“Shall we try another?” she asked, voice steady by sheer force of will.
Tessa nodded eagerly. “Yes. I want to draw courage now.”
Madeline smiled, but her pulse was still too quick, and her thoughts were suddenly a tangled mess of fear and relief and something far more complex than either. He had been watching her, but why?
“Courage,” Madeline echoed softly.
Tessa bent over the paper at once, charcoal scratching in quick, decisive lines, her earlier hesitation gone. Madeline watched her for a moment, then forced herself to look away, to breathe, to reassemble herself into the sensible governess she was meant to be in this house.
Yet the room no longer felt quite the same. The place where Wilhelm had stood seemed charged still, as though his attention had left an imprint on the air, something Madeline could feel even now, faint and unsettling. She told herself it was foolish, that she had imagined more than there had been, that a man like him did not linger in doorways for reasons that had anything to do with her.
And yet, she glanced toward the open doorway again. Empty.
Tessa hummed softly as she worked, absorbed in her drawing, the scrape of charcoal steady and confident. Madeline’s gaze drifted back to the child, to the way her shoulders were less drawn than they had been earlier, the way her movements carried less fear. That, at least, was real. That mattered.
If Wilhelm had been watching, perhaps it was only that. He was there for his daughter. He wished to monitor the progress Tessa made. Nothing more.
But when the lesson ended and Tessa proudly held up her drawing, when Madeline praised her and tucked the paper carefully aside, the echo of his gaze remained, quiet and insistent, refusing to be dismissed.
CHAPTER 10
“Good evening,” Madeline said, dipping into a small, proper curtsy as she entered the room with Tessa at her side, her hand hovering briefly at the girl’s shoulder as they crossed the threshold together.
Tessa surged forward at once, excitement carrying her several steps ahead before she caught herself with visible effort, remembering at the last moment that she was meant to behave with composure. She slowed abruptly, smoothed her skirts with exaggerated seriousness, and continued toward her father with a careful, overly deliberate grace that was far more earnest than elegant, and the sight of it made Madeline’s lips twitch despite herself.
The Duke had already risen slightly from his chair. His gaze flicked to Madeline as they approached, lingering for a fraction longer than propriety allowed before he looked away again, as though he had chastised himself for the lapse, his expression settling back into controlled neutrality.
“Miss Watton,” he said, his voice cool and precise, the formality deliberate. His gaze remained steady on her as he continued. “You will join us.”
Madeline blinked. “Your Grace?”
“For dinner,” he clarified evenly. “My daughter has spent the day with you. It would be discourteous to dismiss you now.”
Tessa looked between them, eyes bright with anticipation.
Madeline hesitated, acutely aware of the expectation he had set when she first arrived. Meals alone, or with the servants, never here. She felt the weight of the room, of his attention, of the unspoken question beneath the offer.
“I was only bringing Tessa,” she said carefully. “I did not mean to intrude.”
“You are not intruding,” he replied, the words measured. “I insist.”
Something in his tone left little room for refusal. After a brief pause, Madeline inclined her head.
“Very well,” she said quietly.
She drew out the chair opposite him and took her seat just as Tessa climbed eagerly into hers beside him, her feet swinging beneath the table, as she settled.
Before either adult could speak further she blurted out, unable to contain her pride, “Papa, Miss Watton let me draw today.”
’The Duke’s brow rose slightly. “Did she?”
“Yes,” Tessa said, beaming. “And I drew fear, and then I made it smaller.”
’His gaze sharpened, flicking to Madeline again. “You encouraged her to draw fear?”
Madeline kept her expression composed. “I encouraged her to draw what she felt.”
Tessa leaned forward eagerly. “And then Miss Watton said I could draw courage too.”
