Tessa bounced in her chair. “Will I have a new dress?”
“Yes,” he agreed. “We will go to the modiste.”
Madeline’s breath caught. Now? She tapped her fingers in her lap. “Your Grace,” she said quickly, “what of our lesson?”
Wilhelm glanced at the book, then back at her. “You told me you value practical lessons,” he said. “A visit to the modiste seems practical enough.”
Madeline felt a strange, treacherous mixture of dread and longing coil in her chest. Part of her wanted to refuse outright, to retreat into the safety of routine and distance. Another, quieter, part, ached at the thought of standing beside him again, of feeling his presence so close it made her skin hum.
She looked at Tessa, at the excitement bright in her eyes, and knew the decision had already been made.
“Very well,” Madeline said softly.
For a moment, none of them moved. The air between Madeline and Wilhelm felt charged, stretched thin as wire. She was acutely aware of every inch of space between them, of the way his gaze lingered just a fraction longer than necessary before he turned away.
“Finish the chapter,” he said to Tessa. “Then we will leave.”
“Yes, Papa!”
Wilhelm stepped back toward the door, pausing only long enough to look at Madeline again. His expression was composed, but his eyes betrayed him, just enough to make her heart stutter painfully.
As the door closed behind him, Madeline sank back into her chair, her pulse racing, her thoughts a riot of fear and yearning.
A ball. She would stand in a room full of people and watch him dance with other women, would feel the weight of her own stillness as she remained at the edges, smiling when expected to smile, speaking only when spoken to, careful not to linger too long in anyone’s gaze, not to be seen. All it would take was one face she half-recognized, one name spoken too familiarly, and everything she had so carefully built here could unravel.
And yet she would be there for Tessa, close enough to steady her, to read the smallest shift in her mood, and to step in before excitement tipped into overwhelm.
That, at least, gave the moment a shape she could bear. Madeline drew a slow, steadying breath and pressed a hand briefly to her chest, as though she might quiet the wild, treacherous truth beating there, the part of her that recoiled at the knowledge that she would be visible without ever being safe, and the thought of Wilhelm offering his hand to another woman while she watched from the margins.
“There,” Madeline said warmly. “You see? You didn’t need my help at all.”
Tessa beamed, the tension leaving her shoulders all at once. “Papa will be impressed.”
Madeline’s heart gave a small lurch at the word, but she kept her expression composed as she closed the book and stacked itneatly atop the others. She aligned the edges with slowness that bordered on reverence, as though the simple act of order might restore balance inside her own thoughts.
“We’ll stop here,” she said. “You’ve earned it.”
Tessa slid off her chair at once with renewed energy. “Can my dress have sparkles?” she asked breathlessly. “And ribbons?”
“We’ll see what the modiste has,” Madeline replied, smoothing a stray curl back into place with practiced tenderness. “But first, we tidy.”
Tessa sighed theatrically but obeyed, gathering her pencils and pushing her chair in with exaggerated care. Madeline moved beside her, straightening the desk, wiping a faint smudge of ink from the wood, her hands careful even as her pulse skittered beneath her skin. The room felt suddenly too small, too full of what was coming.
Upstairs, the pace quickened. Madeline helped Tessa change, fastening buttons, tying ribbons, murmuring reassurances when the girl bounced too much to stand still. She fetched her own reticule and changed into her best dress, her fingers working automatically as she checked that Tessa’s gloves were paired and tucked neatly away.
These small, practical tasks grounded her. They asked nothing of her heart, and she clung to them.
A presence at the doorway made her still.
Wilhelm stood there, already gloved, his posture composed, his gaze briefly taking in the room before settling on his daughter. “Are you ready?”
“Yes,” Tessa said at once, darting toward him. “Miss Watton says I did very well in reading.”
Wilhelm’s mouth curved faintly. “I don’t doubt it.”
His eyes flicked to Madeline then, just for a moment, and she felt the familiar, dangerous awareness ripple through her despite herself. She lowered her gaze at once, dipping her head in acknowledgment.
They descended the stairs together in near silence, the sound of their footsteps echoing softly through the hall. Outside, the carriage waited, dark and polished, the horses shifting impatiently as the door was opened.
