To Walk in the Sun (Wiggons' School for Elegant Young Ladies - Book 1) by Jane Charles Page A
Authors: Jane Charles
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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
“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
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