Page 32 of Too Wanton to Wed
“Rainbows... ” Violet took a deep breath. She needed to calm the child, not add to her pain. “Honey, what I’m trying to say is that no matter what color you pick, it’s fine. It’s better than fine—it’syou. Which makes it perfect.”
Lillian shook her head. “It’s not perfect. Nothing about me is perfect. If it’s me, then it’s ugly and awful and stupid and should be hidden away forever and ever.” She tried to twist free from Violet’s grasp and, when she could not, lashed out at the table leg with her foot. The corner of the canvas slid over the table’s edge, distorting the final stroke of the “n” into watery pink rivulets. “I wanted it to be better than me.” Lillian’s voice broke. “I wanted it to bepretty.”
“Itispretty.You’repretty.” Violet tried to envelop her in a hug, but Lillian held herself stiff and unyielding. After a moment, Violet changed her mind and gently let go. “Here. Watch this.”
She rescued the half-fallen canvas and repositioned it in the center of the table. She slid the tip of the brush through a spot of pink in the tray, and began to paint along the border of the canvas. Broad strokes. Delicate strokes. And every one of them in varying shades of pink.
At first Lillian held back, staring suspiciously at the canvas through narrowed eyes. Once she saw the images take shape, however, she stood so close that Violet could barely reach around her to keep painting.
“They’reflowers,” Lillian breathed. “Pink ones.Prettypink ones. They’re not red, like the ones Papa brings. They’re not like Papa’s flowers at all. They’re—they’re—”
“They’re lilies,” Violet supplied, without pausing the steady strokes of her brush. “This beautiful pink flower is called ‘lily.’ Like you.”
Her breath caught. “They’re real?”
“Absolutely real. Some lilies are pink, and all of them are pretty. But none is as beautiful as you.”
Lillian stared, her eyes wide with wonder.
Violet pretended not to notice, focusing instead on completing the flowery border surrounding Lillian’s name.
“Lilies,” she repeated softly, her eyes transfixed on the canvas. “Like me.”
At last, the final petal was sketched. Violet laid down the brush. “Now what do you think, Miss Lily? Do you like them?”
Lillian choked out a hiccupy laugh and threw her arms around Violet’s waist. “Iadorethem,” she said into the folds of Violet’s dress. “Thank you.”
“I adoreyou,” Violet replied quietly, unsurprised to realize it was true. She placed a soft kiss atop Lillian’s dark head. “And you’re welcome. If you concentrate very hard on your sums this week, perhaps I shall even teach you to paint lilies yourself.”
Lillian jerked her tear-stained face away from Violet’s skirt enough to stare up at her in disbelief. “Are youbribingme?”
“Absolutely,” Violet answered with a cheerful grin. “Is it working?”
Lillian giggled and gave her another squeeze. “Absolutely.”
At that moment, a knock sounded upon the schoolroom door.
“Papa.” Lillian ran color-stained fingers over her hair and attempted to straighten her paint-splattered dress. “Do you think he’ll like the painting?”
“I’m certain of it,” Violet reassured her, praying Mr. Waldegrave would not inadvertently crush Lillian’s obvious wish to please. “Come in!”
The door swung open and Mr. Waldegrave strode through, the trio of fresh-cut roses in his hand undoubtedly meant for his daughter’s chamber. “Ladies, I—”
He stopped short at the expression on his daughter’s face. He glanced questioningly at Violet, then followed her pointed gaze to the canvas upon the table. When he turned to smile at Lillian, the pleasure in his eyes was unfeigned. “What a lovely painting, daughter. Did you do this?”
Lillian nodded double-time, then blushed and glanced up at Violet. “That is to say, I painted my name—I picked the colors and everything, and I even picked pink two times, because there’s no rules in art. And then Miss Smythe helped with the other flowers. You will never guess what they’re called!”
His eyes crinkled in amusement, but he paused to consider the canvas as if lost in deep thought. “If I’m not mistaken,” he said after a long moment, “I would have to say they look just like lilies.”
“Theyarelilies!” Lillian crowed, then turned round eyes up at Violet. “Theyarereal!”
“Of course they’re real, Miss Lily,” Violet answered briskly, busying herself with the cleaning of brushes to distract herself from the strange joy-sorrow tangling in her stomach. “I believe they may even be my favorite flower.”
“They’re my favorite colorandmy favorite flower! May I keep it? Please? Oh, Papa, may I have it in my room?”
Mr. Waldegrave’s eyes widened. Whether he was more shocked at being personally addressed or at hearing the word “please” fall unbidden from his daughter’s lips, Violet could not say.
“I suppose we ought to let it dry first,” he said with a smile, “and then I don’t see why not. You did a wonderful job, Lillian, and the painting will look splendid in your bedchamber.”
