“As am I,” he admitted, fitting his key into the lock. “She asked me to drop off a new book of fairy stories over luncheon.”
“Over luncheon?” Violet’s tone was ominous, as if the words held a portent usually reserved for prophecies of the apocalypse. “She is certainly quite concerned about how we spend our luncheon, is she not?”
“Why would she be?” He disengaged the lock and pushed open the door. “It’s lucky coincidence that finds us both here at the same time. It’s not like sheplannedfor us to—”
An involuntary choke cut off the rest of his words as the door swung open before them. The library... Alistair could not believe his eyes. His library had been transformed into a cozy nook for a summer picnic.
The wingback chairs had been pushed back against the shelf-lined walls. A thick red blanket stretched invitingly across the center of the room. Adorning the blanket was a basket of fruit and cheese, a bottle of wine, glasses, plates, and a platter of tiny sandwiches. A vase of cut roses—identical to those he regularly left for his daughter—completed the milieu. Standing to one side with a now-empty tray tucked beneath her arm was Jenny, one of his daughter’s serving maids.
“There you are!” she said brightly. “Will there be anything else?”
He shook his head. “Just an explanation.”
Jenny tilted her head in confusion. “Miss Lillian reminded me you two would be picnicking together in the library for luncheon, and here you are, right on schedule. Is it not to your liking?”
He glanced at Violet to see if she followed this batty accounting any more than he did, only to discover her staring at the room with an expression not unlike begrudging respect.
She turned to face him, eyebrows arched. “What was that you were saying about coincidence?”
He dismissed the maid before opening what was clearly a formidable can of worms. Violet did not appear amused by the surprise picnic.
She did, however, appear more familiar with the goings-on in his abbey than he himself. Before he could begin a campaign to win her over, he needed to understand what was happening now.
“What,” he said carefully, “is all this about?”
“This,I’m afraid, is your daughter orchestrating a surprise romantic interlude.”
“Orchestrating awhat?”He burst into startled laughter. The idea was ludicrous... and brilliant. He owed his daughter a very large favor.
“Don’t believe me?” Violet gestured around them. “Perhaps the bottle of wine stands out as unusual. Or the velvety soft blanket spread across the center of the room. The child wants a mother, and has decided to elect me head of the family.”
His heart warmed at the idea. His daughter was far more perceptive than he’d ever given her credit for. The unexpected picnic had calmed fears he hadn’t even realized he had. The corners of his mouth quirked. “Wouldn’t I still be head of the family?”
Violet pinned him with a look that threatened imminent violence. His smile faltered. She was in no mood to take the situation lightly. He could scarcely blame her for mistrusting him, or his motives.
“Very well,” he conceded and settled down on one corner of the blanket. She couldn’t imagine how much he longed for the ease and romance they’d once shared. But first, he needed to set her more at ease. “Sit. We may as well enjoy the picnic. While I would never have anticipated Lily playing matchmaker, you’ve got to admit... she has a certain flair.”
Violet’s lips pursed, but she lowered herself to the blanket. “When did she ask you to come here?”
“This morning at breakfast,” he answered, impressed at how far ahead his daughter had planned. “When did she tell you to?”
“Just now.” Violet let out a slow breath. “The little minx.”
“Very clever.” He reached for the bottle of wine. Although he didn’t drink spirits, he could at least offer to pour Violet a glass. “I’m just a little surprised she’d go this far out of her way to do something I wanted.”
Violet waved away the offer of wine, her eyes round with shock. “Somethingyouwould have wanted?”
“A moment alone with you?” He smiled into her eyes. “That’s something Ialwayswant.”
“Me, too.” She reddened and immediately broke eye contact. “At least, I used to.”
Alistair winced. He deserved that. And worse.
“The things I said... ” He paused, searching for the right words. There weren’t any. Not after having said all the wrong ones. He swallowed hard. All he could do was speak from the heart. “I am so sorry, Violet. For everything. I was surprised, yes, but I was also horribly, unpardonably wrong. You are stronger than I would be in your place. I can only hope you will someday forgive my thoughtlessness.”
She gazed at the picnic basket in silence, then lifted her chin. “I’ll think about it.”
He took heart. She hadn’t said no. Nor had she abandoned the picnic altogether when she could have—and that was even before his apology. Perhaps there was hope. He liked hope. He just wished there could also be a future...
