Her shoulders sagged in relief. The strength she had been holding herself together with finally giving way. She reached for Madeline, who had appeared silently at her side, her face pale and taut with contained fury.
“I’ll take her,” Madeline said quietly.
Wilhelm’s gaze caught on Madeline at once. On the way her mouth was held too firmly, as though she were bracing herself against words she refused to speak, on the faint tremor in her hands as she drew Tessa closer, angling her body just enough to shield the child without making a spectacle of it. He recognized the look immediately. It was the echo of his own fury, sharpened by a love that was not allowed to bare its teeth in public.
“Thank you,” he said quietly.
The words were plain, but his voice was not. It was low, controlled, carrying an emphasis that made it clear he was thanking her for her presence, and loyalty, and loving his daughter fiercely and silently.
Madeline met his gaze for a brief second, just long enough for him to see the sheen in her eyes before she nodded and looked away.
As they turned toward the stairs, Tessa hesitated. She glanced back at him, her small face pinched with worry, her fingers still curled into the fabric of Madeline’s gown.
“Papa?”
“Yes, love.” He lowered himself just enough to meet her eyes, his attention narrowing entirely to her.
“I didn’t mean to spill it,” she said, the words rushed and fragile, as though she were afraid the accusation might still be hanging in the air somewhere.
“I know,” Wilhelm replied without pause, without qualification. His tone was firm, certain, leaving no room for doubt. “None of this was your fault.”
Her shoulders eased at once, the tension draining out of her as she nodded, reassured by his conviction. She reached for Madeline’s hand, gripping it with her small fingers, and allowed herself to be guided toward the stairs.
“I didn’t do it on purpose,” Tessa whispered the moment the bedroom door closed behind them, as though the latch itself had been holding her together and now that they were alone the words could finally fall out, small and trembling. “I didn’t even see her standing next to me. I was only trying to move out of the way.”
Madeline turned fully toward her, lowering herself to the child’s level slowly. The room lighting in the room was softer than it had been in the ballroom. There, hundreds of candles were placed throughout the space. In here, only a small fire burned low in the grate.
“I know you didn’t,” Madeline said, keeping her voice low and even as she reached for Tessa’s hands, which were cold despite the heat of the room. “It was an accident, and accidents happen to everyone.”
Tessa’s mouth pinched, her chin wobbling in a way that made Madeline’s chest tighten, because the child was fighting tears with fierce pride. She looked away, blinking hard, and then her gaze flicked toward the mirror as though she could still see the ballroom there, the glittering crowd, the woman’s face, the way the words had landed.
“She said it like it was my fault,” Tessa muttered, and there was a roughness in it that did not belong in a child’s voice. “She said it like… like I should know better because of my face.”
Madeline felt anger rise so quickly it nearly stole her breath, but she did not let it reach her hands or her tone, because Tessa needed steadiness more than she needed fury, and besides, anger was already waiting downstairs in the shape of her father. Madeline lifted one of Tessa’s hands and held it between both of her own, warming it with patient pressure.
“She said something cruel because she is a cruel person,” Madeline replied, making each word plain and certain. “And she only dared to say it because she thought you were alone, which tells you everything you need to know about her character.”
Tessa sniffed and climbed onto the bed without being asked, dragging the coverlet up as though she wanted to hide beneath it without fully admitting she wanted to hide at all. Madeline moved with her, smoothing the rumpled fabric, straightening the pillows, and pulling the curtains further closed to soften the night beyond the glass. She understood how small rituals mattered when the world felt too large.
For a minute, Tessa said nothing, her gaze fixed on the embroidered edge of the blanket. Then she blurted, too fast, as if she feared she would lose her courage if she waited, “I hope Papa doesn’t marry her.”
Madeline stilled, her hands pausing on the coverlet, because the words struck a place in her that was already tender and raw. She forced herself to keep her expression calm as she sat on the edge of the mattress, careful not to let any of her own fear leak into her face.
“He won’t,” Madeline said, choosing certainty for Tessa even if she did not feel it.
Tessa’s brows drew together; suspicion and worry tangled together in a child’s stare. “How do you know?”
Madeline held her gaze. “Because your father is not looking for a pretty smile,” she said quietly. “He is looking for someone with a good heart, someone who will treat you with kindness, and he has already seen what kind of person she is.”
Tessa’s shoulders eased by a fraction, though the hurt remained, lingering. “But there are lots of ladies,” she whispered. “And they all smiled at me, and then…” Her voice faltered, and she looked away again as if the memory embarrassed her.
Madeline felt the familiar ache of it, because she had watched it too, the sweetness that disappeared the moment attention drifted elsewhere, the careful performance of gentleness that did not survive a private moment. She leaned in and touched Tessa’s cheek lightly, not over the scars as though they were something separate, but as naturally as she would touch any child’s face.
“Then your father will keep looking,” Madeline said. “And he will choose carefully, because you matter more to him than all of them put together.”
The child’s gaze lingered on Madeline for a long moment, thoughtful now, as though she were turning a heavy idea over in her mind. Then she said, softly but very clearly, “I hope he finds a lady exactly like you.”
Madeline felt the words land with quiet force.
