Chapter 4
“Please deliver this at once,” Madeline said softly, offering the sealed note to the footman in the entrance hall.
Her fingers brushed the parchment as she released it.
The sealing wax was still warm. She had sat at the small writing desk just moments before, steadying her hand despite a persistent tremor.
She had rewritten the letter twice, pressing each word into place as though it might anchor her in a life she had already left behind.
It felt like a goodbye she had not prepared herself to make.
The footman bowed. “Shall I expect a reply, miss?”
“No,” she answered at once, the word escaping her faster than decorum allowed. She realigned her posture and continued more calmly, “There is no need for the family to write back.”
The letter explained that an aunt of hers was gravely ill, which was why she had to suddenly depart, and she expressed her profound apologies for the abruptness.
Not a word of it was true, but the effort was necessary to cover her tracks, should Hale locate Mrs. Finch and sniff around for clues.
Madeline drew a slow breath, fighting the tight coil of guilt that pressed up beneath her ribs.
Mrs. Finch had been kind in her brisk, bustling way, and Jonah had clung to her hand with all the innocent devotion of a child who trusted easily and loved readily.
They deserved honesty, but honesty would lead Hale straight through their door.
Silence would be cruel and this, she told herself, was the gentler approach.
“Right away, miss,” the footman said with a polite nod, taking the letter and departing through the front doors. As he went, the winter light caught on his livery buttons.
Madeline exhaled, her heart tightening in a slow, familiar ache.
Not only for the lies she had spoken, but for the sudden realization that every step forward within these stone walls carried the weight of a life she had severed behind her.
And yet, for the first time in months, the undoing felt like survival rather than loss.
She needed air, a quiet space, and somewhere to gather herself before her thoughts became untamable again.
She wrapped her cloak around her shoulders and stepped outside, letting the cold kiss her cheeks.
Frost clung to the edges of the path, shimmering like silver dust. The gardens stretched outward with sculpted hedges, barren rose arches, and the skeletal branches of winter trees reaching toward the pale afternoon sky.
She walked without thinking, following the curve of the path past a ridged stone fountain and toward the open expanse of the back lawn. The quiet soothed her.
Until a soft voice shouted, “No—no—no, don’t slip!”
Madeline blinked and looked up, momentarily believing her eyes deceived her, but no.
Tessa was perched at least six feet above the ground, one foot wedged into the crook of a branch, the other balancing on a narrow limb that bowed under her slight weight.
Her skirts were bunched unevenly around her knees, stockings already smeared with grass and dirt, curls spilling loose from her ribbon as the wind tugged at them.
A small, thin branch bent precariously beneath her boot. It creaked, the sound discordant and frail in the cold afternoon air.
“Oh dear…” Madeline hurried forward.
Tessa froze like a startled creature, gripping the bark with panicked hands. “Miss Watton, please, don’t tell Papa!”
Madeline stopped at the tree’s base, heart pounding not from fear but from how pitifully afraid the girl looked. “I will not tell anyone. But may I ask what you are doing this high up, dear?”
“I wanted to see the roof,” Tessa whispered, cheeks flushing. “Papa never lets me climb anything. Not even the stairs two at a time!”
“That sounds… rather sensible,” Madeline said, lifting her brows.
“I did not fall!” Tessa insisted, as though defending her case in court. “I would not have fallen. Probably.”
Madeline bit back a laugh. “Well, whether you would have or not, perhaps it is best we get you down safely before we test the theory. Give me your hand.”
Tessa hesitated, then reached down. Madeline guided her carefully, boots scraping against the bark, until the girl was low enough to hop onto the grass. The impact sent them toppling backward, and Madeline’s cloak flared beneath them as they landed in a soft heap on the cold ground.
For a moment there was stillness, then Tessa dissolved into breathless laughter.
“You fell too!” she exclaimed, delighted, her curls bouncing wildly around her face.
Madeline could not help it; she laughed as well, the sound bursting out of her in a way she had not felt in years. She stared up at the sky, its pale winter blue framed by branches, and let the ridiculousness of the moment warm her from the inside.
“You should not make a habit of climbing trees, Lady Tessa,” Madeline scolded lightly when her breath returned.
“You helped me climb down,” Tessa argued with a grin.
“I helped you climb down, not up, sweetheart.”
“Well, that’s where all the fun is.”
Madeline turned her head to look at her charge directly. “Fun is important,” she said carefully. “Children are meant to laugh and run and explore. You should be allowed to enjoy things, but not at your risk.”
Tessa blinked, eyes shining with earnest surprise. “None of my governesses ever said that.”
“None of them fell out of a tree with you either, I presume,” Madeline teased gently, brushing a twig away from Tessa’s curls.
Tessa stared at her for a moment, as though weighing something, then her mouth curved into a conspiratorial smile.
“You’re fun, Miss Watton,” she said softly, as if sharing a secret. “None of them ever did things with me. They only told me what I ought not to do.”
Madeline felt a quiet warmth spread through her chest. “Then I fear I have already become your accomplice,” she replied lightly.
That did it. Tessa’s eyes widened in delight, and she let herself fall backward into the grass with theatrical abandon.
Her laughter rang through the quiet garden like the chime of small bells.
Her boots kicked lightly at the air, scattering specks of frost that drifted over them in tiny silver motes.
The vast winter sky stretched above them in a pale sweep of blue, clouds drifting lazily across its expanse. For the first time in a long while, Madeline allowed herself to simply breathe. Her chest rose and fell in an unhurried rhythm with the world around her.
A bird rustled somewhere in the bare branches overhead. The faintest breeze swept across the lawn, carrying the distinct scent of pine and damp earth.
Madeline felt something ache sweetly inside her, an old tenderness she had forced herself to forget, a longing she had pressed down for years. The simple intimacy of lying beside a child who trusted her so easily made her throat tighten in a way she had not expected.
“You’re different,” Tessa said at last, rolling onto her side so her curls tumbled across her cheek. She propped herself up on one elbow and examined Madeline as though she was some unusual creature found in a forest. “You don’t mind dirt.”
Madeline laughed softly, brushing bits of crushed grass from her glove. “Dirt washes off,” she said, her tone light but her meaning sincere. “Memories do not.”
Tessa blinked at her, her small face softening as though she were absorbing something entirely new. She stared for a long moment, the words settling into her with quiet reverence, until Madeline felt heat rise beneath her collar at being regarded so earnestly.
“Papa would say propriety matters more than memories,” Tessa said eventually, wrinkling her nose as though propriety itself were something sour.
“Yes, well…” Madeline plucked a long blade of grass from her sleeve, twirling it absently between her fingers. “Your papa has likely forgotten what it feels like to play.”
Tessa’s mouth fell open in dramatic horror. She slapped a hand over it as if trying to physically contain her shock. “He would be so angry if he heard you say that.”
Madeline pressed her lips together, trying and failing to suppress the smile tugging at them. “Then let us ensure he never hears it,” she whispered conspiratorially.
A delighted giggle burst from Tessa, and she wriggled closer across the grass, lowering her voice to match Madeline’s playful seriousness.
“Miss Watton,” she whispered, eyes sparkling, “I think we are going to get along very, very well.”
Madeline felt warmth bloom in her chest at the simple declaration, deeper than she cared to examine. The girl’s trust, her joy, the reckless ease of this moment…it was everything Madeline had been starved of without ever daring to name it.
They rose slowly, still laughing, their clothes dotted with small fragments of bark and pale green grass.
Madeline shook out her skirts, the fabric releasing a soft puff of winter-scented air, while Tessa brushed enthusiastically at her own sleeves, only succeeding in smearing the dirt further.
The attempt at being tidy made Madeline’s smile widen.
Tessa seized her hand without hesitation, her small fingers warm despite the cold, and tugged with a conspiratorial rush of excitement. “Come on. We will sneak in. Papa never goes through the east corridor at this hour.”
Madeline arched a brow. “And what if he spots us?”
“Then I will run away and leave you to handle him,” Tessa declared solemnly, as though this were a war strategy rather than a bit of mischief.
“How brave of you,” Madeline murmured, amusement curling through her voice.
“I’d call it practical,” Tessa corrected, lifting her chin with such earnest seriousness that Madeline couldn’t help a quiet laugh.
Together they made their way across the back lawn, boots sinking into the soft crust of snow with a delicate crunch at each step.
The garden lay hushed in winter stillness, frost clinging to the skeletal branches, their breath puffing in faint white clouds as they hurried toward the east side of the hall.