Tessa climbed in first, settling eagerly between them, her feet swinging as though she could hardly contain herself. Madeline followed, arranging her skirts carefully, and Wilhelm stepped in last, the door closing with a solid thud that seemed to seal them into the space.
The carriage lurched forward.
The interior was close, faintly scented with leather and polish, the rhythmic clatter of wheels underscoring Tessa’s chatter as she leaned forward, peering out the window.
“Do you think they’ll have blue fabric?” she asked. “Or green ribbons? I like green best.”
“We’ll see,” Wilhelm replied, his tone even.
Madeline folded her hands in her lap and fixed her gaze on the passing street beyond the window, counting the turns, the jolts, and the familiar landmarks slipping by. With every jolt of the wheels, she reminded herself of the truth she could afford to hold.
This was only duty. She was here for a child who needed her. Only for dear Tessa. Nothing more.
CHAPTER 19
“Miss,” Wilhelm said, and there was steel beneath the calm in his tone, “you will look at my daughter’s face when you speak to her.”
Madeline’s hand tightened around the strap of her reticule as they stepped into the modiste’s shop, the bell above the door chiming too brightly for the way her nerves clenched. The room was warm, scented with starch and lavender sachets, bolts of fabric stacked like orderly promises along the walls, mannequins dressed in silks that caught the light in soft waves. It was quiet and for a brief moment Madeline was grateful because she had not wanted to thread herself through a crowd today.
The modiste—plump, powdered, and rigid with expectation at the sight of a Duke—had been smiling until her gaze fell to Tessa.
It was not the staring that was unforgivable.
Human eyes could be thoughtless and curious without malice. But there was something wrong with the length of it, the pause that stretched too far, the faint tightening at the woman’s mouth as though she were witnessing something unfortunate and wished to pretend otherwise.
Tessa’s shoulders drew inward almost immediately, her excitement faltering for a heartbeat as she shifted closer to Madeline’s side.
Madeline placed her hand lightly at Tessa’s back, a quiet brace.
Wilhelm had noticed and his body went still in the way it did when anger was restrained rather than released.
“My apologies, Your Grace,” the modiste said quickly, her eyes jerking upward, smile returning in a practiced snap. “I did not mean to stare. It is just… one does not often?—”
“You will keep the shop closed until we have departed,” Wilhelm interrupted, voice even, the words carrying no room for argument. “For the next quarter hour, you will attend only to my daughter.”
The modiste blinked. “Your Grace?—”
Wilhelm reached into his pocket and drew out a small leather purse, placing it on the counter with a motion that made the coins inside clink softly. “For your time,” he said, his gazeholding hers until the smile on her face became something more nervous than pleased.”
Madeline had not often seen him protective in this way, and something in her chest responded with a rush that was both warmth and ache. She did not want to look at him, because she was terrified her face would betray her.
The modiste swallowed, then nodded briskly. “Of course, Your Grace. Of course. I shall put up the sign.”
She moved quickly toward the door, flipping the lock and drawing the curtain, and the world outside vanished into muted light and shadow.
Tessa exhaled as though she had been holding her breath. “Now it’s only us.”
Wilhelm’s gaze softened by the smallest margin as he looked down at his daughter. “Just us,” he whispered. “We shall have the run of the place.”
Tessa’s excitement flared back to life with the speed of a match catching flame. “Can I try everything?”
“Within reason,” Wilhelm replied, though Madeline saw the faintest curve at the edge of his mouth, the indulgence he pretended not to possess.
The modiste returned at once, hands clasped tightly. Her manner was suddenly brisk and eager. “What colors does the young lady prefer?”
“Blue,” Tessa said instantly. “And green. And maybe pink, but not dusty pink.”
The modiste laughed too loudly. “Of course. Of course. We have the loveliest shades.”
