“All right,” she agreed slowly, stepping forward to inspect the boards’ surfaces more closely. How the ancient wood would hold paint was anyone’s guess, but it would be as good a project as any. “Let’s start with this board over here. What did you have in mind?”
Lily squealed delightedly, then raced for the paints. “I want the outside world, but I want it all mixed together. I want to paint the garden and the moors and the forest, but I want it to look like daylight and I don’t know how that should look. I want flowers everywhere. Not just the flowers Papa brings, but every single flower from my book. Even though I know they don’t all grow in the same place at once, Ilikethem all and I want to look at them whenever I want. In color! Lots of colors! And then I want to make birds, but I don’t have a book of those yet so I’m not sure what they look like. Oh, and ladybirds, but that’s more like a bug. I want bugs, too. All the animals. And then after that, I want—”
“Slow down, slow down,” Violet interrupted, this time not bothering to hide her laughter. “We can paint anything you wish, but not all in one day. This sort of project will take weeks. Or more. Did you know it took Michelangelo six years and several assistants to paint the Sistine Chapel?”
Wide-eyed, Lily shook her head. “That’s too long. Is he a friend of yours? Why did he paint his sister’s chapel?”
Violet coughed, then decided to skip a longwinded explanation. “We’ll cover that later. The point is, frescoes and murals are hard work. A cohesive whole takes careful planning. You have a wonderful idea and I approve wholeheartedly, but we cannot just start flinging colors at the walls all havey-cavey. Our imaginations provide the inspiration, but our pencils provide the framework.”
Lily stared blankly. “What?”
“I’m saying, first we draw the outlines andthenwe paint, starting with the background first and then adding more and more detail.”
Lily’s face fell. “No paints today?”
“Not just yet. First we plan. No, don’t look so disappointed—you get to ‘plan’ directly on the walls. Here, take this pencil and begin sketching what you want, where you want it.”
Lily wiggled excitedly. “Right on the boards?”
“Absolutely.”
“What are you going to do?”
“Sit right here and watch. I am here if you need help, but these are your walls, and you are the artist.”
Lily nodded. “I’ll pretend I’m Michael Angelo painting a chapel for my sister.”
“Am I the sister?”
“The assistant.”
“Very well.” Violet settled onto a small hardback chair. Her knees popped up almost high enough to graze the underside of the table. “What a lovely table and chairs. Are they new?”
“It’s a breakfast set. Papa brought it today before we had breakfast together. Would you like to join us tomorrow?”
Violet’s stomach twisted. She wasn’t sure she’d like to join Alistair, well, ever. She hadn’t seen him since he’d accused her of being a whore and she’d thrown him from her bedchamber. She doubted she could keep down so much as a slice of toast whilst seated across from him. Much less make small talk.
“I don’t think so, honey. Perhaps your papa and I can take turns breakfasting with you,” she suggested instead. “There are only two chairs, and it would be horribly impolite to force someone to sit on the floor.”
Lily sketched for a moment in silence. “You’re saying no because of the chairs?”
Violet shifted uncomfortably. “Er... why else would I?”
“I don’t know. This morning Papa was happy until I mentioned your name, and now you’re acting just as queerly as he was. I don’t think it’s the chairs. When all I had was my too-tall table, you and Ialwayssat on the floor for picnics. Why would you care now?”
Excellent point. Violet plucked at her skirt. “Maybe I would like your papa to see us as ladies and not heathens?”
Lily glanced over her shoulder, eyes shining. “You want Papa to see you as a lady?”
“I... ” Violet bit her tongue, wishing she’d launched into a detailed explanation of the Italian Renaissance after all.
“I’m sure he already does. He likes you, you know.”
“Not anymore,” Violet said sourly.
“Maybe.” Lily returned to her sketching. “Do you like him?”
Violet slanted her charge a hard look. Where the devil was this line of questioning headed? “I respect your father very much,” she answered carefully.
