Many, many someones. Her fellow exhausted children from the workhouse. The skinny mongrels fighting for the same scraps of food in the rubbish behind abandoned food stands. The empty eyes of the world-weary orphans who’d given themselves up for dead before they were rescued by the Livingstone School for Girls. Many of them had fought or growled or lashed out when what they all really meant was “Come back” and “Stay here” and “I don’t want to be invisible anymore.”
Violet pressed a kiss to the back of Lillian’s matted head. Low, so only Lillian could hear, Violet whispered the words she’d longed for throughout her entire childhood. Words that never came. “You’re safe. Shh, now. You can’t scare me away. I’m here to help. I came for you.”
The fight fell out of Lillian’s limbs. Silent tears rolled down her face.
Alarmed, Mr. Waldegrave rushed forward.
“Miss Smythe, that’s quite enough. I won’t have you upsetting my child.” Holding his arms open for his daughter, he closed the distance between them. “I’m afraid I will have to ask you to leave Waldegrave Abbey and seek employment elsewh—”
Lillian kicked him in the shins.
Mr. Waldegrave froze, his pale lips still parted but his words forgotten. A spark of something that might’ve been hurt or might’ve simply been confusion flickered briefly in his eyes. He held out his hands to his daughter, palms up, in supplication. “Lillian?”
Violet released the little girl. Rather than scramble away or resume her attack against her father or new governess, Lillian wiped her face on the sleeve of her expensive gown and straightened her spine.
“Go away,” she commanded, arms crossed and voice trembling.
“She will, sweetling. I just told her to—”
Lillian leaned against Violet’s torso. “Not her. You.”
This time, the pain etched across his granite face was unmistakable.
Violet longed to say something to ease his hurt, to tell him what Lillian really wanted was for him to stay, that she lashed out at him only because she was hurting and wanted someone to acknowledge her pain. But to do any of that right here, right now, would undermine the fragile bond she’d established with her new charge. And Violet knew girls like Lillian, knewherselfwell enough to recognize that without trust, there would be nothing. As much as Lillian needed her father, what she truly yearned for was to be listened to. Acknowledged. Treated as someone capable of knowing her own mind.
What Violet did say was, “When I accepted this position, Mr. Waldegrave, we agreed upon one month’s contract. Miss Lillian has asked for a moment’s privacy so that we might get to know one another. Please feel free to attend to other duties for a moment. We will be fine.”
Lillian turned and stared up at Violet, pale eyes wide with shock at having been not only taken seriously, but sided with.
Mr. Waldegrave’s open arms fell limply to his sides. “Are those your wishes, daughter?”
Lillian hesitated, then lifted her chin high. “Yes, Papa.”
“Very well.” His dark gaze colder than ever, he turned and quit the chamber without another word.
The door locked tight behind him.
Chapter 6
After leaving the new governess inside the sanctuary with his only child, Alistair was sorely tempted to drop to the dirt floor, sag against the crumbling stones, and bury his face in his hands.
He allowed himself no such weakness, of course. There was no time to waste sitting about feeling hopeless when he was the only person he could count on to work toward improving their lot. Theremustbe a cure. Somewhere. Somehow. And he would find it.
Lillian could not continue this way. Could. Not. The necessary protective measures were killing her as surely as her disease. He would trade his life to improve hers, if only it were an option. He loved her above all else.
And she hated him.
Most days, he hated himself, too. Except for those brief moments when he foolishly thought he was making progress. During those fancies, he was delirious with relief and joy... For a time. The truth always caught up with him.Failurealways caught up with him. God help him, he could not continue this way. But he must. For Lillian.
When he reached the far side of the catacomb, he unlocked the thick door and let himself into an empty hallway. Faint light sputtered from the candle in his fist. He’d forgotten to retrieve a new taper, and now he held but a nub. Not that it mattered. He knew Waldegrave Abbey as well as those who’d built the complex centuries ago. He’d been born here... and spent years in its darkness.
He made his way to his office before the candle flame finally died. He tossed the tiny wick into the rubbish and stared gloomily at the pince-nez resting atop a pile of unsent correspondence. It was late. He would post missives in the morning. He needed something else, something mindless, something to keep his mind off of—
Lillian. The roses beside her bed had been slumped crisscross over the lip of the crystal vase, their wilted petals crumbling atop her small escritoire, as they did every week. He retrieved a worn pair of shears from atop his desk and quit the office. He would cut more. Again.
As the automatic locking mechanism clicked back into place, Alistair’s manservant materialized in the shadowed passageway. Roper said nothing—gloriously, he rarely spoke unless he had some important intelligence to convey—but today there was a different quality to his silent presence. As if there were something he wished he could say, and yet, could not.
“Out with it, Roper.”
