by Darcy Burke
Guilt plagued him. To think he had presumed to judge her by his own impossible standards, when she had already fought and survived battles he did not even have the stomach to fathom. He was sickened by his self-righteousness and ashamed of the many times she must have suffered at his thoughtless words. When he had criticized and rejected her for events utterly outside her control ...
“When they asked you your name, what did you say? Did you even have one?”
“I thought I did,” she answered wryly. “I’d been called ‘Violet Eyes’ often enough that I believed it my rightful name. I’d never seen myself, so I hadn’t the slightest inkling it was meant to be shorthand description, to tell one street rat from another. But when the laughter died down, the word stuck, and from that day forth I had a name. Two of them. After my eyes, and the place of my birth.”
“Violet Whitechapel,” he murmured, as the wanted bill sprung from his memory. He had accused her of giving him a false name. He couldn’t imagine not having any other kind.
“Violet Whitechapel,” she agreed with an ironic smile. “And she lived happily ever after.”
Alistair’s stomach twisted. His heart ached for her. He blamed himself for adding to her misery. “What happened to you was unimaginable, and if I could gibbet every man who ever touched you, I happily would. You were right to reprove me for my hypocrisy. I was foolish. I don’t care about your past, Violet. Even if you had willfully and eagerly been the most overworked courtesan in all of London, what right have I to judge you for something that happened before we had even met?”
Slowly, her eyes lost their deadness and gained a glimmer of hope. “Do you mean that?”
“‘Let he who is without sin cast the first stone,’” he quoted in self-deprecation. Amen. He was surprised the Lord didn’t strike him down right there in the library. “For someone who lives in an abbey, I’m not too skilled at soaking up Scripture.” He ran his knuckle down the side of her cheek and let his hand fall back into his lap. He had failed her. She deserved better. “I never had the right to judge you, Violet. I didn’t know your situation and I don’t know your past, but I do know you.”
Violet’s expression was shy, her smile hesitant. “I like to think it’s never too late for anyone.”
He grinned back at her. “Let’s start anew. And let’s include Lillian. Will you please join me to dispose of that horrid gravestone with my child’s name on it?”
“Everyone would join us for that,” she returned, sounding almost like her old self again.
“Splendid,” he said and held out his hand. “I’ll arrange the festivities for tomorrow. But let’s ask the little matchmaker if she’d like to join us this evening for a walk under the stars.”
***
A few hours later, Violet was beside herself with excitement. Lily’s first time out-of-doors in years! She needed to experience the outside world, to taste it and touch it and smell it and see it. To live it. And tonight, she finally would. Magic seemed to crackle in the air.
Lily was reclining on her bed, perusing a book of flowers, when Violet and Alistair knocked upon the door.
“Lillian,” he began solemnly. “If you are not terribly busy, would you like to join Violet and I tonight for a turn about the garden?”
Her dark eyes narrowed with suspicion. As soon as she realized two smiling faces could only mean the offer was genuine, she practically tumbled out of the bed in her haste to join them. “Truly?”
Laughing, Alistair crossed the room to assist, and within short order Lily was decked head to toe in boots and spencer and a grin wide enough to drown in.
“Ohhh,” she exclaimed, clapping her pale hands together excitedly. “I can’t wait!”
Violet was close to clapping her hands, too. The eagerness in Lily’s smile warmed her heart not just because it transformed the child’s usually somber demeanor into that of a happy little girl, but because she had lately realized that Lily rarely smiled at all.
To her dismay, Violet suspected she had smiled more on the streets and in the workhouse than Lily did in her opulent prison. It was difficult to enjoy even the small moments when one had never been taught that life was a thing to be treasured, to be enjoyed. That each day was what you made of it, for good or for bad.
The same could be said about Lily’s father. Violet couldn’t resist a quick glance at Alistair. He needed joy, too. And Violet intended to make a difference in both their lives.
With one of Lily’s hands clasped in her father’s and the other small hand tucked into Violet’s, they tramped single file into the catacombs. Candles and muffled giggles chased the shadows from the tunnels, and before she knew it, they were at the front door.
He paused with his hand on the doorknob. “Are you certain you’re ready?”
Lily squealed, shoving at him in her excitement. “Open the door!”
Violet shook her head as Alistair flung open the door and Lily burst forth to test her boots upon the grass. Her smile was beatific. Violet and Alistair shared a grin as their eyes met over the top of Lily’s head. Tonight, they were sharing a precious gift, and forever changing Lily’s life for the better.
One had only to gaze at the rapture upon the child’s face to see the truth.
“Oh, Papa.” Lily turned a slow circle, lifting her arms in wonder. “Smell the air! It smells like—it smells like—oh, look at the flowers! They’re not roses, they’re ... Don’t tell me, they’re in my book, I’ve seen them. Marigolds! And look how bright they are! Pen-and-ink drawings are lovely, but I had no idea they might be—Eek! What was that? Did you see it? It moved!”
Laughing, they led her toward the center of the lawn in order to give her a wider view of her surroundings.
Violet knelt beside her. “That, Miss Tiger Lily, was the very ferocious British squirrel. And if you look over there ... up higher, see where I’m pointing? That is a tawny owl.”
“An owl!” Lily crowed delightedly, as if Violet had not led her to a shadowed tree but rather to the treasure beneath a rainbow. “Can you paint one for me tomorrow?”
“Certainly.”
Grinning, Alistair held out a hand to his daughter. “Come this way, for there are ever so many treasures just around the corner.”
Lillian raced to place her hand in his.
Joy filled Violet’s heart as she watched father and daughter bend their heads together over every corner of the lawn.
She hung back, not wishing to interrupt the magic of the shared moment between them. If she’d had paints, or even a bit of charcoal handy, she would have loved to sketch their excited faces as they eagerly explored grasses and flowers and trees. Perhaps she still would. A private collection, just for her. Just like she used to do, for whenever she felt lonely and wanted to pretend she had a family.
Although she did not truly belong, her heart still swelled to see Alistair and Lillian finally find each other. She doubted they would ever lose sight of family again. Violet found a soft patch of grass and settled down to watch.
Two hours later, he finally managed to corral his bright-eyed, exhausted little girl back indoors.
“When can we do it again?” Lily begged her father once they’d made their way back to the sanctuary. “May we go back outside tomorrow? And every single night after? I’ll be good! I’ll be a perfect angel!”
“I’m sure you will,” he agreed with a laugh. He divested her of her pelisse and helped her get ready for bed. “Did you enjoy yourself?”
“Did I!” Lily beamed at him. “It was the most fun I’ve ever had in my entire life. Thank you, Papa.”
Alistair shot a grateful smile at Violet over Lily’s head before returning his pleased gaze to his daughter.
***
The following morning after foregoing both breakfast and maths—Violet was of no mind to contest Lily on the latter score—the pair spent the entire day covering the majority of one of the sanctuary walls with a dreamlike panorama of fantastical, hyper-real flowers towering abo
ve each other in splendid chaos, peppered with exotic birds and unreal creatures frolicking among the profusion of flora with little regard to perspective or the constraints of reality.
With Violet’s help, Lily’s imaginatively disproportionate landscape sketched in pencil upon the walls burst into vivid color, transforming the sanctuary from a windowless crypt into a wonderland of extraordinary possibility.
Violet would have happily continued painting until next week, had it not been almost time for the unburial ceremony. She rang for Lily’s bath and then hurried to her chamber to ring for her own. She had just enough time to twist her hair into a chignon and get dressed in her nicest gown.
As soon as she was ready, she joined the rest of the staff at the gravesite in the back lawn. She and Roper exchanged conspiratorial grins as he handed out shovels. Violet was thrilled for Lily and eager to see how this changed the father-daughter dynamic. This night was already a miracle in the making. Alistair had outdone himself arranging an extravagant ceremony in the hopes that maybe, this time, his daughter would finally realize how much he loved her.
Everyone from the abbey was present beneath the stars. Every manservant, every maid, everyone that Violet had come to consider friends. Tonight, they would welcome Lily as family.
Although the moon waxed high in the sky, flickering candles lined the walkways. The women stood before the graves as witnesses, every one of them bearing petals to toss into the air. The men flanked the other side, jostling each other and grinning. Some bore shovels or pickaxes, others simple trowels, but each of them held fast to a tool capable of chiseling stone from dirt.
Hand in hand, Alistair and Lily made their way along the candlelit path. This was no somber funerary procession with sobs and dirges and handkerchiefs. A welcoming smile beamed from every face. Alistair gazed down upon his daughter with fatherly love. The grin lighting the child’s face was brighter than the sun.
When the two finally joined Violet next to the small gravestone at the intersection between the maids and the menservants, Alistair knelt before his daughter and took both her hands in his.
“Lillian.” His low voice rang clear and true, carried upon the soft breeze to every ear. “This stone bears your name, but this grave marks no death. You are very much alive—to me, to Miss Violet, to everyone who shares our home here at Waldegrave Abbey. And as you can see, every single member of our extended family has come here tonight to show their support of you and your future.”
Lily gazed at the sea of faces in wonder.
Alistair glanced up over her shoulder. “Ready, Violet?”
“Absolutely.” Smiling, Violet stepped forward and handed him the shovel.
He stood, gripped the handle, and slammed the blade into the dirt. He placed his boot on the metal edge and shoved again, well and truly entrenching the shovel into the ground. Metal scraped against stone as scooped up the first mound of dark earth and tossed it to one side. Everyone cheered.
Violet accepted the shovel from him and did the same, taking great joy in the spark of blade-against-stone and greater joy in the joy upon Lily’s face as she watched Violet add a second scoop of black dirt atop the first.
“Your turn, Tiger Lily,” she said softly, and handed her the shovel. “Show us how the king of the jungle does it.”
Lily snatched the handle from Violet’s hands and dug up not one but three shovelfuls in quick succession, to much whooping and whistling on the part of the onlookers. Giggling, Lily tried to hand the spade back to her father.
Alistair shook his head with a smile and gestured at the row of men behind them. “Roper is at the ready, and Cook just beside him for his go. We are all here to officially welcome you into the land of the living. To honor your life—and your future—as a family.”
They joined Violet to one side as each of the men took their turn in succession, followed by each of the maids. The resulting trench was more than big enough for Roper and Alistair to lift the stone free and set it upon a patch of hard dirt. This time, turns were taken with pickaxes and hammers until all that was left of the false gravestone was an unidentifiable pile of rubble and dust. Already the breeze carried away the lightest bits. Soon it would be nothing more than a memory.
“Lillian Waldegrave,” Alistair announced as he wiped the back of his arm across his brow. “Welcome home. I love you, daughter.”
Lily threw herself into her father’s embrace, squealing in glee when he responded by swinging her in dizzying circles. “Thank you, Papa. I love you, too.”
Alistair froze with his arms wrapped tight about his daughter, eyes squeezed shut tight, and held her as if he’d never let go.
CHAPTER TWENTY
After stroking his daughter’s hair until she fell asleep, Alistair hastened from the sanctuary and knocked upon Violet’s chamber door. She swung open the door immediately, almost as if she had been just as eagerly awaiting his arrival. Grinning, he swung her in a circle before collapsing onto the vanity chair and pulling her down with him.
“Lillian loves me,” he announced with no little amount of satisfaction. “She said so in front of everyone.”
Leaning back into his arms, Violet turned her face to laugh up at him. “Of course she does, you silly creature. Who wouldn’t?”
He was not so foolish as to believe love came that easily. “She loves you, too, you know.”
Violet’s head tilted quizzically. “And I her, as you well know.”
Yet there was so much he did not know. Starting with the future. “Then do not leave us.”
She blinked up at him. “What?”
He took a deep breath. “I received word this morning that my solicitor has an appointment tomorrow with Mr. Livingstone. I wish to know your plans for the future.”
“My plans?” she echoed with a startled chuckle. “I haven’t any plans. I’ve taken life moment by moment since the day that I was born. I have never successfully anticipated what tomorrow held in store.” She touched his arm. “I thank you very much for engaging your solicitor. No one wishes your man more luck than I do, but Mr. Percy Livingstone is as heartless as he is wealthy, and it’s impossible to know—”
“It’s impossible to know,” he repeated, cutting off whatever else she’d been about to say. He decided he didn’t particularly wish to know her plans after all. He was in far too euphoric a mood to countenance depressing “what ifs” and worst-case scenarios. “You’re absolutely right. We should concern ourselves only with the moment.”
Before she could reply, he lifted her in his arms and silenced her with a kiss. Without separating his mouth from hers, he carried her from the chair to the bed and tumbled backward onto the mattress so that Violet lay sprawled on top.
“Oh dear, you’ve entrapped me,” he moaned dramatically. “I exist solely to satisfy your every desire.” He grinned up at her and added, “Ideally, your desires involve something slightly more interactive than counting sheep and snoring. And I promise not to behave like a horse’s arse.”
“Ladies do not snore!” Violet gasped in mock affront. Her lips curved into a slow, sensual smile. “And I might have a desire or two that should please you.”
He cocked an eyebrow and grinned. “Promises, promises.”
Giggling, she bent down as if to kiss him. When his lips parted and his eyelids lowered in anticipation, she darted to one side and lightly bit the lobe of his ear instead.
His eyes flew open in surprise, their expression mischievous. He flipped her onto her back and caught her wrists against the pillows. “It’s like that, is it? Let’s see how well you like a nibble or two upon your own flesh.”
Starting at the corner of her mouth, he dragged a line of hot kisses down her throat and across her bosom. He took her breast into his mouth, suckling until her nipple strained against the thin silk of her bodice. She gasped as he softly grazed the sensitive bud with the edge of his teeth before laving it with his tongue and bending to suckle once more.
She clutched his hair a
nd held him to her breast, then dragged him upward until their mouths met. Without breaking the kiss, she raked her nails down the length of his back to his breeches. She gave his arse a quick squeeze before bucking gently with one hip, simultaneously arching upward to indicate she wanted him to roll over.
With his hands still buried in the soft ringlets of her hair and his mouth still locked to hers, he docilely allowed her to flip him onto his back. She slid to one side, one thigh still draped across his, and began to pluck open the buttons of his waistcoat. Task completed, she quickly divested him of coat and waistcoat and shirt, then pushed him onto the pillows to tease his nipples to the same bite-and-suckle treatment he’d subjected her to moments earlier.
“Vixen,” he murmured when he could breathe again.
She arched a brow. “Just to see how you like it.”
“I love it,” he admitted freely. He reached around to tug loose her ribbons and stays. “Is it my turn yet?”
With a coquettish smile, she allowed him to lift away her gown and her petticoats. He made short work of his boots and hers, then rejoined her upon the mattress.
“Well?” she asked archly, her eyes sparkling. “Now that you have me naked and supine, what do you intend to do with me?”
He widened his eyes. “I, madam? It is you who makes the demands and I who am yours to command.”
“In that case ... ” She slid free one of the buttons on his fall and then the other. “It is imperative that you be naked.”
“And supine?” he asked innocently.
She nipped at his lower lip. “If you’re lucky.”
He shucked his breeches in seconds, and stretched out on his side beside her. Her smile warmed his soul. Angling her head for a kiss, he cradled her face with one hand, using his other arm to bring their naked bodies closer together. He loved the feel of her breasts pressed against him, the tight little nipples deliciously hard against his chest. He loved having her in his arms, period.
