The footman bowed. “Shall I expect a reply, miss?”
“No,” she answered at once, the word escaping her faster than decorum allowed. She realigned her posture and continued more calmly, “There is no need for the family to write back.”
The letter explained that an aunt of hers was gravely ill, which was why she had to suddenly depart, and she expressed her profound apologies for the abruptness.
Not a word of it was true, but the effort was necessary to cover her tracks, should Hale locate Mrs. Finch and sniff around for clues.
Madeline drew a slow breath, fighting the tight coil of guilt that pressed up beneath her ribs. Mrs. Finch had been kind in her brisk, bustling way, and Jonah had clung to her hand with all the innocent devotion of a child who trusted easily and loved readily. They deserved honesty, but honesty would lead Hale straight through their door. Silence would be cruel and this, she told herself, was the gentler approach.
“Right away, miss,” the footman said with a polite nod, taking the letter and departing through the front doors. As he went, the winter light caught on his livery buttons.
Madeline exhaled, her heart tightening in a slow, familiar ache. Not only for the lies she had spoken, but for the sudden realization that every step forward within these stone walls carried the weight of a life she had severed behind her. And yet, for the first time in months, the undoing felt like survival rather than loss.
She needed air, a quiet space, and somewhere to gather herself before her thoughts became untamable again.
She wrapped her cloak around her shoulders and stepped outside, letting the cold kiss her cheeks. Frost clung to the edges of the path, shimmering like silver dust. The gardens stretched outward with sculpted hedges, barren rose arches, and the skeletal branches of winter trees reaching toward the pale afternoon sky.
She walked without thinking, following the curve of the path past a ridged stone fountain and toward the open expanse of the back lawn. The quiet soothed her.
Until a soft voice shouted, “No—no—no, don’t slip!”
Madeline blinked and looked up, momentarily believing her eyes deceived her, butno.
Tessa was perched at least six feet above the ground, one foot wedged into the crook of a branch, the other balancing on a narrow limb that bowed under her slight weight. Her skirts were bunched unevenly around her knees, stockings already smeared with grass and dirt, curls spilling loose from her ribbon as the wind tugged at them.
A small, thin branch bent precariously beneath her boot. It creaked, the sound discordant and frail in the cold afternoon air.
“Oh dear…” Madeline hurried forward.
Tessa froze like a startled creature, gripping the bark with panicked hands. “Miss Watton, please, don’t tell Papa!”
Madeline stopped at the tree’s base, heart pounding not from fear but from how pitifully afraid the girl looked. “I will not tell anyone. But may I ask what you are doing this high up, dear?”
“I wanted to see the roof,” Tessa whispered, cheeks flushing. “Papa never lets me climb anything. Not even the stairs two at a time!”
“That sounds… rather sensible,” Madeline said, lifting her brows.
“I did not fall!” Tessa insisted, as though defending her case in court. “I would not have fallen. Probably.”
Madeline bit back a laugh. “Well, whether you would have or not, perhaps it is best we get you down safely before we test the theory. Give me your hand.”
Tessa hesitated, then reached down. Madeline guided her carefully, boots scraping against the bark, until the girl was low enough to hop onto the grass. The impact sent them toppling backward, and Madeline’s cloak flared beneath them as they landed in a soft heap on the cold ground.
For a moment there was stillness, then Tessa dissolved into breathless laughter.
“You fell too!” she exclaimed, delighted, her curls bouncing wildly around her face.
Madeline could not help it; she laughed as well, the sound bursting out of her in a way she had not felt in years. She stared up at the sky, its pale winter blue framed by branches, and let the ridiculousness of the moment warm her from the inside.
“You should not make a habit of climbing trees, Lady Tessa,” Madeline scolded lightly when her breath returned.
“You helped me climb down,” Tessa argued with a grin.
“I helped you climb down, not up, sweetheart.”
“Well, that’s where all the fun is.”
Madeline turned her head to look at her charge directly. “Fun is important,” she said carefully. “Children are meant to laugh and run and explore. You should be allowed to enjoy things, but not at your risk.”
