Dark Surrender (33 page)

“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.”

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.