The modiste’s voice softened, suddenly sincere. “I apologize. Truly. I did not think.”
“You will think,” Wilhelm said, and the finality in it left no room for argument. “Or you will not be paid at all.”
Madeline swallowed hard. Her fingers trembled as she changed back into her plain dress, her cheeks still burning, her mind spinning with the knowledge that he had defended her without hesitation, without concern for how it might look.
She emerged a few minutes later to find the modiste standing rigidly near the counter, eyes lowered, while Tessa hovered beside Madeline with a fierce, protective expression that made Madeline’s chest ache.
“I’m sorry,” the modiste said immediately, voice strained but genuine. “I was rude.”
Madeline forced herself to nod, though her throat was tight. “Thank you,” she managed.
Wilhelm stood beside the counter, one hand resting on the leather purse. His expression was composed again, cold authority reassembled, but his gaze flicked to Madeline with something that made her stomach dip.
He pushed the gown’s folded bundle toward the modiste. “We will take it,” he said.
Madeline blinked. “Your Grace?—”
Wilhelm did not look at her. “It is purchased.”
Tessa beamed. “I told you!”
Madeline’s breath caught. “You did not need to?—”
Wilhelm finally turned toward her, and the look in his eyes was so firm it stole her voice. “Yes,” he said quietly. “I did.”
Madeline kept her head lowered as they left the shop, as though if she looked up she might see ghosts of judgment lingering in the street beyond the modiste’s curtains, and she did not breathe properly until the carriage door shut behind them and the world outside became distant again.
Tessa chattered excitedly beside her, already describing how she would dance, how she would choose her partner, how she would eat little cakes without anyone scolding her.
Wilhelm sat opposite them, shoulders broad in the cramped space, one knee angled slightly as the carriage jolted forward, his gaze fixed on nothing outside the window.
Madeline’s hands clenched in her lap. “Your Grace,” she said carefully, because she could not keep it inside, “you needn’t have bought that gown.”
His gaze shifted to her, slow and intent. “You will be present at the ball.”
“That does not mean I require a new dress,” she said, though her voice trembled despite her effort. “I could remain in the background. I could?—”
“You will be beside Tessa,” Wilhelm interrupted, calm but unyielding.
. “You defended me,” Madeline whispered, and she hated how vulnerable it sounded.
Wilhelm’s jaw flexed once. “No one has the right to insult anyone in my household.”
The word made her pulse jump, but Madeline shook her head faintly. “I am only the governess.”
Wilhelm’s gaze held hers, dark and steady, and for a moment the carriage felt too small, the air too close. “You are the woman who has made my daughter laugh again,” he said quietly. “And you will not be made to feel ashamed in my presence.”
Madeline’s breath caught, heat unfurling low in her belly in spite of herself, because his voice did that to her, because his control was not coldness but restraint, and she felt the edge of what lay beneath it.
She looked away quickly, terrified of what her face might reveal, terrified of the hope trying to rise inside her despite every warning she had given herself.
This was duty, she reminded herself again, clinging to the thought as the carriage carried them back toward Kirkford House, toward a ball that would test her composure more cruelly than any lesson ever could.
And yet her body remembered the way he had looked at her in that gown, as though he had forgotten how to breathe, and no amount of duty could erase the truth of what that glance had done to her.
CHAPTER 20
“Smile,” Henry murmured under his breath, elbowing Wilhelm lightly as they paused at the edge of the ballroom. “Your governess has just entered with your daughter.”
