighed and shot an irritated look at her cohorts. “They thought the monster was at the window.”

“Monster?” Tess tried to hold back her laughter as she walked into Rosemary’s room. Natalie and Claudia were already present. The two were also teachers at the school and Tess shared a close friendship with them, as they were the three youngest teachers and had also been former students in this very school.

“Yes. The creature that lives in that old manor,” Eliza explained. Tess knew exactly which one she meant. Lord Atwood’s house must date back at least a century or more, and it did look a bit spooky with its gabled windows and grey stone exterior with dark ivy creeping up the side and the gargoyle overlooking the portico entrance. Of course, she would never admit such a thing to her students.

“It’s just like Wake Not the Dead,” Rosemary whispered.

This time Tess couldn’t help but laugh. “Are you saying a vampire lives in Atwood Manor and he came here?”

“Yes,” Eliza insisted, and the other two girls vigorously nodded their heads in agreement. Their curls bounced in rhythm to the movement.

“Whatever gave you that idea?” Natalie asked and settled onto the bed. If Tess didn’t know better, she would think her friend was giving some credence to the girl’s irrational fears.

“Lord Atwood never goes out during the day,” Eliza answered, all knowing.

“Is that all the evidence you have?” Claudia crossed her arms over her chest and tilted her head, eyebrows raised waiting for the girl to continue. 

“No,” Eliza retorted. “He died only to return from the grave after his wife willed him to.  Just like Walter did.”

“Who is Walter?” Natalie asked.

“The man in Wake Not the Dead!” Eliza blew out a sigh. “Except Lady Atwood perished upon his return and now Lord Atwood is doomed to be alone on this earth.” Eliza placed a hand over her heart and glanced toward the window before she returned her focus to Tess; color high in her cheeks and eyes lit with excitement. “Everyone knows Atwood visits her grave every midnight because there are fresh flowers every morning. He’s not been able to bring his beloved back from the dead, yet.”  

Too bad Eliza was the daughter of a viscount. Had she been common born, no doubt she would make a nice living treading the boards on Drury Lane. 

Claudia leaned down and whispered, “But why would he come here?”

Eliza glanced toward the window. “Because he is hungry.”

Rosemary turned alarmingly pale.

Tess bit her lip. Perhaps she had taken this too far? No, she argued with herself. They were being ridiculous, and the girls should know better. Still, Tess made a mental note to go through the library once again and remove any book that could possibly resemble a horrid novel. She thought she had found and hidden them all a week ago, but apparently Wake Not the Dead had been overlooked. 

Tess clapped her hands to get their attention. “Enough of this nonsense. Lord Atwood is not a vampire, nor did he come here tonight.”

“But who was at the window?” Sophia asked, her big blue eyes round with fear.

“The wind,” Tess said dismissively, not about to reveal the truth. “That will teach you to read horrid novels when you should be asleep.” Tess tapped her finger against her chin. “This gives me an excellent topic for our literature lesson tomorrow.”

“Are we going to discuss Wake Not the Dead?”  Eliza bobbed with excitement.

“No. We are going to discuss the difference between fiction and nonfiction.”

***

Vincent Latimer, Viscount Atwood, pulled the collar up to his ears. Wind whipped the greatcoat out from his body. He grasped the front and buttoned it in haste while he glanced up to the overcast sky. Not even one star could be seen, but he knew they lay just beyond. Lightning flashed and the rumbling of thunder could be heard in the distance. He’d need to be quick because there would be a wicked storm tonight. With a grin, Vincent stepped onto the road and turned toward the cemetery.

The walk was not long but he was glad he did not bring his hat. It would have blown off his head as soon as he stepped out from the protection of the front portico. More thunder rumbled behind him. No doubt he would be soaked with rain by the time he left the cemetery.

Nearing the church, he stopped and looked around. The houses were closer here and each held well-tended gardens. Who should he steal from tonight? 

A grin pulled at his lips. Mrs. Harpy had a lovely selection. He hopped the low fence and strode into the back garden. However, since he was taking a bouquet from the woman’s gardens, he should at least think of her by her proper name, Mrs. Harper. 

He shook his head and withdrew the scissors from his deep pocket. No, Harper was too kind of a name for her. After all, Harpy was the one who first fueled the gossip when his wife died.  The flame ignited, and ever since he had been deemed the most feared monster of history and lore. On the other hand, it did benefit him. Everyone knew he took the bouquets from the gardens in the neighborhood, yet no one would ever reproach him. They were too afraid. 

By using the gardens owned by his neighbors, he did not have to employ a gardener for his own. The fewer people who lived on his estate the better. Besides, what would the neighbors think if he did not visit his wife’s grave at midnight? What else would they have to talk about?

The hairs stood up on the back of his neck and Vincent glanced toward the house. Harpy stood in the upstairs window watching him. She stepped back into the shadows, but he knew she could still see him. Vincent flashed his teeth at her and growled and her silhouette disappeared.  The woman was probably cowering in her bed, or her husband’s. He doubted Mr. Harper would thank him.

Vincent turned back to study the garden. There was little to choose from as autumn was descending and many of the fragrant summer flowers that he preferred were long dead. He selected chrysanthemums, asters, and late blooming roses. From his pocket he withdrew a pink ribbon and tied it to hold the arrangement together.