The physician’s eyes were sober, but kind. “Then give me the space I need to examine my patient. Join the others over there. Your daughter will never be out of your sight.”
After a moment, Alistair nodded. He still longed to press a kiss to his daughter’s brow. To hold her to his chest and hug her tight. To promise he would never let her go. His feet dragging as if each limb weighed a thousand pounds, he somehow found the strength to back away from the bed and let the physician attend his child.
He did not go to the others, however. Partly because he was wound far too tightly to withstand well-wishes without cracking, but mostly because he wanted to stand beneath the colorful lilies. To feel closer to his daughter.
Minutes ticked into hours.
Violet sat on the floor in the far corner, arms about her knees and Lily’s pelisse pressed to her face. From her tortured expression, she was equally as terrified as Alistair, but he kept his distance. He did not trust what he might do. She had left him. She had endangered his daughter. She had come back home. No, Alistair could not go to her. He didn’t know whether he would clutch her to his chest or push her away. He loved her, but in this moment, he hated her just as passionately. Because of her thoughtlessness, they might both lose Lily forever.
New maids brought fresh candles. More footmen refilled the buckets of ice. Empty liniment flasks lined the marble floor as the physician applied ointment after ointment to Lily’s mottled skin. No one breathed.
At last, the physician rose from the bed, his eyes bleak and his face somber.
No. The edges of Alistair’s vision turned black. He couldn’t lose her. He couldnot. His pulse raced in his ears, but his skin grew cold. It was too late. It was all over. If Lily died, Alistair wished to be buried with her. Life was not worth living.
The physician laid his hands on Alistair’s shoulder and embraced him as if they’d known each other all their lives.
“She’s going to be all right,” the doctor said quietly. He gripped Alistair’s arms. “You hear me? She’s going to be all right. Don’t give up hope. You’re not going to lose her.”
Alistair finally allowed himself to cry.
Chapter 39
By the next day, the only people who hadn’t quit the sanctuary were Alistair, Lily, and Violet. Alistair had stayed by his daughter’s side all day and all night, too intent upon his task of reapplying ointments to even register the cramping in his muscles or the bruising of his knees.
Violet, for her part, had not moved from the far corner. He had not yet spoken to her, and she had not dared approach. She remained crumpled in a ball; tiny, silent, rocking ever so slightly as if buffeted by an unseen wind.
She should’ve been more careful.
So should he.
He could now admit that the fault was not just hers. She would not have left if he had not driven her to it. And now look what they had done. Whathehad done. He hated that his lie had ruined what they’d felt between them. Had caused her to feel she had no choice but to leave. Had incited his daughter to chase her. He could blame Violet as much as he liked, but he was drowning in an even greater amount of guilt. He could bear it no longer.
Heart twisting, he corked the ointment and struggled to his feet. “Violet... ”
Lily’s eyes snapped open and the tips of her burnt fingers scratched across the leg of his breeches. “Not her fault, Papa.”
Violet stared sightlessly from across the room, her face small, her eyes bruised and haunted.
Alistair’s gaze returned to Lily’s ruined face. “Should I not blame Violet for leaving? You, for chasing after her? Myself, for driving away both the women I love? All of us are to blame. And itshall nothappen again.”
Lily glared up at him for a moment, then brightened. “See?” she called out. “I told you he loved you!”
This was rewarded by a choking half-sob from the corner.
He blinked. It was true. And he should have told her so much sooner. Was there still hope for trust between them? He crossed over to the corner where Violet still sat, hugging her knees. She didn’t look up. Alistair swallowed. This moment would define them forever—and it was up to him. He held out his hand. Whether she took it was up to her.
After a long moment, she placed her hand in his. He gave her a crooked smile when she finally glanced up. His heart was on his sleeve. His love for her was in his eyes, in his face, in every breath he took. The question was whether she wanted it. Awkwardly, she allowed him to help her to her feet. Rather than let go, he took both her hands in his.
“I’m sorry,” they said at the same time.
In another life, it might have been funny. But neither of them laughed. Too much was at stake, and they both knew it.
He squeezed her hands. “You were right. I should have told you the truth much sooner. I meant to, actually. It was just never the right time, or I simply forgot. It may sound unbelievable to you, but I have been living as if it were true since the moment of her birth. After nine years, it’s hard to remember what’s true and what isn’t.” He lowered his voice. “She doesn’t know.”
Her eyes widened in sudden understanding. “Lily thinks... ”
He nodded quickly. “I thought it would be best. I did not want her to feel alone. Or as though she were a hindrance to my life, when in fact she’s the very reason I live. And so I lied. Was I wrong to do so?”
