Chapter 5 #2
Henry only laughed again, the sound echoing across the quiet hills. “Will, I have known you since we were boys. You are a terrible liar.”
Wilhelm’s mouth opened, then closed again. His horse shifted beneath him, picking its way carefully around a patch of ice.
Henry leaned forward slightly in the saddle and lowered his voice to a conspiratorial whisper. “If you are concerned that this Miss Watton might distract you from your duties, then simply say so.”
“I am not concerned.”
“You are,” Henry said gently. “I can see it.”
Wilhelm stared out over the valley, jaw clenched so tightly it ached. The wind brushed past, carrying the scent of distant chimneys and pine, but it did nothing to cool the image that had taken hold of him. His thoughts strayed where he did not wish them to go.
The soft oval of her face, warm and expressive, framed by hair that never seemed to stay where it was meant to.
To her mouth, generous and mobile, made for smiles she tried to restrain and words she spoke with careful intelligence.
To her eyes, steady and observant, yet capable of such gentleness that it troubled him more than any boldness might have.
And then, inevitably, to her body. To the fullness of her figure beneath wool and linen, to the generous curve of her hips, the softness of her waist, the subtle sway of her when she moved. There was warmth there, a sense of abundance rather than excess, of something meant to be touched and held.
He felt the weight of Henry’s expectant silence pressing on him, demanding honesty he did not wish to give.
At last, he exhaled, the breath visible in the cold air.
“She is… beautiful,” he said quietly.
Henry’s grin bloomed triumphantly.
“But it is irrelevant,” Wilhelm added quickly.
“Is it?” Henry asked mildly.
“I hired her to teach my daughter,” Wilhelm snapped. “Not to distract or unsettle me. Not to…” He swallowed the rest.
Henry’s brows lifted. “Not to what?”
Wilhelm’s chest tightened. He thought of her hair and the way it had brushed his hand when he steadied her, softer than he had imagined, as though it would slip easily between his fingers if he dared try. The thought lingered, unbidden, stirring a want he had no intention of indulging.
He cleared his throat. “It doesn’t matter.”
Henry regarded him for a long moment, his expression losing all trace of humor. “It matters more than you want to admit.”
They rode in silence for several minutes, the wind brushing through the bare branches overhead. The horses’ hooves thudded softly against the frost-hardened ground, and Wilhelm kept his gaze fixed on the winding path ahead, though his thoughts refused to obey.
He had long ago buried the part of himself that noticed beauty.
After losing Leah, he had pushed such impulses into the deepest corners of his being.
He had devoted himself entirely to Tessa, the estate, and the constant demands of the world he was responsible for nurturing.
Desire had been an indulgence he had no time for, attraction a luxury he could not afford.
Yet one collision in a corridor had unraveled years of discipline.
Henry’s voice softened. “Wilhelm… when was the last time you allowed yourself to look at someone with interest? Truly look?”
Wilhelm kept his eyes forward, feeling his temper stir. “It has been years. Too many to count. My responsibility is to my daughter.”
“And no one is arguing otherwise,” Henry said calmly. “But even a responsible man is allowed a heartbeat now and then.”
Wilhelm’s grip tightened again around the reins. “This conversation has gone far enough.”
Henry shook his head. “No. It has not. Because you cannot protect Tessa while ignoring your own needs forever.”
The words struck closer than Wilhelm cared to admit and he realized, with a dull surprise, that he had never truly known desire at all.
Leah’s face surfaced then, kind but distant in the way of someone who had been a companion rather than an object of passion.
What they had shared had been rooted in friendship and duty, not hunger or choice.
The marriage itself had felt like a smart decision, something to be fulfilled rather than desired.
Even the night that had given him Tessa had carried more obligation than want.
He had done what was expected of him, nothing more.
Whatever stirred in him now had nothing to do with duty or propriety.
It was not careful or restrained or born of necessity.
It unsettled him precisely because it was new.
Because, for the first time, he found himself wanting a woman not because he had to, but because he could not seem to help himself.
He dismissed the thought and ran a hand along his horse’s mane, the familiar motion grounding him. “I have no time for distractions.”
Henry gave a short, humorless laugh. “You have no shortage of time. You have restraint. There is a difference.”
Wilhelm’s jaw tightened. “I am not interested in marriage.”
“Nor am I suggesting it,” Henry said evenly. “I am speaking of desire. Of allowing yourself something human, for once. The woman clearly wants you. You want her. That is not a failing, Wilhelm.”
Wilhelm did not answer at once. The wind tugged at his cloak, cold and insistent.
“You need not make promises,” Henry continued more quietly. “Nor ruin her life. But denying yourself entirely helps no one, least of all your daughter.”
Wilhelm said nothing, but the unease twisting in his chest only grew.
The silence stretched again, thicker now, the air dense with unspoken truths. Henry eventually slowed his horse, allowing the distance between them to lengthen, as though giving Wilhelm space to breathe.
They rode until the path curved and the hills gave way to the sweeping view of Kirkford Hall in the distance. Smoke curled from its chimneys, warm and consistent against the winter sky.
Henry broke the silence first. “You fear she will disrupt the order of your household.”
“I fear she already has.”
Henry nodded. “Then perhaps it is not disruption you fear, but change.”
Wilhelm stiffened. “There is nothing wrong with the way my household runs.”
“There is nothing wrong with it,” Henry agreed. “But that does not mean it must remain unchanged forever.”
Wilhelm felt the tension coil inside him again. “I am the head of my household. My rules are necessary.”
“And yet, despite your rules, no governess has stayed for more than a few weeks,” Henry reminded, though his tone held no mockery this time.
Wilhelm’s throat tightened. He knew Henry had a point. Tessa was difficult to care for not because she was unruly, but because the weight of others’ judgement had scarred her more than anything visible on her face. .
Each governess before Miss Watton had struggled with that balance, too intimidated or too cruel to look past Tessa’s scars and truly understand her heart.
Miss Watton, infuriatingly, had understood it immediately. She had soothed Tessa with a few quiet words, softened his daughter’s stubbornness with nothing more than patience, and had challenged Wilhelm himself without hesitation.
Henry’s voice cut through his spiraling thoughts. “If she unsettles you so deeply, perhaps it is because she sees you more clearly than you are willing to be seen.”
Wilhelm bristled. “She does not see me.”
“Wilhelm,” Henry said dryly, “every man alive knows when a woman sees him.”
Wilhelm jerked his gaze away, ignoring the heat that crept up his neck. “This conversation ends now.”
Henry only sighed. “Very well. But you will have to face it eventually.”
The rest of the ride passed in silence, broken only by the steady rhythm of hooves crunching over frost.
As Kirkford Hall drew nearer, Wilhelm’s thoughts drifted involuntarily back to the moment in the corridor.
It had been a mistake to allow himself to experience desire.
Desire was not a priority. Tessa was. And Tessa would forever be his priority.
He swung down from his horse as they reached the stables, handing the reins to a waiting groom. Henry dismounted beside him, studying his face with quiet understanding.
“You are not alone in this, old friend,” Henry said softly. “Whatever path you take.”
Wilhelm nodded once curtly.
But as he and Henry walked back toward the hall, the cold air stung his cheeks. And he knew… he could not escape the truth settling heavily inside him.
Miss Madeline Watton was already a disruption. An irritation. A distraction he could not afford. And yet, no matter how fiercely he tried to deny it, he could not ignore the spark she had ignited within him.
One he feared he was losing the battle against.