“As do you, master.” Roper’s voice gentled. “Don’t forget it.”
Chapter 27
The next morning, Alistair dressed more carefully than usual. Much as he hated to leave his work, it was past time to pay a visit into town. Even if it was a waste of his time. But first, he wanted to see Violet. Heneededto see Violet. He couldn’t get her out of his mind. Every moment not spent with his books, he wanted to spend with her.
After yesterday, he had to believe she felt the same. He should never have rushed out of the room, after... It had been beautiful.Shewas beautiful. If he wouldn’t have come to his senses right then, he might never have come to them at all. And she deserved better. Soon, he would have to disclose at least one of his secrets. Which was that he was finding it difficult to imagine life without her.
He double-checked his fob. At this hour, she would be instructing his daughter, which meant it plainly was not the moment to burst in with his heart upon his sleeve, but he had put off confronting the inevitable for long enough. He could not leave for Shrewsbury without at least attempting to speak to her. Within moments, he was easing open the door to the converted prayer room.
There they were, his daughter and his... well, he didn’t have a ready label just yet, but there she was all the same, looking fresh-faced and radiant despite the flyaway tendrils escaping her chignon and the bit of green paint upon the apple of one cheek.
“Are you certain you don’t wish to try?” she was saying to Lily. “I stretched an extra canvas, and it’s ready when you are.”
As expected, Lily shook her head. Not sullenly, as she would have last year at this time, but rather impatiently, as if she were far too eager for today’s lesson to permit slowing the pace on her account.
“You’ll have to resume painting sometime,” Violet said, her eyes indulgent.
Lily pointed at her teacher’s easel. “Ladybird! Now!”
Tsking at this impertinence, Violet attacked the canvas with a few deft strokes of red before swishing her brush in a mug of clear water and adding a few artfully placed dollops of black. “That, madam Tiger Lily, is a ladybird!”
“Ooh,” his wide-eyed daughter cooed, impressed.
Supposing this was a good a moment as any to make his grand entrance, Alistair swung open the door and stepped inside.
To say his presence doused the joy from both sets of eyes would be putting the matter lightly. Violet became extremely busy arranging the paintbrushes. Lily rolled her eyes and huffed impatiently.
Alistair cleared his throat, unprecedentedly nervous and suddenly unable to recall a single word of his practiced apology.
“We’re busy, Papa,” Lily said with her old familiar glare. “We’re painting. Go away.”
“Youare not painting. You’re merely watching,” he returned before catching himself falling back into their previous routine of sniping at each other instead of speaking to each other. He arranged his face as pleasantly as he could and stepped further into the room. “May I see?”
Pink infused Violet’s cheeks. “Mr. Waldegrave, I—”
“Alistair,” he corrected softly. “I would be honored if you called me Alistair. Please.”
Her startled gaze snapped to his.
“Give us a moment, Lily,” he said to his daughter, as she crossed her arms and glared at him for interrupting. He lowered his voice and turned to address Violet. “I don’t see how it could be possible to forgive me, but if you could perhaps bear in mind that I am an exceedingly stupid man, not only out of practice with the fairer sex but also shamefully out of touch with my own self... I can only beg of you that you give me another chance.”
Violet stood still as a portrait, her mouth a tiny O of surprise. She darted a glance toward Lily, who immediately snatched up the brush and palette and set to ferocious, haphazard painting as if she were not straining to catch every single syllable exchanged.
He would not go into specifics in front of his daughter, but Alistair could no longer stand the guilt of knowing he had hurt Violet. “I am so sorry—”
“Donotbe sorry,” she said fiercely. “You may apologize for ignoring me and for leaving, and I hope you will never do such a thing again, but as for what went before... if you do not regret it, then neither do I.” She glared up at him, her eyes tempestuous.“Alistair.”
She’d used his given name! Victory raced through his veins. And relief. He couldn’t tamp down his happiness. Anger and impertinence were both well deserved, and he would gladly take anything she wished to dish out so long as it meant she might forgive him. He would swing her up and kiss her soundly right here and now, were it not for the studiously-not-watching eyes of his daughter Lily. Who gazed up at them in fascination, her errant paintbrush still slapping against the canvas at random. He grinned.
“We should continue this discussion later. Will you do me the honor of dining with me tonight? I can have Cook prepare something special around eight o’clock.”
“Yes,” Violet said with a slow smile. “That would be lovely.”
The tenseness in his shoulders eased somewhat. He knew he had not finished his apology, and that they had many more questions to answer about the future, but her simple “yes” had made him the happiest of men.
“Wonderful,” he said, his mind whirling with romantic requests for Cook. “I will see you then. And, Lily?”
Although his daughter’s eyes looked up at his, her brush continued to attack the canvas with so much vigor that Alistair was at a loss to explain how all three of them weren’t covered head to toe in rainbow splatters.
