Tessa blinked, eyes shining with earnest surprise. “None of my governesses ever said that.”
“None of them fell out of a tree with you either, I presume,” Madeline teased gently, brushing a twig away from Tessa’s curls.
Tessa stared at her for a moment, as though weighing something, then her mouth curved into a conspiratorial smile.
“You’re fun, Miss Watton,” she said softly, as if sharing a secret. “None of them ever did things with me. They only told me what I ought not to do.”
Madeline felt a quiet warmth spread through her chest. “Then I fear I have already become your accomplice,” she replied lightly.
That did it. Tessa’s eyes widened in delight, and she let herself fall backward into the grass with theatrical abandon. Her laughter rang through the quiet garden like the chime of small bells. Her boots kicked lightly at the air, scattering specks of frost that drifted over them in tiny silver motes.
The vast winter sky stretched above them in a pale sweep of blue, clouds drifting lazily across its expanse. For the first time in a long while, Madeline allowed herself to simply breathe. Her chest rose and fell in an unhurried rhythm with the world around her.
A bird rustled somewhere in the bare branches overhead. The faintest breeze swept across the lawn, carrying the distinct scent of pine and damp earth.
Madeline felt something ache sweetly inside her, an old tenderness she had forced herself to forget, a longing she had pressed down for years. The simple intimacy of lying beside a child who trusted her so easily made her throat tighten in a way she had not expected.
“You’re different,” Tessa said at last, rolling onto her side so her curls tumbled across her cheek. She propped herself up on oneelbow and examined Madeline as though she was some unusual creature found in a forest. “You don’t mind dirt.”
Madeline laughed softly, brushing bits of crushed grass from her glove. “Dirt washes off,” she said, her tone light but her meaning sincere. “Memories do not.”
Tessa blinked at her, her small face softening as though she were absorbing something entirely new. She stared for a long moment, the words settling into her with quiet reverence, until Madeline felt heat rise beneath her collar at being regarded so earnestly.
“Papa would say propriety matters more than memories,” Tessa said eventually, wrinkling her nose as though propriety itself were something sour.
“Yes, well…” Madeline plucked a long blade of grass from her sleeve, twirling it absently between her fingers. “Your papa has likely forgotten what it feels like to play.”
Tessa’s mouth fell open in dramatic horror. She slapped a hand over it as if trying to physically contain her shock. “He would be so angry if he heard you say that.”
Madeline pressed her lips together, trying and failing to suppress the smile tugging at them. “Then let us ensure he never hears it,” she whispered conspiratorially.
A delighted giggle burst from Tessa, and she wriggled closer across the grass, lowering her voice to match Madeline’s playful seriousness.
“Miss Watton,” she whispered, eyes sparkling, “I think we are going to get along very, very well.”
Madeline felt warmth bloom in her chest at the simple declaration, deeper than she cared to examine. The girl’s trust, her joy, the reckless ease of this moment…it was everything Madeline had been starved of without ever daring to name it.
They rose slowly, still laughing, their clothes dotted with small fragments of bark and pale green grass. Madeline shook out her skirts, the fabric releasing a soft puff of winter-scented air, while Tessa brushed enthusiastically at her own sleeves, only succeeding in smearing the dirt further. The attempt at being tidy made Madeline’s smile widen.
Tessa seized her hand without hesitation, her small fingers warm despite the cold, and tugged with a conspiratorial rush of excitement. “Come on. We will sneak in. Papa never goes through the east corridor at this hour.”
Madeline arched a brow. “And what if he spots us?”
“Then I will run away and leave you to handle him,” Tessa declared solemnly, as though this were a war strategy rather than a bit of mischief.
“How brave of you,” Madeline murmured, amusement curling through her voice.
“I’d call it practical,” Tessa corrected, lifting her chin with such earnest seriousness that Madeline couldn’t help a quiet laugh.
Together they made their way across the back lawn, boots sinking into the soft crust of snow with a delicate crunch at each step. The garden lay hushed in winter stillness, frost clinging to the skeletal branches, their breath puffing in faint white clouds as they hurried toward the east side of the hall.
The stone walls towered above them, grand and imposing, but Tessa led the way with the light-footed swiftness of a child who knew every corner and crevice of the estate. She darted ahead, her cloak flaring behind her like a banner, before stopping abruptly at the corner of the building.
She pressed her back against the wall and peeked around it with exaggerated caution.
Madeline slowed her steps, unable to disguise her amusement as she watched the girl perform her stealthy assessment with all the gravity of a seasoned scout.
“No one’s there,” Tessa whispered dramatically, widening her eyes for effect. “It is perfectly safe.”
