For a heartbeat, she could not speak at all, because her first instinct was to deny it, to laugh it off. She knew she ought to tell Tessa not to say such things, but there was too much innocence in the wish, too much love, and her throat closed around the sudden swell of emotion she had no right to show.
“Tessa,” she managed as she reached to smooth the hair back from the child’s forehead, using the motion to hide the tremor in her fingers, “That’s a very sweet thing to say.”
“It’s true,” Tessa insisted, and her stubbornness returned like a shield because it was easier to be fierce than it was to be sad. “You don’t get angry at me for little things. You don’t act like I’m annoying. You don’t… you don’t stare. You just talk to me like I’m normal.”
Madeline’s breath caught, and she forced herself to keep stroking Tessa’s hair rhythmically, , because if she stopped, the ache might rise too high.
“You are normal,” Madeline said. The words were simple, but they carried everything she believed. “You are clever and funny and stubborn, and you have a father who would tear the world apart to keep you safe. You deserve to be treated with respect, always.”
Tessa made a small sound, half-sigh, half-protest, but she was drifting now, her lashes lowering, her breathing beginning to slow.
Madeline stayed until the child’s grip on her sleeve loosened, until the tension in her face eased and sleep finally claimed her. Only then did Madeline rise, moving quietly around the room to dim the lamp, to bank the fire, to smooth the blanket up to Tessa’s shoulders with the same reverence she brought to every tender task, as though care itself was something sacred.
Madeline closed the bedroom door softly and stood in the corridor, one hand resting against the wood as if she needed support. The house was quieter on this floor, the distant music below muffled now, the laughter reduced to an occasional drift of sound that reminded her the ball still lived on without her, that Wilhelm was down there fulfilling a role while she hid in the shadows of what she had almost become.
Unbidden, the thought returned with a force that made her stomach turn. The face she had glimpsed in the ballroom—gone before she could be certain—might not have been her mother at all. And yet the distinction no longer mattered.
If it had not been her tonight, it could be tomorrow, or the next ball.
Her mother moved through society too easily; she always had. It was only a matter of time before their paths crossed, and Madeline knew better than to believe herself invisible forever.
The realization chilled her more than the possibility of recognition ever could. She had lingered too long. Had begun to imagine constancy where none was possible. She had forgotten she had to leave Wilhelm and Tessa. Their household had begunto feel like something she might remain within. Her mother would find her eventually if she stayed. And when she did, knowing her mother, Madeline wouldn’t be the only one to go down.
You cannot stay,she told herself because the thought came with brutal clarity, clean and unforgiving.You cannot be the woman Tessa wishes for.
She had two choices, and neither of them felt bearable.
She could tell Wilhelm the truth, and watch the change come over his face as he realized she was not the harmless governess he had tried to protect, but a woman with shadows behind her who had lied by omission every day she stood in his home.
Or she could wait until he found a wife who would treat Tessa gently, a wife who could take the child’s hand in public without flinching, who could stand between her and the cruelty of strangers without needing to hide behind propriety. Then Madeline could leave quietly, as though she had never been there at all, slipping out of their lives before longing turned into something that demanded to be named.
The thought of leaving made her chest ache in a way that felt almost physical, because she pictured Tessa’s face when she realized she had been abandoned again, and she pictured Wilhelm’s silence.
Madeline drew a slow breath, forcing her shoulders back, forcing herself into motion, because stillness was almost a temptation,and tonight she had already discovered how quickly desire could turn improper.
CHAPTER 23
The days after the ball settled into an uneasy rhythm, one that Wilhelm felt acutely even as he told himself he understood it. Madeline did nothing wrong. She fulfilled her duties with precision and care, guiding Tessa through her lessons, walking beside her on the grounds, speaking to Wilhelm when necessary with courtesy and restraint. She was, in every outward sense, the ideal governess.
And she kept her distance. No lingering in doorways. No moments where their hands brushed by accident. No glances held a heartbeat too long. When Wilhelm entered a room, Madeline ensured there was always space between them, physical and otherwise, as though proximity itself had become the problem.
His rational mind recognized it for what it was—they had crossed a line, and she was restoring it. His heart, however, was far less accommodating. It followed her relentlessly, noted the careful way she angled her body away from him, the way her gaze dropped the moment it caught his, the faint tension thatlived in her shoulders now, like a string drawn too tight. And worse, he felt it in himself, the constant effort of restraint, the deliberate stillness he imposed on his own hands when instinct urged him to reach, to touch, to claim some reminder that the garden had not been a fevered illusion.
At night, he slept poorly. When he did sleep, he dreamed of her with unnerving clarity. The weight of her against him. The sound she made when she came apart beneath his touch. The way she had looked at him afterward, fear and longing braided together so tightly he had not known which one to reach for first.
This could not continue. And yet, he could not bring himself to force a confrontation when she had retreated. Still, he refused to surrender what time he could claim.
“Prepare the carriage,” Wilhelm said to the butler one morning, standing in the entry hall as Madeline adjusted Tessa’s cloak. “We are going out.”
Madeline froze for the briefest moment, her fingers tightening at Tessa’s collar before she smoothed it away. “Out, Your Grace?”
“Yes,” he replied, watching her carefully. “An outing. All three of us.”
Tessa’s face lit at once. “Truly?”
“Truly,” Wilhelm said, allowing a faint smile. “And Miss Watton will join us.”
Madeline inclined her head, her expression composed, but the pause before she reached for her own coat did not escape him. She drew the heavy wool close around herself, fastening it higher than necessary.
