They remained out in the snow far longer than Wilhelm had intended. Tessa demanded one turn after the other with tireless enthusiasm. Her laughter rang across the grounds as though she meant to fill every quiet corner of the estate with it.
He affected reluctance out of habit, issuing half-hearted warnings about the cold and propriety, yet beneath that practiced severity something in him was loosening, drawn out by the sight of his daughter’s unguarded joy and by Madeline’s presence at her side. He hadn’t felt this in years—a subtle relief from his usual restraint made it briefly easier to breathe, his composure nearly breaking into a faint smile as the burden grew lighter. On some runs, Wilhelm took a turn sledding with his daughter. On others, Miss Watton rode behind the little girl. With each pass, Tessa’s confidence grew until she insisted that she was prepared to tackle the hill all on her own as she had that first time.
Reluctantly, Wilhelm agreed to let her try again and for making this concession, he received an affectionate smile from Miss Watton.
Wilhelm became so consumed with watching his governess that he was startled when Tessa squealed. He looked up to find his daughter careening down the slope at top speed. When Tessa stumbled at the bottom of the hill, his body reacted before his thoughts had time to intervene. He moved toward her at once, lifting her easily into his arms. Snow dusted his coat as she laughed breathlessly and assured him she was unharmed.
The gesture surprised him in its swiftness, and he felt Madeline close beside him a moment later, brushing snow from Tessa’s hair with calm, practiced motions.
As Madeline straightened, her gloved hand lingered at his sleeve, sweeping away a clump of snow that clung there. The contact was slight but concentrated enough to send awareness flaring through him immediately.
“Thank you,” Madeline said quietly. “For today.”
He met her gaze then inclined his head in acknowledgment, holding himself very still as he reined in the urge to reach for her in return.
When at last the cold drove them back inside, their faces flushed and hands numb, Tessa was breathless with happiness, chattering all the way to the stairs.
“Will you come to my room?” she asked, turning hopeful eyes on her father. “Please. Miss Watton can read to us.”
Wilhelm hesitated. His gaze dropped first to his daughter and saw the hopeful set of her mouth, the careful way she held herself as though already bracing for refusal. Something in his chest tightened.
Then he looked at Madeline. She met his eyes briefly, offering no encouragement beyond a quiet attentiveness, as though content to accept whatever he decided.
There was work waiting. A stack of correspondence lay untouched on his desk, matters that would not resolve themselves. And yet, with his daughter watching him so earnestly and Miss Watton standing there, calm and unassuming, the refusal formed and then quietly dissolved.
“Yes,” he said. “For a while.”
They settled by the fire in Tessa’s room, the warmth sinking into Wilhelm’s bones as servants brought hot chocolate and biscuits, then withdrew, closing the door quietly behind themselves. Madeline took a book from the shelf, her fingers moving with familiarity as she flipped the pages and began to read.
Her voice filled the room, steady and expressive, changing subtly with each character, each turn of the story. Wilhelm watched her as much as he listened. He admired the way her mouth shaped the words, the way her throat moved when she swallowed, as well as the graceful line of her neck as she tilted her head.
He should not have been thinking of her that way. He knew that. And yet his thoughts betrayed him, drifting to the warmth of her body against his earlier, to the way she laughed without restraint in the snow, and to the strength beneath her gentleness.
He forced his gaze away, focusing on Tessa as her eyelids drooped and her breathing slowing. When Madeline finished the chapter, the room was quiet save for the crackle of the fire.
Wilhelm rose, lifting Tessa with practiced care, carrying her to the bed. He tucked the blankets around her, smoothing her hair back, and for a moment he allowed himself to simply stand there, watching her sleep. He counted her breaths as he monitored the steady rise and fall of her chest.
“She has not been this happy in a long time,” he said quietly as they stepped back into the corridor.
Madeline’s expression softened. “It was a good day,” she said. “She will remember it.”
He turned to her then and really looked at her. “Thank you,” he said. “For today.”
She inclined her head. “It is my pleasure. And my duty.”
“Were you close to children growing up?” he asked. “Is that why this comes so naturally to you?”
She seemed to consider the question. “I was an only child,” she said. “But I used to wish for a sibling. I imagine many children do.”
He nodded slowly. Tessa was alone in a house too large for one small girl. “Perhaps she wishes the same.”
“Perhaps,” Madeline agreed. “But today, what she wanted most was time with you. You gave her that.”
Their gazes held. For a moment, the space between them felt charged again, that same dangerous pull drawing them closer. He had the sudden, overwhelming urge to reach for her, to close the distance and feel her warmth once more.
“She will cherish that memory,” Madeline said softly.
“You are quite wise for your years,” he replied.
