Page 50 of Too Wanton to Wed
Which was all the more reason to squelch his impulse to touch her, to kiss her, every time they were alone. Curse him for having been born a fallible man!
He sighed just to look at her. So lovely and so pure. She was perfection itself. He would not be the one to spoil such goodness. Keeping a safe distance was best for everyone.
He watched longingly as Miss Smythe easily swung a laughing Lily into her arms and carried her to the bed. For four long years, it had not been thus with him and his daughter. It had been tantrums and screaming and plugged ears and thrashing limbs. Not smiles and tight hugs and kisses on the forehead.
Soon, he promised himself as he pushed open the door and entered the chamber. The upcoming cabal of physicians and scientists would be precisely what they needed to turn their fortunes around. He couldfeelit.
Miss Smythe paused at his footsteps, one hand poised to release the cord tying back the bed curtain. “Lily, your father is here! Won’t you tell him goodnight?”
All Alistair heard was silence. He did not need to see through the velvet drapery to suspect his daughter had pulled a face at the suggestion. He could only be grateful there was no more screaming.
When he reached her side, Miss Smythe took a step toward the foot of the bed to allow him better access to Lily. His daughter’s eyes were focused on the tester across the canopy and did not move to acknowledge his presence.
“Good night, daughter. I hope you sleep well.”
Silence.
“Lily.” Miss Smythe’s voice was a low warning.
She turned her head away. “I have nothing to say to him.”
He sighed, but did not yet take his leave. Even if she were not speaking to him, his daughter was still the most precious gift he had ever been given, and just looking at the dark lashes curled against her little cheeks filled him with an indescribable joy. Someday, she would be pleased with him, too. Please, God, someday soon.
At last, he took a step back to allow Miss Smythe room to release the bed curtain.
“Good night, Tiger Lily.”
Just as the curtain fell home against the opposite panel, his daughter’s soft voice was barely audible above the rustling velvet. “Good night, Miss Smythe. I love you.”
The wide-eyed shock on Miss Smythe’s face was nothing compared to the meteorite that had just slammed into Alistair’s gut. He was not jealous of the governess. Hewas not. And yet, how long had he hoped, had he yearned, to hear those words from his daughter’s lips once again?
She hadn’t loved him since the morning she’d seen her own grave. He had not earned it. The governess—Miss Smythe—had succeeded where he had not. Had conquered the war when he had yet to win a single battle. If he had ever been in want of concrete proof of his failings as a father, well, he was in want no more.
She reached out, as if to touch his arm.
He turned away before contact could be made and strode back into the welcome darkness of the catacombs. He had prayed for her help, but he did not need her pity.
She followed him from the room. The door clicked shut behind her, leaving them enshrouded in darkness. She did not move. He did not speak. She waited, without talking. And, by the grace of God, without touching. He could barely withstand his own skin without shattering. He needed a moment to think. To breathe. To remind himself thathisfeelings,hisheart, were not his concern. Only his daughter.
“How is she?” he said at last. “Truly?”
At first he thought Miss Smythe did not intend to answer. Then he feared she was formulating a speech about what had just happened—or not happened—at his daughter’s bedside. At last, he heard a soft sigh, and quiet rustles indicating she had turned to face him, despite the darkness.
“She won’t paint.”
He found himself wishing for a candle after all, in order to read her expression, since he was obviously incapable of comprehending her words. “What?”
“I said, she won’t paint.”
“That’s... alarming?”
“Very much so.”
He frowned. “How can not painting be that bad? Until you arrived, she’d never held a paintbrush before in her life.”
“I’d wager she never expressed herself before in her life, either. Now she has. And now she won’t.”
He snorted. It sounded to him like Lily was expressing herself very clearly. She preferred her governess to her own father. What more was left to say?
