“Dear Tessa,” he announced, turning toward the girl with exaggerated distress, “come rescue me. Your governess has absolutely undone me.”
Tessa giggled and ran to catch his sleeve. “Uncle Henry, you are being very silly.”
“Silly,” Henry repeated gravely, placing a hand to his heart as he looked back at the ladies. “Miss Watton, it seems you inspire me to foolishness!”
Tessa laughed and ran to him, grabbing his hand. Henry winced dramatically as if the contact had injured him, sending her into another burst of giggles.
’Miss Watton’s blush deepened, her lashes lowering, her fingers curling slightly into her skirt as if she were unsure what to do with the sudden attention.
Tension built and bunched in Willhelm’s shoulders. The sound of Henry’s flirtation slid under his skin like a burr, and the blush on Madeline’s cheeks made his pulse grind painfully against his own restraint.
He stepped forward then, not abruptly, but with a decisive presence that made Henry’s brows lift in quiet amusement and Madeline to straighten at once. Her eyes flicked to him and she regarded him closely as if trying to decipher his next move.
Before the silence could tighten further, Henry crouched slightly and held out a hand toward Tessa.
“Come now,” he said kindly. “I would love to hear you play.”
Tessa hesitated only a moment before allowing herself to be led back to the pianoforte. Henry settled her on the bench with exaggerated care, murmuring something low that coaxed a small smile from her, and at last the child turned her attention to the keys.
But Wilhelm kept watching Madeline as she leaned lightly against the pianoforte, smoothing a stray curl behind her ear, her gaze soft as she watched Tessa play. The faintest smile touched her lips, one he doubted she realized she was wearing, and something in his chest tightened painfully.
Henry turned his head back toward Wilhelm, his expression faintly amused. “You did not tell me she looked like that.”
Wilhelm glared. “Those were facts that were better left unsaid.”
Henry only grinned wider and turned his attention back to the pianoforte just as Tessa struck the final notes of her piece. The music lingered a moment in the air before fading into silence.
Tessa slipped from the bench at once and, with great solemnity, swept into an exaggerated bow that sent her curls tumbling forward.
“Very impressive,” Henry said warmly, clapping once.
With a satisfied smile, Tessa darted toward Wilhelm’s side, clearly pleased with herself.
Then Henry, still humming faintly, turned back to Madeline, his eyes glinting with mischief. “Miss Watton, would you do us the honor of playing something?”
Madeline’s lashes fluttered in surprise. “Playing?”
“Yes, you,” Henry insisted, extending an inviting hand toward the gleaming pianoforte. “After going for a long ride, I long to hear a jaunty tune.”
Tessa bounced on her toes, curls bobbing. “She does! Papa, she plays better than anyone I’ve heard before!”
Miss Watton hesitated. He saw it clearly in the way her fingers curled lightly together, then loosened, her shoulders drawing in a fraction before she forced them straight. A delicate blush returned to her pallor and crept along the edge of her collar, softening the lines of her throat.
“It has been some time since I played for an audience,” she murmured.
Henry pressed a dramatic hand to his chest. “Then we are honored to receive such an exclusive performance.”
Tessa tugged eagerly at the fabric of ’Miss Watton’s sleeve. “Please? I want Papa to hear.”
The governess looked down at the little girl with tender surprise, her lips parting in a small, unguarded smile. Then her gaze lifted slowly, almost shyly, toward Wilhelm.
Their eyes met. There was a softness in hers as well as a searching quality that brushed against the edges of his composure. It felt as though she was asking for something, notpermission exactly, but recognition that her playing mattered to him.
He wished to encourage her and inclined his head once. Her breath escaped in a quiet rush, the faintest tremor easing from her shoulders as she moved to the bench and sat.
Her skirts pooled gracefully around her, a dark, soft spill against the wood. She smoothed the fabric over her knees with slow, careful strokes, her fingertips lingering as though grounding herself. A loose strand of hair slipped from her coiffure and swept across her cheek; she brushed it back gently, unaware of how the small gesture tugged at his attention.
Her fingers hovered above the keys. She paused, inhaling deeply, her eyes lowering in concentration. The moment stretched, fragile as glass, the entire room waiting on her next breath.
