Ghosts from the Past (Wiggons' School for Elegant Young Ladies)

by Charles, Jane

  A twig snapped to her left. Natalie nearly jumped out of her skin. She swung toward the noise but saw nothing. It was only an animal. Face forward, she continued on the path.

  Leaves rustled to her right. More animals. She tried to convince herself, though her pounding heart refused to believe her. Natalie hastened her steps and fought the urge to run. Wind caught the trees. They swayed up ahead and she faltered. She had half a mind to go back down the path and take the road. She wasn’t an adolescent girl and would not give into a fanciful imagination.

  “Natasha.”

  She stilled. No. She had not just heard her name whispered. She hadn’t been called that for years. Not since Mrs. Wiggons suggested she change her name to start over.

  Her encounter with the Ghost and the eeriness of the woods had her imagination working. She was getting to be as bad as the girls.

  Natalie cleared her throat and once again started down the path, her back rigid and chin high. There was nothing to be afraid of.

  “Natasha.” A man’s whispered voice reached her ears. She would ignore it. Anton, Dimitri and her father were dead. No other man had ever addressed her as Natasha.

  “Why did you leave me?” it cried on the wind.

  The hair stood up on the back of her neck. That was Anton’s voice. She still heard it in her dreams. Where had he come from? Why was she hearing it now? Was she losing her mind?

  The wine. Oh, why had she drunk so much? She vowed never to ever taste one single drop of that blasted dandelion wine again.

  With her heart about to pound through her chest, Natalie quickened her steps. It was only a short distance to Atwood’s estate and the bonfire. Soon she would be out in the open.

  She clutched her skirts and began to run. As she rounded the curve, Natalie was brought up short when she nearly ran headlong into a man standing in the center of the path. She opened her mouth to scream. He swooped in and claimed her lips with his own.

  “Who is that?” Sophia whispered from behind a bush.

  “I don’t know,” Rosemary responded.

  Eliza took a step closer. Sophia pulled her back. “Don’t let her see you.”

  “I didn’t think it was possible for a person to kiss for so long,” Rosemary said with awe. “Won’t they need to breathe soon?”

  “You breathe through your nose when kissing,” Sophia explained. The two girls focused on her and her face heated with a blush. “I’ve just been told,” she insisted.

  The man bent and swept Miss. Pritchard up in his arms.

  Rosemary sighed.

  Sophia watched, ready to alert someone for help, but Miss Pritchard seemed content. Not once did she fight the man and she barely moved when he carried her away.

  “Well, at least we know she won’t be looking for us,” Eliza snorted.

  “Do you think the others know what she is doing?” Rosemary asked.

  “I don’t believe so. I don’t think Mrs. Wiggons would stand for such behavior,” Sophia concluded. Worry knotted in her belly. “We must promise not to say a word. I would hate for Miss Pritchard to be sacked.”

  “I swear,” Rosemary insisted.

  Eliza grinned. “I promise, as long as it works to our benefit.”

  “Eliza Winston, don’t you even think about blackmailing Miss Pritchard with what you saw.” Sophia stood and towered over her friend.

  “Fine,” Eliza answered in a huff. She straightened and dusted off her dress. “We need to go. I am afraid Miss Morris will come looking for us.”

  “Unless she is meeting someone too,” Rosemary giggled.

  Sophia stood in her spot, arms crossed in front of her. “Are you so sure the Ghost is going to be at the bonfire? He wasn’t there earlier.”

  “That is because it was too early. Now that it is midnight it will be safer for him to appear,” Eliza insisted.

  “That makes no sense,” Sophia muttered, but followed her friend in search of the nonexistent ghost. Besides, if it was the Ghost who stopped their carriage, the last place he would be was among people. He should have moved onto another town by now if he didn’t want to risk getting caught.

  Natasha fainted the moment his lips touched hers. At least he didn’t need to worry about her screaming, not that she would be heard over the revelry at the bonfire.

  He moved into the darkness, away from the path and glanced around. Nobody was about, so he turned for the manor. He took the longer route which kept him from being in the open until the last possible moment and hurried to the gate. Once inside the walls, nobody could see him.

  The door had been left unlocked and he slipped inside, closing it behind him. There were no lights, but Anton did not need them to see. Enough moonlight spilled in from the windows. He mounted the stairs, turning when he reached the upper level then strode down the gallery. Waves crashed against the shore as the wind picked up.

  Natasha remained unconscious. He entered his chamber and placed her gently on the bed. Slowly and without disturbing her more than necessary, Anton slipped the kid boots from her feet and removed her cape, placing them on a chair at the far side of the room before pulling the coverlet over her.

  He stared down at her slumbering face and his heart hitched for a moment. So beautiful with her golden red hair and pale skin. She had dozed for a short time after they had consummated their marriage and he had watched her then as well, his heart filled with love. She had awakened when he left their bed to dress in preparation of returning home to gather items. Natasha had tried to pull him back, but Anton had to go at night, when it was safest, so they could leave in the morning.

  Had his arrest been planned for a later time and it was luck that the soldiers found him when they did? Were they to go to Natasha’s home and arrest him there and is that why she wanted him to remain with her?

  She claimed she wanted him back in her bed. He now suspected it had nothing to do with making love once again, but to have him where the soldiers had been told to find him.

  Anton clenched his jaw and turned from the bed. The buried the softer thoughts and memories under the thirst for revenge. He would not think of the moments they shared after they wed, but of what happened after he left her home. He strode out of the room and returned to the gallery where he poured himself a brandy. Soon she would awaken and he would be prepared. He would not weaken, even when she begged. He had hardened his heart to her and it would remain as such, no matter how many tears may spill down her cheeks.

  Already he was softening and he could not let it happen again. Yet, if his heart was truly hardened, she would not be in his bed right now but in the special place he had prepared for her.

  8

  In sentimental conversation, subjects interesting to the heart, and to the imagination,

  are brought forward.

  A Sicilian Romance

  Ann Radcliffe

  Natalie first became aware of the counterpane covering her and then the soft mattress beneath her. The room was warm and she was reluctant to open her eyes. Perhaps a few more moments of sleep would be permitted. Not even her own bed was this comfortable.

  Her own bed!

  Her eyes flew open and she looked around the room. It was rich and masculine, decorated in dark green and maroon. She was alone for the moment. A fire blazed in the grate across the room. One lamp cast light and shadows to her right. Heavy, red draperies were tied back and she could see the clear, star-filled sky through the glass. There was no canopy above her even though the four-posts of the bed would have accommodated one. Her hand brushed across the coverlet. It was warm, sensual silk. Sensual! Where had that word come from? She needed to collect her thoughts and vowed once again to never drink dandelion wine.

  Where was she? Who was that man who’d kissed her? Or, she thought he’d kissed her, but she didn’t really remember much of anything else. She had never fainted from a kiss before. How odd. No, she fainted because the stranger was the image of Anton.

  Her heart pounded and pulse raced. Who was
that man and what did he want from her?

  Natalie pushed the covers away and swung her legs around to stand. She needed to escape before the stranger returned. She had no idea why he had kissed her and then brought her here and she was not about to wait to find out.

  Her cloak lay neatly on the chair by the door. She quickly slid into her kid boots and fastened the coat before she cracked the door. When she found the corridor empty, Natalie willed herself to breathe and stepped out. She could not see a set of stairs, just the long corridor that turned at each end. Which led to an outer door?

  “You aren’t leaving so soon are you?”

  She whipped her head around. The man approached from the other end of the hall. His broad shoulders and height were similar to Anton, but she knew it could not be him. Anton was dead!

  “Who are you?” Her voice came out in a croak. She’d hoped to sound stronger.

  He stopped for a moment, still in the shadows. “You don’t remember me?”

  Natalie took one step backwards. If she could keep enough distance between them perhaps she could make a run for it.

  “I am hurt, Natasha.”

  He even had Anton’s voice, his thick, Russian accent. Her heartbeat raced and her hands shook. It was not possible.

  “Who are you?” she demanded as she inched backward.

  He stepped out of the shadows. She studied his face. It couldn’t be, even though this man had the same chiseled features, blue eyes, black, curly hair and strong jaw as Anton. And the lips, full, firm. She shook her head. The man before her may resemble Anton, but his face and body were thinner than the man she had married. “Why are you playing these games?”

  “I know it has been two years, but I thought you would recognize your husband.”

  He advanced on her. Natalie knew she should run, but her feet would not move. She was mesmerized by him. His face, his body, his likeness to Anton. “My husband is dead.” Her voice came out in a whisper.

  The left side of his mouth tilted into a partial smile. “Prison wasn’t successful in bringing about my demise.”

  Her blood ran cold and darkness closed in. Natalie lifted her arm and braced herself against the wall with her hand. “Prison?” Was it even possible? How could such a horrible mistake have been made? All this time he had been alive and she hadn’t been aware?

  He rushed forward and put an arm around her waist. “You are not going to faint on me again, are you?”

  She tried to shake her head, but she was too stunned. The moment he touched her waist she knew it was Anton. The comfort, warmth, and yes, the tingle, could only be produced by him.

  With no more control than a puppet, she allowed him to escort her back into the chamber and settle her on the bed. Too shocked to do anything she watched him walk to the side table and pour two glasses of ruby red wine. He returned and pressed one of the goblets into her hand. She automatically brought it to her lips and drank, her gaze never leaving his. How was this even possible?

  “How?” Her voice was barely audible.

  Anton had wondered if she was going to speak again, and he weighed how much he should tell her. “What did you hear?”

  Tears glistened in her eyes, but she blinked them away. He refused to be moved by her emotions. “Dimitri told me you had been killed.”

  “How would Dimitri know what happened to me?” He would hear her tale before he confronted her with the truth.

  “He said he was on the way to warn you when he saw you running from the soldiers.” Her voice was quiet, words slow, as if she were stunned or confused.

  “Yet he did not stop to help me?” His tone was sardonic, but Natasha was probably still too shocked to pick up on it.

  “Four soldiers.” She blinked and her brow furrowed in confusion. “He would have been arrested.”

  Anton took a drink from his glass to hide his smirk. “Go on,” he prompted after a few moments.

  “He said you had been shot in the back and it was impossible for you to have survived.” She swallowed. “You didn’t move after you fell. If you had survived you would have been executed.” She blinked at him and frowned. “I don’t understand how it is you are here.”

  Tears began to pool in her eyes again. Anton fought the urge to comfort her. She was an actress, which he well knew. Perhaps her tears were more from fear that he may have discovered the truth of her treachery. “Did your brother mention why I would have been executed?”

  Anger glinted in her eyes. “How could you have been so foolish as to put your life in danger like that? Both you and Dimitri.”

  “You knew I spied for England,” he reminded her.

  “You never told me you were the Ghost,” she cried. “He was wanted, a reward on his head.”

  “Would you have me sit back while the Czar brought destruction to our country, our soldiers, by aligning himself with Napoleon?”

  “I didn’t like it any more than you did, but surely someone else could have done this. Why you?” Tears spilled down her cheeks.

  “Don’t upset yourself. It is over,” he soothed. He needed her to calm. To trust him.

  “Over?” she asked incredulously. “It hasn’t been over for me since that night.” Natasha none too gently set the glass on the table and stood. “First, I marry you and before I have been your wife for six hours you leave me and are shot. I thought you were dead!”

  Anton stood and took her hands in his. “Hush. Everything will be all right now.” Her anger was too real. Could she be that good of an actress? Was Vanko correct that she might be innocent?

  Nyet! Natasha knew he had not died. She’d testified against him. Did she really believe he had not learned the truth?

  Natasha jerked her hands from his and turned away. Her arms rose before her and Anton could only assume she wiped at her tears. “When Dimitri woke me, and told me what had happened, he didn’t give me time to mourn you, to figure anything out. He threw my belongings in a bag and we headed for the port. He said we had to get out of Sankt Peterburg, out of Russia, before it was too late.”

  Not only had she prepared an elaborate story for the night of his arrest but a reason she had not been to visit him. They didn’t leave Russia that night. They couldn’t have. “Where is Dimitri now?” After he was finished with Natasha, he would seek out his one-time best friend.

  “Dead.”

  Anton stilled. For a moment he couldn’t breathe. How could Dimitri be dead? He fisted his hands in anger at being denied his revenge. “How?”

  “He was shot as we reached the docks and about to board the ship.” She shook with grief and tears.

  Anton placed his hands on her shoulders when she sniffed. Doubt crept into his mind. Perhaps she had not been a part of the plan to catch him. Perhaps she had only been an innocent caught up in the game?

  Over and over it had been drummed into his brain that Dimitri had enlisted Natasha’s help in trapping him. She had testified. Yuri would not lie, nor did he have a reason to.

  Anton frowned. He would not drop his guard simply because of a few tears and her version of events that transpired that night. They were lies and he just needed her to tell him more. Perhaps Dimitri wasn’t dead at all and sister was only protecting her brother. “Did Dimitri tell you anything else?”

  “That you were the Ghost and that is why you were shot and that the bloody Englishman had betrayed the two of you.”

  He stilled. “What Englishman?”

  She pivoted to face him. “I don’t know.” More tears spilled. “He died before he could tell me. He was shot as I asked that very question.” She clenched her eyes tight and another lone tear slid down her cheek. “He fell backward into the water. I couldn’t catch him in time.”

  Anton gently grasped her hand and placed a handkerchief into it. She sniffed and wiped her nose.

  “He never resurfaced. I wanted to wait, but the man Dimitri arranged to take us from the country insisted I board before it was too late.” She glanced away. “They had to carry
me onto that blasted ship and locked me in a dark cabin to keep me hidden until they left Sankt Peterburg. I didn’t want to believe Dimitri was gone too.” She sniffed. “I lost my husband and brother in a span of a few hours. It was the worst night of my life.”

  As much as he wanted to exact his revenge, he could not. Not at this moment when she was so vulnerable and still so very beautiful and desirable. He pulled her into his arms and held her tight while she sobbed into his shoulder.

  Despite the softening of his heart, he would not allow himself to believe her yet. He would think about her words and weigh them against what he knew and had been told by others. Her reaction to him, and her tears had him questioning everything he had come to believe and Anton put the concerns aside for the moment. They would talk of it more tomorrow, after they were rested and perhaps then he would finally have the truth. Tonight he once again held his wife in his arms.

  9

  An act of cruel authority now dissolved the fairy dream of happiness which his fancy

  had formed, and destroyed the peace of those most dear to him. He sat for a long time

  silent and dejected; at length, starting from his melancholy reverie.

  A Sicilian Romance

  Ann Radcliffe

  Natalie woke to a strange place and a foggy brain. Something was not right. This was not her room. Memories flooded her mind. The wine and Anton.

  A snore emanated from her left. She turned to look. He lay on his side, his arm across her abdomen above the blankets. He wore no nightshirt, his shoulders bare in the sunlight. Natalie lifted the sheet to look beneath the covers. Her face burned and she yanked the linen up to her chin. Everything he had said, and done, was branded in her mind. “Oh, my. I made love with a ghost,” she whispered.

  Anton eyes opened to reveal a wicked twinkle. A smile pulled at his lips.