by Erica Ridley
Alistair. Clipping roses. While bathed in the early morning sun. Violet stared in disbelief as he hummed and clipped without a care in the world.
He was fine. He was fine.
Speechless with the shock of betrayal, she stormed within arm’s reach and glared down at him until she was sure her head would explode. There was no sunsickness! He had lied.
He glanced up at her and smiled. “Good morning, love. How did you sleep?”
White hot rage keeping her from forming articulate words, she jerked a hand into the air and pointed skyward in response.
He frowned only briefly before his cheeks flushed and he leapt to his feet. “Oh.”
At that, she absolutely found her voice. “Yes,” she bit out angrily. “Oh.”
“I—I —I... ” His stuttering might have been comical, were she not five seconds away from stabbing him with his own gardening shears. She couldn’t believe his audacity. She couldn’t believe her stupidity. How had she fallen for his lies?
No wonder not a single scientist had ever heard of the alleged sunsickness disease. It did not exist. At least not to the extent to which Alistair had suggested. Lily might have suffered burns when she was younger, but how long would she have had to be in the sun for that to happen? Alistair was in no danger of catching fire unless Violet set him aflame herself.
How long had this fiction been going on? Were she and Lily the only ones confined to the shadows?
“Do you ever even sequester yourself within the walls of this godforsaken abbey?” she demanded, both her voice and heart cracking. “Or are you outside every day while the rest of us are imprisoned indoors? Please tell me this is the first time you’ve seen the sun and you’re just as surprised as I am that you haven’t crumbled to ash.”
His cheeks flushed with color.
She had her answer, then. Her stomach turned. She couldn’t stand to look at him. She’d trusted him. She hadn’t been that stupid in a long, long time.
He reached for her. She turned away.
“Violet, wait!” He scrambled to his feet. “Please stop and listen. I only went into town because—”
“I don’t care how often your not-sunsick face sees the sun,” she snapped, gritting her teeth together to keep from crying. “I care about how often you looked me in the face and lied.”
His jaw worked wordlessly. They both knew there was nothing he could say to make this right. His expression tortured, he softly whispered, “I’m sorry.”
But it was not enough. Trust, once broken, could not be mended with a single word. Sometimes it could not be mended at all. How could he keep up a lie? After she’d bared her soul to him? After she’d confessed to murder.
Violet’s entire body trembled. Honesty worked both ways. They had both kept secrets in the beginning. But he had continued to lie to her face, again and again, even at this point in their relationship. If they even had a relationship. Her heart thudded at the realization. A man who lied about something this fundamental would have no problem at all lying about a thousand other things. After all, had he not lied to an entire town about the death of his daughter? About his own disease?
Her voice shook with unshed tears. “Just tell me one thing. Yes or no. Do you suffer any kind of sunsickness? Any tendency toward sun sensitivity at all?”
He dropped his gaze. At first, she thought he would not answer. But then his eyes met hers, slowly, painfully, as if he were forcing himself to face the moment with courage.
“No.” His voice was quiet, but he might as well have shouted the word.
Her eyes stung. Even though it was what she now expected, the confirmation still sliced deep. Her breath came shallow. “Have you ever been sunsick?”
He flinched. “No.”
She could not contain her pain any longer. “I should have known. I should’ve known better. Just when I’d finally tricked myself into believing there could be a man worthy of my love, worthy of my trust... I can’t believe you lied to me every single minute since the day I met you. Has anything you’ve ever said to me been true?”
“Everything else,” he burst out, then hesitated. “Mostly. I wanted—”
“You wanted to lie. Well, I deserve better than that. I deserve better than you.” She spun on her heel, nauseous with pain and betrayal.
Without a backward glance, she ran back inside the abbey. He did not follow. Uneven breaths tangled in her throat. Of course he would not follow. He was probably too busy thinking up more lies. Her stomach churned. She’d been hoodwinked by several accomplished liars over the years, but this—this—was far beyond the pale.
She tore through the halls, blind with pain. She had imagined she’d finally found something special. A home. But if they could not trust each other, they had nothing.
She needed to think. Somewhere far, far away from Alistair Waldegrave. Lover. Liar. Madman. Did he truly believe anyone could shrug off such deception? What about Lily? If he had completely lied about his own supposed affliction, he had likely exaggerated his daughter’s condition as well. There was a clear line between protective and cruelty. Her wasted childhood was more than a tragedy. It was unforgiveable. Anyone who caged a child unnecessarily was nothing short of a monster.
Violet’s feet bore her to her chamber. It no longer felt like a safe haven. Nothing did. If a lifetime of bitterly disappointing experiences had taught her one thing, it was to know when to cut ties. And it was time.
She swung open her wardrobe and began tossing garments into a pile. Her hands hadn’t stopped shaking since the initial moment of fear for Alistair’s safety, followed by the shock of betrayal. He might be content to live a lie. She was not.
Now was the time for action, not inaction. She had meant to save money for a barrister, and she had done so. It was past time she face her accuser head-on. Once she settled her own future, she could decide whether she wanted to be part of Alistair Waldegrave’s life. It could be months until the trial. And she might never trust him again.
She hefted her makeshift bundle over one shoulder and headed directly to the catacombs. She couldn’t go anywhere without seeing Lily one last time. Leaving the child behind was already breaking her heart. She would return as soon as the threat of a gibbet was gone, but for now she would have to say goodbye.
Shoulders tight, she eased open the door to the sanctuary.
“Miss Smy—” The smile lighting Lily’s face died the moment her eyes fell upon the telltale bundle in Violet’s arms. “Oh. You’re leaving.”
“I have to.” Violet longed to explain herself, but had no wish to make Lily’s imprisonment any more unbearable than it already was. “Just for a little while.”
“Why? You don’t love me enough to stay? I love you.” Lily’s big gray eyes shimmered with unshed tears. “I love you enough for both of us.”
“Oh, honey.” Violet dropped to her knees and enveloped her in a fierce hug. “I love you more than I’ve ever loved anyone my whole life. I will try as hard as I can to come back to you, Tiger Lily. I promise you that.”
“It’s Papa, isn’t it?” Lily mumbled into Violet’s shoulder, squeezing her midsection harder than ever. “He’s done something awful, hasn’t he?”
The child had no idea. Violet swallowed. She could think of no response that did not involve outright lying, and she did not believe in lying to children. She kissed Lily’s cheeks and then rose to her feet. “Your papa will be here soon to bid you good morning. Try—try to be kind. He’s bringing you fresh roses.”
“I don’t want roses.” Lily’s lower lip trembled. “I want you and me to stay together. Forever and ever. Like a family. Papa said we were a family.”
“You are part of my family.” The back of Violet’s throat stung. “Be good for me until I can come home. I promise to do my best. Never forget how much I love you. No matter what, hear me?”
Lily launched herself back into Violet’s arms. “I wish you were my mother. If you were my mother, you would stay.”
&nbs
p; Heat pricked Violet’s eyes as her throat swelled with emotion. Oh, how she wished she were Lily’s mother, too. Violet wished so many, many things. She wished she didn’t have criminal charges hanging over her head. She wished Alistair hadn’t lied. But more than anything, she wished she could stay.
“I’ll be back as soon as I can. And I promise to think about you every second of every day. I already miss you more than I can stand.”
“I do, too. And I hate it.” Lily pulled out of Violet’s embrace and wiped her eyes. Without a backward glance or an audible sob, she crawled onto the foot of her mattress and closed the heavy curtains around her, surrounding herself with darkness.
Her heart breaking, Violet forced herself to lift her bundle and quit the room before she burst into tears herself. She had to stay strong. Focused. She had to make it to London with her head still attached to her body.
Determined, she slipped out of the abbey through a servant’s exit and turned her boots toward the road.
Chapter 36
Alistair speared his shears in the dirt as if driving a stake through Lucifer himself.
There. He’d cut off every bloom to every rose, just like he’d cut off any prayer of earning Violet’s trust. Was he happy now? A tortured growl escaped his throat. No. He was not.
He stabbed the blades of the shears into the ground one more time for good measure. Of course he wasn’t happy. He was an imbecile who’d lived a lie for so many years that he’d all but forgotten it was a lie. Violet could not have known he’d only braved the sun twice in the past decade: once for his daughter, and once for her. Above all, she couldn’t possibly have known that he trusted her more than he even trusted himself. He trusted her with his daughter. He trusted her with his heart.
And why could she not have known any of these splendid facts? He yanked the shears out of the dirt and sprang to his feet. She couldn’t have known because he, master of shadows, had not told her in time.
He pushed his way back into the abbey. Dawn had only just broken, and already he’d ruined his life. He handed the gardening shears to Roper. No time to ring for hot water or bother knotting a new cravat. Alistair had to get to the dining room before Violet sequestered herself in the prayer room with Lily for a nice long day of doing sums and ignoring Alistair.
But she didn’t come.
He hadn’t missed her; the servants hadn’t seen her. So he waited and he waited until it was obvious even to him that she’d rather spend the next week fasting than meet eyes with him over the breakfast table.
He pulled out his fob. Still an hour yet before Violet was due to start lessons. Lily was likely only now considering getting out of bed. Violet would still be in her bedchamber. Not eating. And not speaking to him.
But perhaps he could convince her to listen.
Less than five minutes later, he was knocking upon her chamber door. No answer. No surprise. He knocked again anyway. Not because he thought she might answer, but because he deserved the rejection. He was the one who had wished to go unnoticed. He ought to take more care what he wished for.
Right now, all he wanted was to apologize. To explain. To make sure she was all right.
He stood there in silence for a long time, his forehead resting against door. Wishing he had done a thousand things differently. The road to hell truly was paved with the best of intentions.
Eventually, he forced himself to abandon his post outside her door. She would not come out if she thought a lion lay in wait. Perhaps she wasn’t even inside. It would not be the first time she’d sequestered herself in with Lily. His daughter was the one person Violet would never ignore.
He made his way through the catacombs. Carefully, he eased open the door to the sanctuary. A pair of high-set sconces provided just enough gently flickering candlelight to guide his way to the heavily draped four-poster bed in the center of the room. Approaching as quietly as he could, he edged the heavy velvet tester to one side and gazed upon his daughter’s sweet face.
Her eyes were closed, but she was not asleep. The slight flinch at the soft rustle of the curtain had given lie to the pretense. He smiled at the familiar ritual. Lily was never eager to get out of bed.
“Good morning, sweetling.” He bent forward and pressed a kiss to her smooth forehead. “I know it’s early. I just wanted to see your face.”
At first, she did not respond. Just as he reached upward to open the bedcurtains, his daughter’s small voice slid forth from the shadows.
“Don’t bother coming back. If I can’t have Miss Smythe, I certainly don’t want you. It’s your fault she left us. If you loved her half as much as I do, she wouldn’t have gone.”
“I do love her too,” he bit out in vexation before the rest of Lily’s meaning chilled his soul like a winter frost. Heart racing, he swept the bed curtains back open. “What do you mean, left us?”
“She told me goodbye.” Eyes red and puffy, Lily propped herself up on thin elbows to glare at her father. “She loves me. It’s your fault she left. It’s always your fault. I hate you. You make everyone who loves me leave forever.”
He froze on unsteady limbs and wordlessly returned his daughter’s stare.
“You’re a terrible papa,” she said, her voice cracking on the final word. Purposefully, she turned her back to him and hiked up her bed linen to hide beneath. “I hope you’re sorry. I hope it hurts you even more than it hurts me.”
It was the sturdiness of the canopy posts, and not the strength of his own limbs, that kept him on his feet.
“Go away,” his daughter whispered brokenly. “It’s not you I want.”
Of course not. Who would? He nodded mutely and allowed the thick curtain to fall back down between them. Blindly, disjointedly, he managed to fumble his way out of the sanctuary and through the catacombs. Once he gained the other side, however, he stood unmoving in the empty corridor, as if he were a splinter of wood set adrift in the empty ocean without even a breeze to guide his way.
He was still bobbing rudderlessly in the current when a strong hand latched onto his arm.
“Master?” Roper’s concerned face swam into focus. “Are you all right?”
“Marvelous. Violet left me and Lily hates me. I’m back where I started.” Alistair ran a hand through his hair. “Nowhere.”
“She left?” The lines in Roper’s horrified face deepened. “I thought... I am so sorry, master.”
“I lied to her,” Alistair mumbled, berating himself for not having taken her into his confidence sooner. So she preferred to cast her lot anywhere but with the likes of him. He couldn’t blame her.
“To be fair,” Roper said hesitantly, “you lied to everyone.”
Alistair slumped against the wall. “I am an unmitigated pillock.”
“Perhaps she could overlook that, and you could win her back.” Roper’s voice softened. “She would not be so angry if she did not care.”
Alistair shook his head. How could he win her back if he didn’t even know where she went? She had quite a head start. Plenty of time to catch a ride with the morning post, if that was even the direction she’d gone. Then again, maybe if he—
No. What was he thinking? Even if she had left breadcrumbs, he could not go after her. He couldn’t leave Lily unprotected. Not without knowing where he was headed or how long he might be gone. The quick trip to town had been nerve-wracking enough, and the only reason he’d gone had been to ensure Lily’s safety. He could hardly saddle up a horse and chase after a mail coach that might or might not contain Violet Whitechapel.
No matter how much he wished to.
Alistair pushed past Roper. How would they manage without Violet? How would he mend his heart? How could he ever mend Lily’s?
“Master, where are you going?” Roper called out from behind.
“To my office.” There was still one thing he could do. He’d write a thousand more letters to his solicitor until the trumped-up charges had been cleared from Violet’s name. And then fall to his knees and pray
she would return. “Send in some tea... and a bottle of Cook’s whiskey.”
Roper jogged up to his side, frowning. “But, master... you don’t imbibe spirits.”
Alistair’s voice was flat. “I do now.”
Chapter 37
The curtainless frame and lumpy mattress Violet reclined upon was a far cry from the rich comfort she’d grown accustomed to over the past several months, but she was grateful the innkeeper had offered a room at all.
It was impossible to know whether the harried proprietress had done so because the young woman asking was a healthy two stone heavier than the skin-and-bones creature in the wanted bill, or whether she had forborne uncomfortable questions because Violet had confessed to having fled from Waldegrave Abbey. Violet could swear the proprietress’s expression had creased into horrified pity at first mention of her former home.
Violet double-checked the address of the London barrister for the third time in ten minutes. Even with new clothes and a floppy bonnet to hide her face, stopping at the Shrewsbury Inn had been risky, but continuing on foot would have been far riskier. The sun was rising higher by the second and the streets were filling with people. A coach was the quickest and safest way to get to London. Unfortunately, there were none to be had.
The proprietress had explained that although the post carriages did in fact pass by this very inn, she had just missed it. The next coach wouldn’t be by until first light tomorrow morning. Violet would have to spend the day shuttered up at the inn.
She’d accepted the proprietress’s kind offer to send up some broth and a crust of bread, but hadn’t been able to eat. All she’d managed to do was cry herself to sleep, over and over again. Now that night had fallen once again, her stomach was queasy with more than just hunger. She couldn’t get Lily’s face out of her mind.
Or Alistair’s.
Violet had wanted time to think, and she’d had plenty of time to do so. Unfortunately, every last one of her thoughts conflicted. And for the first time in her life, she regretted leaving.
