She wrote the note with hands that trembled despite her effort to control them, choosing her words carefully, sparing him as much pain as she could while knowing it would not be enough.
Then, she tiptoed out of Wilhelm’s room and went to her chambers.
There, she packed what little she owned, and left the room without looking back.
The night air was sharp against her skin as she stepped out into the cold, the door closing softly behind her. The house loomed silent and unaware, and for a moment she stood there, breathing deeply, committing the warmth of it to memory.
Then she turned and disappeared into darkness, carrying with her the weight of love she did not believe she deserved, and the certainty that leaving was the only way she knew to protect it.
CHAPTER 27
“Madeline?”
The word left his mouth before he was fully awake, rough with sleep, already edged with something sharper beneath it. His hand reached instinctively across the bed, expecting her scent and the familiar give of her body beneath his palm.
There was nothing.
Wilhelm opened his eyes. The bed beside him lay undisturbed. The sheets were cool, neatly folded back as though she had taken great care not to wake him. The space where she had slept was empty in a way that struck him immediately as wrong.
“Madeline,” he said again, sitting up now, his voice firmer, the last remnants of sleep dissolving into alertness.
Silence answered him.
The fire in the hearth had burned low, little more than embers glowing faintly in the early morning light that filtered through the heavy curtains. His chambers, which only hours ago had felt loving, intimate, alive with her presence, now seemed too large, too orderly, as though something essential had been removed.
His gaze swept the room, and it took only a heartbeat for him to register what was missing. Her gown was gone, along with her shoes, and the realization settled into him with slow, unwelcome heaviness, a cold weight pressing into his chest as the truth began to surface.
He rose from the bed in a single, fluid movement, pulling on his trousers without thought. His mind already raced ahead of his body. He crossed the room in long strides, scanning every surface, every chair, every shadowed corner, as though she might somehow materialize if he simply looked hard enough.
Then he saw a single folded sheet of paper lay on the writing desk near the window, left to be found.
His hand stilled mid-motion.
“No,” he muttered, the word sharp, disbelieving.
He crossed the remaining distance and snatched the note up, unfolding it with fingers that had begun to tremble despite his effort to steady them.
Wilhelm,
I am so sorry. I could not stay, though every part of me wished to. Please do not look for me. I cannot bear to know that my presence has caused you harm, or that Tessa might suffer because of me.
What we shared will remain with me always, as will the kindness you showed me when I had almost forgotten what safety felt like. I know you will one day be happy, and I pray that the woman you choose will love you with the constancy and peace you deserve.
Please tell Tessa that I did not leave her. Tell her that she is cherished beyond words, and that she must never be afraid.
I will carry you both with me, wherever I go.
Madeline
The words blurred briefly before his eyes, and Wilhelm forced himself to quiet his breathing and read the note through to the end. His teeth clenched as he did, the paper creasing in his hand before he was aware of the pressure he was applying. When he finished, his fingers loosened and the note fell onto the desk. He remained where he was, unmoving, the sudden stillness of the room pressing in on him, his pulse loud and insistent as the reality of her absence settled with crushing clarity.
The hollow weight in his chest gave way to anger.
“You foolish, infuriating woman,” he said aloud, his voice low and bitter, the tone he recognized immediately as the prelude to action.
He had sensed it, even in sleep—.the careful stillness of her body when she thought him unaware. He had known she was capable of leaving, had known it in the part of him trained to anticipate risk and retreat, and yet he had refused to give the thought shape. He had chosen not to imagine it.
He dragged a hand through his hair and turned toward the wardrobe, already reaching for his coat. She believed she could vanish again, believed distance and silence would be enough to sever what she had left behind. She was wrong.
