by Darcy Burke
“Was Julius the prince of Rome? Was that why he lived in a palace?”
“Not precisely. Have you heard of the Church of England?”
Lily sent a withering glance over her shoulder. “I live in an abbey.”
“Fair enough. Well, the Pope is the head of the Catholics, who have their own church. And the capitol, so to speak, is in Rome. The palace is sometimes called the Palace of Sixtus V, who was one of the popes. And in fact, the Sistine Chapel is called ‘sistine’ in honor of Pope Sixtus VI, who came right after him.”
Lily put down her pencil. “There was no sister?”
“I’m afraid not. Just popes.”
“If you married my papa, could I have a sister?”
Violet dropped her face in her hands with a groan.
She had hoped so hard that she’d been wrong about where this conversation had been going. She’d also foolishly believed talk of a distant city might distract a little girl from the far more real dramas unfolding betwixt the abbey walls. Most of all, she had no idea how to answer Lily honestly without simultaneously crushing the child’s dreams. Her own dreams were more than a little shaken. It had never occurred to her that Alistair might care about her romantic past. Where Violet was from, people only cared about right now. Not yesterday. Not tomorrow.
Come to think of it, she was surprised she hadn’t been evicted from the house at once, out of paternal fear for the governess’s negative influence upon his daughter. He’d been more than disappointed. He looked disgusted. At her. Well, she couldn’t help her past, but she wasn’t delusional enough to imagine wedding bells in the future. If she even had a future. She’d be fortunate just to avoid bells tolling at her hanging.
“What are you drawing?” she asked, hoping to distract herself from the direction of her thoughts. “May I see?”
To her surprise, Lily started guiltily and lowered her gaze. “You promise you won’t be cross?”
Violet’s eyes narrowed. “Why would I be cross?”
Lily’s careless one-shoulder shrug was more alarming than any words might have been.
Lips pursed, Violet lifted a candle from the table. She cupped the flame with one hand and made her way to Lily’s side, half afraid she’d discover the boards covered in imagery of a flamboyant father-governess matrimony.
Instead, what she saw were flowers. Beautiful flowers. Impossible flowers. Simultaneously picture-perfect and without the slightest attention to perspective. Verisimilitude crossed with the fantastical in bold, sure lines. Daisies towered over roses. An enormous ladybird settled among blades of grass, partially blocking a rectangular stone that reminded Violet of—
“Lily. That’s ... ”
“Mama’s grave.” Lily’s voice trembled. “I want her to be here, too. She started our family.”
Violet’s throat closed and her heart dropped. When had Lily seen her mother’s grave? An awful thought struck. Had Lily seen her own grave, as well? “Tiger Lily ... When did you see—”
“A long time ago.” Lily’s voice was matter-of-fact, although the glassiness of her blue eyes betrayed her suffering. “Mama’s dead. I don’t mind looking at her stone. But I won’t paint mine,” she added fiercely. “I hate it. I am not dead. I’m right here. Alive.”
“Oh, honey.” Violet pulled the child into her arms. “I’m so sorry.”
Lily latched on tight. “Why does Papa wish I were dead? Is that why he created my stone already?”
“No.” Violet shook her head forcefully, horrified that such an idea had ever entered Lily’s head. “Absolutely not. Your papa has loved you unconditionally from the moment he first laid eyes on you. Everything he’s ever done is because he believed it was the best thing he could do for you and your future.”
Lily looked unconvinced. “That’s what he said, too. But I don’t believe him.”
She’d asked him if he wished her dead? Violet’s jaw dropped. She could not imagine such a conversation. Hearing such a brutal question from the daughter he loved above all else would have been a dagger straight to Alistair’s heart. And through Lily’s.
“I swear on everything I hold dear that your father loves you more than anything in the world.”
“How can he? He buried me. Right next to Mama.” Lily pulled away to stare bleakly across the room. “And then he buried me in here. I’m living in my grave. It just doesn’t have my name on it.”
“Oh, honey.”
In the privacy of her own mind, Violet cursed Alistair’s noble intentions six ways to Sunday. He only wished to protect his daughter, but ... Anyone could see how Lily could feel this way, and Violet couldn’t fathom how to convince her otherwise. Undoubtedly, Alistair, too, had tried. Had spent his life trying to show his daughter how much he cared.
“He loves you,” she repeated firmly. “We both love you, and nobody wishes you were dead. I can safely say that neither one of us cares to imagine our lives without you in it. The rest of your questions should be answered by your father himself. I will mention to him it might be time for another conversation.”
Lily’s gaze slid somewhere behind Violet’s left shoulder and widened sharply.
Violet jerked around, half-expecting to find Alistair watching silently from an arm’s length away, but the chamber was bare and silent, save the sound of their breaths and the soft ticking of the clock upon the mantel.
“It’s noontime,” Lily said suddenly, turning back to her outline. “Time for your lunch break. Don’t forget to pick up books for afternoon lessons.”
“Honey, I am perfectly happy to stay and eat with you. At your new table or on the floor, whichever you prefer. The library is not nearly as important as you are.”
“I’m fine,” Lily said without turning around. “I prefer you to go.”
Violet sighed. She had learned to recognize when there was no sense arguing. “I do love you, Tiger Lily. And so does your father. Very, very much.”
Lily’s pencil continued its skritch-skritch-skritch across the wooden boards.
“I can see you’re busy.” Violet gazed at the back of Lily’s head, wishing there were something she could do to ease her pain. “I’ll be back in one hour.”
The relentless scratch of the pencil was her only answer.
CHAPTER NINETEEN
Alistair was just preparing to enter his library when incoming footsteps echoed from within the nearby catacombs. The door swung open before he could move. Within seconds, he found himself face to face with Violet ... for the first time since she’d tossed him from her bedchamber.
“Oh!” She jerked to a stop, barely catching herself from plowing directly into him. “My apologies. My mind is elsewhere. I ... I can come back another time.”
“Nonsense.” He smiled at her.
She did not smile back.
He was unsurprised she had no desire for his company. It was up to him to change her mind. “There’s more than enough room in the library for two people. I should like it immensely if you would stay as long as you like.”
She shook her head. “I won’t be long at all. I’m just picking something up for Lily.”
“As am I,” he admitted, fitting his key into the lock. “She asked me to drop off a new book of fairy stories over luncheon.”
“Over luncheon?” Violet’s tone was ominous, as if the words held a portent usually reserved for prophecies of the apocalypse. “She is certainly quite concerned about how we spend our luncheon, is she not?”
“Why would she be?” He disengaged the lock and pushed open the door. “It’s lucky coincidence that finds us both here at the same time. It’s not like she planned for us to—”
An involuntary choke cut off the rest of his words as the door swung open before them. The library ... Alistair could not believe his eyes. His library had been transformed into a cozy nook for a summer picnic.
The wingback chairs had been pushed back against the shelf-lined walls. A thick red blanket stretched invitingly across the center of the roo
m. Adorning the blanket was a basket of fruit and cheese, a bottle of wine, glasses, plates, and a platter of tiny sandwiches. A vase of cut roses—identical to those he regularly left for his daughter—completed the milieu. Standing to one side with a now-empty tray tucked beneath her arm was Jenny, one of his daughter’s serving maids.
“There you are!” she said brightly. “Will there be anything else?”
He shook his head. “Just an explanation.”
Jenny tilted her head in confusion. “Miss Lillian reminded me you two would be picnicking together in the library for luncheon, and here you are, right on schedule. Is it not to your liking?”
He glanced at Violet to see if she followed this batty accounting any more than he did, only to discover her staring at the room with an expression not unlike begrudging respect.
She turned to face him, eyebrows arched. “What was that you were saying about coincidence?”
He dismissed the maid before opening what was clearly a formidable can of worms. Violet did not appear amused by the surprise picnic.
She did, however, appear more familiar with the goings-on in his abbey than he himself. Before he could begin a campaign to win her over, he needed to understand what was happening now.
“What,” he said carefully, “is all this about?”
“This, I’m afraid, is your daughter orchestrating a surprise romantic interlude.”
“Orchestrating a what?” He burst into startled laughter. The idea was ludicrous ... and brilliant. He owed his daughter a very large favor.
“Don’t believe me?” Violet gestured around them. “Perhaps the bottle of wine stands out as unusual. Or the velvety soft blanket spread across the center of the room. The child wants a mother, and has decided to elect me head of the family.”
His heart warmed at the idea. His daughter was far more perceptive than he’d ever given her credit for. The unexpected picnic had calmed fears he hadn’t even realized he had. The corners of his mouth quirked. “Wouldn’t I still be head of the family?”
Violet pinned him with a look that threatened imminent violence. His smile faltered. She was in no mood to take the situation lightly. He could scarcely blame her for mistrusting him, or his motives.
“Very well,” he conceded and settled down on one corner of the blanket. She couldn’t imagine how much he longed for the ease and romance they’d once shared. But first, he needed to set her more at ease. “Sit. We may as well enjoy the picnic. While I would never have anticipated Lillian playing matchmaker, you’ve got to admit ... she has a certain flair.”
Violet’s lips pursed, but she lowered herself to the blanket. “When did she ask you to come here?”
“This morning at breakfast,” he answered, impressed at how far ahead his daughter had planned. “When did she tell you to?”
“Just now.” Violet let out a slow breath. “The little minx.”
“Very clever.” He reached for the bottle of wine. Although he didn’t drink spirits, he could at least offer to pour Violet a glass. “I’m just a little surprised she’d go this far out of her way to do something I wanted.”
Violet waved away the offer of wine, her eyes round with shock. “Something you would have wanted?”
“A moment alone with you?” He smiled into her eyes. “That’s something I always want.”
“Me, too.” She reddened and immediately broke eye contact. “At least, I used to.”
Alistair winced. He deserved that. And worse.
“The things I said ... ” He paused, searching for the right words. There weren’t any. Not after having said all the wrong ones. He swallowed hard. All he could do was speak from the heart. “I am so sorry, Violet. For everything. I was surprised, yes, but I was also horribly, unpardonably wrong. You are a survivor ... and so much more. You are stronger than I would be in your place. I can only hope you will someday forgive my thoughtlessness.”
She gazed at the picnic basket in silence, then lifted her chin. “I’ll think about it.”
He took heart. She hadn’t said no. Nor had she abandoned the picnic altogether when she could have—and that was even before his apology. Perhaps there was hope. He liked hope. He just wished there could also be a future ...
“I wish we could have a real picnic,” he blurted, the words spilling forth before he could stop them. Then he had an even better idea. “All three of us, after nightfall. Outside. Together.”
Her brows lifted in surprise. “Why can’t we? I’m sure Lily would adore it. Just say the word. I can be free at a moment’s notice.”
“You can.” Alistair’s dream vanished. He glared at the picnic basket. His idea wasn’t splendid. It was stupid. He’d allowed the romance of the moment to color the facts of the situation. Namely, that one could neither predict nor control Lillian. He let out a growl of frustration. How he wished he could trust his daughter not to endanger herself! “Lillian is the problem. Rather, she cannot be trusted out of doors. She’s no longer the wild creature she once was, but ... I’m her father. I cannot risk my daughter’s life. And she hates me for it.”
“She doesn’t hate you,” Violet protested. “How could she?”
His laugh was humorless. “I don’t see why not.”
“You’re not ‘just’ a father, Alistair. You’re a good father.”
“I’m her gaoler,” he said, hating that he spoke not analogy, but truth. “That’s not a good father.”
Violet placed her hand atop his knee. “Then stop. Let her go outside with supervision. I fully believe she will stay safe. She just wants to live.”
So did he. He prayed to heaven every day for that miracle. “That has always been my dream. Cure or not, we might be closer than ever. At the very least, I believe I’ve calmed the villagers’ concerns.”
“What?” she exclaimed, delighted. “When? How?”
“When they saw—” He broke off, awkwardly fumbling through the picnic basket in search of a distraction. Some other distraction. He would have to tell her the truth someday, but this was not the moment to confess his charade. Not with the tenuous truce just formed between them. She had not yet forgiven him for his recent harsh words. He would not test her with confessions of further sins. He was going to have to lie. Again. His cheeks heated uncomfortably. “I ... invited a few townsmen into the abbey chapel. They saw me kiss the cross and place my hand upon the Bible, without ill affect. I need not fear their violence. They realized I am simply a sick man, not a monster.” He hoped.
“But that’s wonderful! And even more reason to allow Lily to breathe fresh country air!”
He tried to imagine the best-case scenario, then shook his head. “How can I let my daughter romp about a lawn bearing a gravestone with her name on it?”
Violet leaned forward and took his hands in hers. “Dig it up. We all regret it was ever a necessity, but you yourself said we need fear no more. And Lily is no longer the impulsive child she once was. You never have to feel like her gaoler again. Evenings out-of-doors could become a special time just for the two of you.”
His heart thudded joyfully at the very idea.
Perhaps ... perhaps Violet was right. Lily deserved a second chance as much as anyone. He had tried so hard to organize their lives to maximize safety, but in doing so, had he stripped the life from their lives? He glanced down at his hands entwined with Violet’s. Perhaps not everything could be compartmentalized into orderly little boxes of Shall and Shall Not.
Lillian deserved to live her life to the fullest based on her own limitations, not those an overprotective father imposed upon her. He would doubtless be absolutely terrified to see her step one foot out-of-doors even at new moon, but did that give him any right to keep her from it?
He nodded slowly. “You’re right. There’s more to life than just being safe. I can’t protect Lillian every second of every day. She’s growing up. She deserves the chance to earn back my trust, just as I intend to earn back hers. She has a right to see the stars.”
“The—what?” Violet gripped his fingers. “You’re saying yes?”
He freed one hand and slowly raked his fingers through his hair. “She started hating me when she was five. The day she saw the gravestones. She couldn’t read her mother’s name, but she could recognize her own. And I never knew. She kept it inside. Can you imagine? All this time, she thought I wished she were dead. She overheard gossip unsuitable for a child’s ear ... That gravestone was just supposed to keep her safe.”
“And it did,” Violet said softly. “But as you noted, she’s growing up. And since the villagers are no longer hunting vampires, no one will be about to spy on us. Late at night, the stars high above, the breeze kissing our faces ... ”
“And all three of us, together.” His heart swelled as he gazed at her. “I would like both of us to accompany Lillian on her first trip out-of-doors in four long years.”
“I wouldn’t miss it for the world.” Eyes shining, Violet blessed him with a beatific grin. “And whether you believe it or not, I’m pretty certain you are the kindest father in the universe.”
He gave her a crooked smile. “Now it’s getting thick in here. Any father would do what I do.”
Violet’s laugh was hollow. “I didn’t even have one.”
“Your mother raised you on her own?” he asked in surprise. Perhaps the loss of a parent at a young age was one of the bonds Lillian and Violet had forged.
She shook her head. “I raised myself, for better or for worse. I must have had someone who fed me until I was old enough to toddle the streets in search of scraps, but my only childhood memories are of being alone. Or involuntarily subjected to company, as the case may be.”
His flesh crawled and his gaze darkened. He gripped her hands in his. “You were set upon as a young child?”
She lifted a shoulder as if it were the most trifling of concerns. “I was one of many brats trawling the alleyways in search of food. We were so used to being invisible—or just referred to as ‘You, there’—that I was probably Lily’s age the first time anyone bothered to ask me my name.”
“Good God,” he whispered in quiet horror. Had he thought her fallen? It was a miracle she was even alive, much less such a strong, capable woman. “I am so sorry, Violet. For everything.”