He cleared his throat. “It doesn’t matter.”
Henry regarded him for a long moment, his expression losing all trace of humor. “It matters more than you want to admit.”
They rode in silence for several minutes, the wind brushing through the bare branches overhead. The horses’ hooves thudded softly against the frost-hardened ground, and Wilhelm kept his gaze fixed on the winding path ahead, though his thoughts refused to obey.
He had long ago buried the part of himself that noticed beauty. After losing Leah, he had pushed such impulses into the deepest corners of his being. He had devoted himself entirely to Tessa, the estate, and the constant demands of the world he was responsible for nurturing. Desire had been an indulgence he had no time for, attraction a luxury he could not afford.
Yet one collision in a corridor had unraveled years of discipline.
Henry’s voice softened. “Wilhelm… when was the last time you allowed yourself to look at someone with interest? Truly look?”
Wilhelm kept his eyes forward, feeling his temper stir. “It has been years. Too many to count. My responsibility is to my daughter.”
“And no one is arguing otherwise,” Henry said calmly. “But even a responsible man is allowed a heartbeat now and then.”
Wilhelm’s grip tightened again around the reins. “This conversation has gone far enough.”
Henry shook his head. “No. It has not. Because you cannot protect Tessa while ignoring your own needs forever.”
The words struck closer than Wilhelm cared to admit and he realized, with a dull surprise, that he had never truly known desire at all. Leah’s face surfaced then, kind but distant in the way of someone who had been a companion rather than an object of passion. What they had shared had been rooted in friendship and duty, not hunger or choice. The marriage itself had felt like a smart decision, something to be fulfilled rather than desired. Even the night that had given him Tessa had carried more obligation than want.
He had done what was expected of him, nothing more.
Whatever stirred in him now had nothing to do with duty or propriety. It was not careful or restrained or born of necessity. It unsettled him precisely because it was new. Because, for the first time, he found himself wanting a woman not because he had to, but because he could not seem to help himself. He dismissedthe thought and ran a hand along his horse’s mane, the familiar motion grounding him. “I have no time for distractions.”
Henry gave a short, humorless laugh. “You have no shortage of time. You have restraint. There is a difference.”
Wilhelm’s jaw tightened. “I am not interested in marriage.”
“Nor am I suggesting it,” Henry said evenly. “I am speaking of desire. Of allowing yourself something human, for once. The woman clearly wants you. You want her. That is not a failing, Wilhelm.”
Wilhelm did not answer at once. The wind tugged at his cloak, cold and insistent.
“You need not make promises,” Henry continued more quietly. “Nor ruin her life. But denying yourself entirely helps no one, least of all your daughter.”
Wilhelm said nothing, but the unease twisting in his chest only grew.
The silence stretched again, thicker now, the air dense with unspoken truths. Henry eventually slowed his horse, allowing the distance between them to lengthen, as though giving Wilhelm space to breathe.
They rode until the path curved and the hills gave way to the sweeping view of Kirkford Hall in the distance. Smoke curled from its chimneys, warm and consistent against the winter sky.
Henry broke the silence first. “You fear she will disrupt the order of your household.”
“I fear she already has.”
Henry nodded. “Then perhaps it is not disruption you fear, but change.”
Wilhelm stiffened. “There is nothing wrong with the way my household runs.”
“There is nothing wrong with it,” Henry agreed. “But that does not mean it must remain unchanged forever.”
Wilhelm felt the tension coil inside him again. “I am the head of my household. My rules are necessary.”
“And yet, despite your rules, no governess has stayed for more than a few weeks,” Henry reminded, though his tone held no mockery this time.
Wilhelm’s throat tightened. He knew Henry had a point. Tessa was difficult to care for not because she was unruly, but because the weight of others’ judgement had scarred her more than anything visible on her face. .
Each governess before Miss Watton had struggled with that balance, too intimidated or too cruel to look past Tessa’s scars and truly understand her heart.
