“With Henry,” Wilhelm replied, reaching out to smooth her hair in a brief, habitual gesture. “It is a dinner party.”
Tessa’s mouth puckered, disappointment plain. “But we just got here.”
Madeline felt the tug of that disappointment keenly, more cutting than it ought to have been, and she knelt slightly so she could meet Tessa’s gaze, her own smile gentle and encouraging even as her pulse beat too fast beneath her stays.
“Your father will not be long,” she said softly. “And you and I can have dinner together, just the two of us. Does that sound so dreadful?”
Tessa hesitated, then sighed with exaggerated resignation. “I suppose not.”
Madeline glanced up at Wilhelm as she spoke, aware of his attention to her, the weight of it exposing and unsettling all at once. “You should enjoy yourself, Your Grace,” she added, carefully polite. “You deserve a pleasant evening.”
Something flickered in his expression then, too quick to name, before he inclined his head. “Thank you, Miss Watton.”
The servants quickly led Tessa and Madeline to their rooms. Wilhelm stayed downstairs, slipping into his public armor. As Madeline followed Tessa upstairs, she reminded herself that keeping her distance was wise, and that whatever passed between them at the estate no longer belonged here.
By the time evening settled in fully, the townhouse felt quieter, though not calmer. Madeline sat with Tessa in the small room set aside for her lessons, a neat, well-appointed space that overlooked the street. The muffled sounds of carriages and voices drifted faintly through the glass, a constant reminder of how close the world was, pressing in from all sides.
She tried to focus on Tessa’s reading, on the careful shaping of letters and sounds, on the steady rhythm of correction and praise that usually anchored her mind, but her thoughts slipped away from her with alarming ease, pulled instead toward the street below and the question of how to avoid it entirely. London was too crowded, too full of chance encounters and watchful eyes.
Captain Hale moved through London as though it belonged to him.
He had found her once already in the very way she feared now. She remembered his knock at her old lodgings, the easy confidence of it, as if he had every right to stand there. She remembered the way he said her name, as though her mother had already won.
Madeline could already imagine him in the park, strolling with feigned leisure, scanning faces beneath the pretense of enjoying the air, or at a shop window, speaking lightly to a shopkeeper while his eyes tracked the movement of a small girl and the governess beside her. And if he saw her, he would wait then follow. He would learn their address, and then he would appearat Wilhelm’s door with that same easy confidence, smiling as though he had merely come to pay a call.
She found herself already planning routines that would keep them indoors, lessons that could be extended, games that did not require fresh air or public parks, and excuses she could offer the Duke if he insisted upon outings. She could keep Tessa drawing, reading, and playing music. All those occupations did not require them to stir out of doors and that kept them safely inside a house with locked doors and servants who answered only to Wilhelm.
“Miss Watton?”
Madeline startled slightly, lifting her gaze to find Tessa watching her with narrowed eyes, her head tilted in unmistakable suspicion. “Yes?”
Tessa crossed her arms over her chest, one foot swinging idly beneath the table. “You’re not listening.”
Madeline smiled, a little ruefully, and shifted closer, resting her hand on the edge of the desk. “I am listening.”
Tessa leaned forward, elbows pressing into the wood, her voice dropping as though she were sharing a secret. “You were thinking,” she said firmly, tapping the page with one finger. “About something else.”
Madeline hesitated, her fingers pausing mid-motion before she reached out to straighten the page in front of her, smoothing it more carefully than necessary as she bought herself a moment.
“Perhaps I was,” she admitted at last. “London is… rather overwhelming.”
Tessa considered this, her head tipping slightly to one side. “Have you been here before?”
“A long time ago,” Madeline replied, choosing her words with care, offering the half-truth that felt safest. “I am not accustomed to so many people.”
Tessa nodded solemnly, as though this was a serious failing of the city rather than a personal discomfort. “I imagine when we visit the park there will be a great many people,” she agreed. “But I’ll stay with you, so you need not worry.”
Madeline’s breath caught unexpectedly. “You will?”
“Yes,” Tessa said firmly, reaching out to pat Madeline’s hand with small fingers. “If it gets too much, you can just hold my hand. Papa says it is easier when you don’t face things alone.”
The words struck deeper than Madeline was prepared for, her breath uneven as she reached out to cup Tessa’s cheek, her thumb brushing gently against the child’s skin. “You are very wise,” she murmured. “I am very lucky to have met you.”
Tessa beamed. “And Papa,” she added, with the unthinking generosity of a child.
Madeline’s smile wavered, affection and guilt twisting together in her chest. Yes, she was lucky, and that luck felt increasingly like theft. She had not intended to form an attachment to the Duke. Nor had she planned for his country estate to feel like shelter rather than employment. She had believed, foolishly, that his reserved nature would keep them safely distant from society, that Kirkford Hall would offer anonymity by default, and now she had brought them here, into the heart of everything she feared.
Madeline crossed to the window and parted the curtains just enough to peer out at the street below, the glow of lamps reflecting off damp cobblestones, figures moving with purpose and anonymity alike. Somewhere in that city, the Duke was dining with his friend, Lord Heathson. They were seated at a table surrounded by people who knew his name and his title and very little else, and the thought stirred something in her chest.
