Page 18 of Too Wanton to Wed
“That must have been awful,” she said softly.
“The worst day of my life.” His voice rasped with pain. “The next time Lillian visited the library, she flew into a rage upon discovering the exterior door locked tight. She ripped apart countless volumes I’d hoped would become part of her personal collection and then attacked a young lady’s maid who dared to detain her. Since that time, only I have attended my daughter. And until I am convinced she will treat her surroundings and herself with respect, I shall not lead her into a temptation she cannot resist. Shehurts.”
So did he, Violet realized in empathy.
Before she could stop herself, she touched her fingers to his arm to stop his pain. She jerked her hand back to her side as if his sleeve had caught fire, but it was too late. He froze in place, almost as if he’d quite forgotten what he was doing in the catacombs in the first place, and then his hot gaze settled firmly on Violet.
“Yes?” His voice was strained.
“The library isn’t necessary,” she stammered, trying to remember what she’d been about to say. “That is, until Lillian knows her letters, a blackboard and a bit of chalk are as good as anything. I was just thinking that what she really needs is a change of scenery. She’s stuck in that sanctuary all day, every day. Mightn’t she look forward to lessons more if they were somewhere else?”
His eyes narrowed. “She shall not enter any room with an exterior door.”
“I understand,” Violet agreed quickly. The last thing she wanted was to be responsible for any child getting hurt on her watch. “And I agree. But is there no other chamber we can turn into a classroom? Even a small section of another room? It doesn’t matter where, so long as Lillian gets the sensation of ‘going to lessons’ like other children. She will feel less... trapped.”
He thought in silence, then nodded slowly. “Since the abbey is no longer used for religious purposes, most of its outbuildings are empty. I shall have to order another desk and other supplies, but I can think of one room with a bench and a small table.” He turned and continued forward. “I’ll show you on our way to the library, and you can let me know if it’ll do. Most of the abbey is connected by corridors, but only the catacombs provide passage without light. You’ll learn the way.”
Before long, they arrived at a new intersection. Although this passageway was blessedly free of holy corpses, it was therefore thrice as narrow and just as black. She stayed close to his side.
Presently, his long strides brought them to a ragged incline, which split to a dead-end before two ancient doors. A basket of candles hugged the wall near the intersection.
“This outbuilding holds unused prayer rooms.” He selected a pair of tapers and lit one for her before replacing his own dying nub.
She clutched the candle tight. “Thank you.”
“Thankyou.” He fitted a key from his breast pocket into the lock, then held the door open for her. “I confess, you have given me hope.”
She smiled up at him as she stepped inside the small chamber. He did not return the smile, but his eyes showed his sincerity. He had probably felt desperation for far too long to remember how to smile. She could certainly understand the feeling.
He gestured behind him. “If this prayer room will suffice, I will have it transformed into a classroom for Lillian with pleasure.”
When Violet lifted her candle for a better view, the smile died on her face.
The prayer room had already been transformed once, it seemed. From a vaulted haven to an empty shell lined with layers of wooden planks. She touched a hand to her throat. How she would’ve loved to see the original stained glass, to stand in a pool of rich color as the sun’s warm rays slanted through the artisan windows. What an absolute horror to have turned an exquisite abbey into a labyrinthine crypt!
She forced herself to traverse the perimeter of the small room. Instead of her soul blossoming open and free—she’d never been particularly religious, but she did enjoy a deep connection to art—she felt more confined and deprived of beauty with every step. This space was awful.
She was not unfamiliar to the unwelcome sensation of hopelessness seeping into her very bones. Free from one horror, trapped in another.Wasit better for Lillian to traverse suffocating catacombs just to while away a few hours in an empty coffin of a room? Or was she better off cloistered in her current chambers, knowing there was a key that unlocked her spacious prison, but never being allowed a moment’s freedom, even to visit the tunnels?
Unsure of what to say, Violet slowly turned to face him. The bleak expression upon his weary countenance stopped her dead.
He knew. Heknew. He made no attempt to disguise the anguish in his eyes, the tension in his muscles, the defeat in the slope of his broad shoulders. Her heart ached. This room was dreadful, the abbey a monstrosity, but he was a father who loved his daughter and had no other options. He wished to keep his child from harm. He wanted his daughter tolive. And if that meant a miserable existence over a painful death, then so be it.
Mr. Waldegrave was no stranger to devil’s bargains and paradoxical emotions, she realized.Thatwas why he’d given her the final say, the power to decide where the daily lessons would take place. He needed her to see that he was doing the best he could do with the hand he’d been dealt. Because there was no right choice. There was no good answer. Only darkness.
Lillian’s impassioned plea that burning alive would be worth a glimpse of the sun must have been a dagger to his heart. There were no more sacrifices that he could make, yet he could not bring her peace.
Violet cleared the emotion from her throat and gave him a brisk nod.
“While I cannot in all honesty praise such a room as ‘delightful,’” she admitted in her most businesslike tone, “it is quite serviceable to our needs. The bench and small table will do until the desk and chairs arrive, and once the chamber is aglow from the light of candelabra, I’m sure Lillian will find it... suitable.”
Not exactly fawning praise, but Violet suspected Mr. Waldegrave would value honesty over sycophancy. She believed the approbation he sought had little to do with carpentry or homemaking and everything to do with his attempt to make a safe home for his daughter.
“Very well.” He kept his manner as matter-of-fact as hers, but the stark relief in his frame and face were undeniable.
It must be unbearably lonely to own acres of land but be unable to enjoy it. Being entombed on his own property, expected to govern his staff, his daughter, and himself, without help or relief or the ability to call upon a neighbor for tea... The rank air invading Whitechapel and Spitalfields alleys had never been particularly fresh, but at least Violet had been able to breathe it freely whenever she chose.
“This way to the library.” He led her through the catacombs to another solid door, which he deftly unlocked before motioning her inside.
