CHAPTER 14
“Do you think we’ll go out today?” Tessa stood by the tall window with her hands braced against the sill, her posture alert, her whole body angled toward the street as if she might will London to present itself to her like a storybook illustration.
“Out where?” Madeline asked, keeping her voice even as she closed the book gently, her finger marking the page.
“Into London,” Tessa said at once, turning back with wide eyes. The eagerness in her expression was so bright it was almost painful. “Papa said we would see things. Shops, and the river, and the big streets with all the people.” She scowled slightly, then added with the bluntness of a child who had not yet learned to pretend disappointment did not sting, “We’ve only seen this house.”
Madeline’s throat clenched. The townhouse was magnificent, certainly, all restrained elegance and polished wood. Yet to Madeline it felt like a beautiful cage set in the middle of themost dangerous landscape imaginable, because London did not simply contain people, it contained memories, and gossip, and the kind of chance encounter that could end a life in a heartbeat without ever spilling blood.
“Not today,” Madeline said, moving from her chair with measured calm and crossing to stand beside Tessa, close enough that the child’s warmth pressed faintly against her sleeve. She glanced down at the street, at the blur of movement beyond the glass, and felt the familiar constriction in her chest, sharp as a needle. “Your father has business.”
Tessa’s lips pursed. “He always has business.”
Madeline smiled faintly at the truth of it. Then, her smile threatened to become something else, something softer, because she could still see Wilhelm at breakfast when he announced the trip. He’d set his shoulders in a stiff line before speaking. While he talked, his gaze had flicked to her before he looked away as though he were chastising himself for staring at her. He had been so rigidly composed that morning, and yet there was an undercurrent beneath it, something restless and determined, as though he had chosen visiting London for reasons he did not intend to name.
“That is the burden of being a Duke,” Madeline said gently.
Tessa turned her head to study her, suspicion narrowing her eyes in a way that always made Madeline feel unnervingly seen, because it was not only Wilhelm who watched too closely. “But you don’t like going out either,” Tessa said, not unkindly,simply stating what she had observed. “Is that why I always stay indoors?”
Madeline’s breath stalled. She kept her gaze on the street for a moment longer than necessary, letting the pause feel natural, letting her composure settle back into place like a shawl drawn up against wind.
“It has been a long time since I lived in a city,” Madeline said at last, giving the half-truth she could afford. “I am out of practice.”
Tessa’s mouth twitched. “Does it make you feel funny?”
“Yes,” Madeline admitted, because there was no point pretending with Tessa. Even though she had only been with the child for a month, Madeline had learned that honest answers, given calmly, could teach a child that fear did not have to be hidden to be controlled. “It does.”
Tessa accepted this with a solemn nod, as though filing it away among vital facts she could review later. Then she turned back toward the street again, but her shoulders shifted, restless energy rising. “I don’t like sitting still,” she declared. “When I sit still, my head gets loud.”
Madeline’s heart softened so quickly it almost hurt. She understood that too well, the way silence could sharpen into something dangerous, the way the mind could become a crueler captor than any person. It was part of why she had always kept her hands busy, why she found comfort in tasks that had clearsteps and tangible results, because certain thoughts could not be allowed to roam unchecked.
“Then perhaps we should not sit still,” Madeline said slowly, an idea forming with sudden clarity. The diversion would not only serve as a distraction, but it would also be something better. This new thought could give Tessa a sense of agency, a sense of capability that might remain with her even on days when the world felt sharp. “Perhaps today is not for books and recitation.”
Tessa spun around. “No lessons?”
“Differentlessons,” Madeline corrected, walking back toward the small table and setting the book aside, as though making room not only on the surface but in their day. “You are learning music and languages, geography and literature, and those are important.”
She glanced toward the pianoforte, its polished surface catching the light. “Music, especially,” she added more softly. “When I play, it feels as though the world grows quieter. As though I am somewhere else entirely, somewhere safer, where nothing is expected of me except to listen and follow the sound.”
Tessa watched her closely. “Is that why you like it so much?”
Madeline smiled. “Yes. Because it belongs to me.”
Tessa’s mouth puckered in thought. After a moment, she shook her head. “I don’t think I wish to practice today.”
Madeline did not press her. Instead, she nodded, accepting the choice as easily as it was given. “That is quite all right. Education is not only for the mind,” she said, her voice warming as she spoke. “It is also for the hands.”
Tessa’s brows rose. “For the hands?”
“For practical accomplishments,” Madeline said, and her voice warmed as she spoke because the thought made sense in a way that felt almost comforting. “Things you can do that belong to you, useful things that give you confidence.”
Tessa leaned forward. “Like what?”
Madeline hesitated for only a moment, then smiled. “Would you like to learn how to bake biscuits?”
The reaction was instantaneous. Tessa’s eyes widened so much that her whole face seemed to brighten.
“Bake,” she repeated, as though tasting the word. “In the kitchen?”
