Page 20 of Too Wanton to Wed
At Violet’s assessing glance, Lillian’s lip wobbled and she burst into tears.
“Don’t leave! I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to, I promise. I’ll never do it again. I don’t like ink, anyway. We can use chalk forever and ever. Please don’t go!”
“Oh, honey.” Violet knelt before her. She knew that desperation well. Once she’d arrived at the Livingstone School for Girls, she would’ve done anything,anything, to be allowed to stay. She had been terrified her illiteracy and coarse ways would have her right back on the streets, and had been utterly gobsmacked when kind-hearted Old Man Livingstone had offered her a home. That had been the day—the exact moment—when her life had changed forever. “Lillian, shhh. I’m not going anywhere. It was just an accident. I’m not hurt—see? And who gives a fig about this old dress? It was a wash or two from the rag bin anyway. I’m not angry. I still like you just as much now as before.”
That last shocked Lillian out of her tears. “You... like me?”
“Of course I do,” Violet answered firmly. “If it wouldn’t ruin your pretty gown, I’d hug you right now just to prove it. How about we shake on it, instead?”
Lillian wiped her face with her sleeve. Her wide gray eyes blinked at Violet above ink-stained cheeks. Slowly, tentatively, she held out her hand.
Violet gave an exaggerated shake and, face solemn, kept pumping up and down rather than letting go. When Lillian realized she’d have to be the one to put an end to the interminable handshake, she collapsed into a fit of giggles.
They’d just turned their attention back to the blackboard when Mr. Waldegrave unlocked the door, fresh-cut roses in hand.
“Ladies, I’d like to celebrate your first morning of study with—” Upon taking in the scene, his expression transformed from jovial to horrified. The roses fell from his hands. “Lillian, what have you done?”
“I threw the blackboard, but—”
“That’s outside of enough, young lady. I don’t want to hear another word.” As he stalked into the room, his boots crushed the perfect blooms into shreds. He swung his daughter up off the bench and over his shoulder. “Miss Smythe, my deepest apologies.”
“Mr. Waldegrave, your daughter just—”
“No need to explain. I should never have left her unsupervised.” He swept out the door and into the passageway. “I will discuss Lillian’s behavior with her privately and then make a decision on proper punishment.”
With that, they were gone.
Violet stared, openmouthed, and then leapt up from the bench just in time to catch the door before it swung closed, locking her inside the prayer room.
Alistair allowedthe sanctuary door to close securely behind them before setting his thrashing, kicking daughter down in the center of her bedchamber.
“You listen to me, young lady,” he said quietly, but firmly. “Youwilltreat Miss Smythe with respect. It is high time you treat everyone who cares for you with respect, and I—”
“Why should I listen to you?” Lillian exploded, her pale face tinged pink with pent-up fury. “You never listen tome!”
He sighed. Some days it felt like all they ever did was relive the same timeworn arguments. He was so tired of fighting. “I will listen when you speak in words, not with fists and teeth. And the first words I want to hear are you apologizing to your governess for throwing ink at her.”
“It was anaccident!Ididapologize! It’s you who should apologize. You don’t care aboutme!”
“Balderdash.” He couldn’t believe his ears. “Since the day of your birth, I have spent every moment of every day doing everything in my power to improve the quality of your life.”
Lillian kicked her chair away from her desk and dropped onto the seat with a huff.
“Your life is more important to me than my own,” he said softly, hoping his daughter could read the sincerity in his voice and eyes. “Don’t you know by now how much I love you?”
“I’ve known you hate me since I was five,” Lillian rejoined flatly, her thin arms crisscrossed over her chest. “I’ve still got the scars.”
“The sun burned you, not me!” he burst out, dropping to his knees before her. “I searched for you everywhere and carried you to safety the moment I heard you screaming.”
“Iremember,” she muttered sourly. “I doubt you do.”
“How could I forget? I was terrified I’d lose you. I would have done anything to trade places. I feel guilty to this day that you were ever burned. Why do you think I had locking mechanisms on every door by the very next day?”
Her dark eyes pierced his soul. “To bury me in here, just like you wish you buried me outside.”
“The only thing I pray for is—” he broke off, sudden understanding clenching his stomach and turning his skin clammy. “What did you say?”
Lillian’s lower lip trembled. “Maybe I can’t read, but I know my own name. It’s embroidered on my pillows, sewn into my clothes, and etched right onto my gravestone. You wish I were dead.”
