Henry looked up from his desk, startled. “Gone?” he repeated. “Wilhelm—What do you mean?”
“She left in the night,” Wilhelm said, already pacing, his strides cutting across the room as though still mounted on his horse. “I woke and she was not there. She left a note. She believes she is protecting us by running, by removing herself before more damage can be done.” His hand went through his hair again, his breath uneven despite his effort to control it. “She thinks her mother will not stop. She thinks I will be ruined by association, that Tessa will be dragged into scandal, and she has decided that the only solution is to disappear.”
Henry pushed back his chair and rose slowly, his expression sharpening as the pieces fell into place. “Are you talking about Madeline?” he asked, brows drawn together. “What do you mean ‘her mother’?”
“Yes,” Wilhelm snapped. “Her mother had poisoned her and has been hunting her for years. She sent a scandal sheet that said Madeline was my mistress, Henry. She has already reached my house.”
Henry’s jaw tightened. “You should have led with that.”
“There was no time,” Wilhelm said, the words tumbling over one another now. “I will not leave her to face this alone. I will not allow her to vanish.”
Henry held up a hand. “All right,” he said firmly. “Stop. Sit, or you’ll wear a path through my floor.”
Wilhelm halted, though he did not sit, his hands braced against the back of a chair as he forced himself to draw a breath.
Henry circled the desk then, his tone shifting, urgency replacing surprise. “If she left quietly, she would have taken a stage or hired coach. She will avoid main roads if she can, probably stay in smaller inns, places where questions are not asked.”
“I know,” Wilhelm said. “That is exactly how she thinks.”
“Then we do this properly,” Henry said. “And we do it quietly. No proclamations. No panic. We ask questions.”
Wilhelm straightened, his gaze locking onto Henry’s. “I will find her.”
“And you will,” Henry replied, already reaching for his coat. “But not alone.”
They were moving within minutes.
Wilhelm rode hard. His thoughts were a relentless churn of fear and fury and something far more potent than either. Every mile that passed without her felt like a personal failure. Every stranger’s face became a potential threat.
They stopped at inns first, Wilhelm describing her with an intensity that startled even himself. Dark hair. Intelligent eyes. A manner too composed for her age. A lady traveling alone, careful, polite, unforgettable once seen.
Some shook their heads. Others hesitated.
He saw her everywhere, in every corner. Every dark-haired woman passing on the road could have been Madeline. She had been in his bed. In his arms. And now she believed she did not deserve him.
Wilhelm clenched his jaw, his hands squeezing the reins.
“I’m coming for you,” he murmured, whether to steady himself or to reach her across the miles, he did not know. “And this time, you will not leave.”
“Another cup of tea, miss?”
Madeline looked up at the innkeeper as though the voice had reached her from a great distance.
“No,” she said softly, then corrected herself with effort. “No, thank you. This will be quite sufficient.”
The woman hesitated, her gaze flicking briefly to the letter spread across the small table before Madeline, then nodded and withdrew. The common room was quiet at this hour, the morning rush long past, the air carrying the faint smells of damp wool and boiled herbs. It was the sort of anonymous, unremarkable place Madeline would once have found comforting. Now it felt like she was being exiled.
She bent her head again and forced herself to read what she had written, though the words blurred and swam almost immediately.
To the Headmistress,
I write to inquire whether you might be in need of a teacher for the coming term…
Her hand tightened around the pen. Scotland. Far enough to vanish. Far enough that even her mother’s reach might falter, at least for a time. A boarding school meant structure, rules, and protection in numbers.
It was sensible. Practical.
The thought made her stomach lurch and feel queasy. The idea of going to Scotland and leaving behind… all she held dear…
