Chapter 22
“Where is she?”
The words left Wilhelm low and sharp, cutting through the garden air as he turned toward the house, already moving, his long strides devouring the distance between himself and the terrace doors.
One of the footmen stationed near the entrance straightened instinctively. “Your Grace—”
“Lady Tessa,” Wilhelm snapped, not slowing, not breaking stride. “Where can I find my daughter?”
The guard gestured hurriedly toward the ballroom. “There was a disturbance near the refreshment table. The young lady—”
Wilhelm was already past him.
The heat of the garden still clung to his skin. A phantom pressure where Madeline’s body had been stuck with him as he strode forward. His pulse thundered in his ears, a coiled readiness that snapped fully awake the moment the music crashed back over him.
The sights and sounds in the ballroom struck him as if he had walked directly into a stone wall.
Candles flared against gilt and crystal, skirts brushed and whispered, laughter rose and fell in practiced arcs, and for half a heartbeat he saw nothing but chaos.
His gaze cut through it all with brutal focus, searching, discarding, until he found her.
Near one of the refreshment tables, a small, rigid figure stood frozen in place.
Tessa.
Her shoulders were drawn inward, her chin lowered, her hands clenched so tightly at her sides that the knuckles showed pale against her skin.
A woman loomed before her, tall and elaborately dressed, a dark stain spreading across the front of her pale silk gown where wine glistened wetly in the candlelight.
Wilhelm felt something in him go utterly still.
“I’m so sorry,” Tessa said, her voice small but careful, each word placed as though she were terrified of making it worse. “I didn’t see you.”
The woman laughed, a brittle, unpleasant sound entirely stripped of its earlier sweetness.
“Well,” she said coolly, lifting her chin and dabbing at the stained silk with a lace handkerchief that did nothing to help, “with such… visible disadvantages, one would think a child might at least be taught not to blunder into other people. A little care would go a long way, under the circumstances.”
Tessa flinched at once. It was instinctive, a small, devastating recoil. Her gaze dropped to the floor as her hands twisted together. Heat rushed to her cheeks. The flush spread quickly, painfully, all the way to her ears.
Wilhelm saw it and the shift in his body was immediate, though he made sure nothing about him appeared hurried. The heat that had been roaring through his veins moments earlier turned cold in a heartbeat. His jaw set, hands curling once at his sides.
The crowd parted as he moved towards them. Conversations faltered and attention bent toward him as though drawn by a supernatural force. His stride was unbroken, unhurried, but every step carried the promise of consequence.
“Step away from my daughter.”
The woman turned unexpectedly, surprise flickering across her face before recognition struck. Her expression rearranged itself at once, sweetness snapping back into place as she dipped into a curtsy that came a fraction too late.
“Your Grace,” she said quickly. “I was merely—”
“You were insulting a child,” Wilhelm interrupted, his voice calm enough to be threatening, each word placed with calculated fury. He stopped directly in front of her, his presence absolute. “My child.”
The woman’s smile wavered but did not vanish. “I did not mean—”
“You meant exactly what you said,” he replied, his gaze dropping to the wine-soaked silk of her gown, then lifting again to her face.
A hush spread outward, subtle but unmistakable.
The lady swallowed. “Your Grace, surely you understand how accidents can be… avoidable. Children must be guided.”
Wilhelm turned slightly, angling his body so that Tessa was shielded behind him. Her small form was completely eclipsed by his height and breadth. He placed one hand behind his back, resting it lightly upon his daughter’s shoulder.
“Look at her,” he said in a quiet command.
The woman hesitated.
“Now,” Wilhelm said.
She obeyed, her gaze flicking reluctantly to where Tessa stood half-hidden behind him.
“You will apologize,” Wilhelm continued, his voice measured, each word laid down with precision.
The woman’s cheeks flushed. She glanced around again, acutely aware now of the eyes on her, the shifting weight of judgment.
“I am sorry,” she said to Tessa, her tone pitched carefully sweet once more. “I did not intend offense.”
Tessa nodded faintly, though her expression did not change. There was no relief in it, or a sign that the apology eased the sting of hurt. Only quiet, resigned acceptance. That, more than the insult itself, sent a hot, punishing anger through Wilhelm’s chest.
“Go,” he told the woman.
She did not need to be told twice.
Wilhelm remained where he was until the space around them began to breathe again, conversation resumed in cautious murmurs, and the moment passed. Only then did he turn fully to his daughter.
“Tessa,” he said gently.
She looked up at him then, and the sight of her eyes—bright with unshed tears she refused to let fall—hit him harder than any jab ever could have.
“Papa,” she said, her voice steady by sheer force of will. “May I go to bed?”
His chest clenched.
“Of course,” he said at once, smoothing his hand over her hair with careful tenderness. “You may.”
Her shoulders sagged in relief. The strength she had been holding herself together with finally giving way. She reached for Madeline, who had appeared silently at her side, her face pale and taut with contained fury.
“I’ll take her,” Madeline said quietly.
Wilhelm’s gaze caught on Madeline at once.
On the way her mouth was held too firmly, as though she were bracing herself against words she refused to speak, on the faint tremor in her hands as she drew Tessa closer, angling her body just enough to shield the child without making a spectacle of it.
He recognized the look immediately. It was the echo of his own fury, sharpened by a love that was not allowed to bare its teeth in public.
“Thank you,” he said quietly.
The words were plain, but his voice was not. It was low, controlled, carrying an emphasis that made it clear he was thanking her for her presence, and loyalty, and loving his daughter fiercely and silently.
Madeline met his gaze for a brief second, just long enough for him to see the sheen in her eyes before she nodded and looked away.
As they turned toward the stairs, Tessa hesitated. She glanced back at him, her small face pinched with worry, her fingers still curled into the fabric of Madeline’s gown.
“Papa?”
“Yes, love.” He lowered himself just enough to meet her eyes, his attention narrowing entirely to her.
“I didn’t mean to spill it,” she said, the words rushed and fragile, as though she were afraid the accusation might still be hanging in the air somewhere.
“I know,” Wilhelm replied without pause, without qualification. His tone was firm, certain, leaving no room for doubt. “None of this was your fault.”
Her shoulders eased at once, the tension draining out of her as she nodded, reassured by his conviction. She reached for Madeline’s hand, gripping it with her small fingers, and allowed herself to be guided toward the stairs.
“I didn’t do it on purpose,” Tessa whispered the moment the bedroom door closed behind them, as though the latch itself had been holding her together and now that they were alone the words could finally fall out, small and trembling.
“I didn’t even see her standing next to me.
I was only trying to move out of the way. ”
Madeline turned fully toward her, lowering herself to the child’s level slowly. The room lighting in the room was softer than it had been in the ballroom. There, hundreds of candles were placed throughout the space. In here, only a small fire burned low in the grate.
“I know you didn’t,” Madeline said, keeping her voice low and even as she reached for Tessa’s hands, which were cold despite the heat of the room. “It was an accident, and accidents happen to everyone.”
Tessa’s mouth pinched, her chin wobbling in a way that made Madeline’s chest tighten, because the child was fighting tears with fierce pride.
She looked away, blinking hard, and then her gaze flicked toward the mirror as though she could still see the ballroom there, the glittering crowd, the woman’s face, the way the words had landed.
“She said it like it was my fault,” Tessa muttered, and there was a roughness in it that did not belong in a child’s voice. “She said it like… like I should know better because of my face.”
Madeline felt anger rise so quickly it nearly stole her breath, but she did not let it reach her hands or her tone, because Tessa needed steadiness more than she needed fury, and besides, anger was already waiting downstairs in the shape of her father.
Madeline lifted one of Tessa’s hands and held it between both of her own, warming it with patient pressure.
“She said something cruel because she is a cruel person,” Madeline replied, making each word plain and certain. “And she only dared to say it because she thought you were alone, which tells you everything you need to know about her character.”
Tessa sniffed and climbed onto the bed without being asked, dragging the coverlet up as though she wanted to hide beneath it without fully admitting she wanted to hide at all.
Madeline moved with her, smoothing the rumpled fabric, straightening the pillows, and pulling the curtains further closed to soften the night beyond the glass.
She understood how small rituals mattered when the world felt too large.
For a minute, Tessa said nothing, her gaze fixed on the embroidered edge of the blanket. Then she blurted, too fast, as if she feared she would lose her courage if she waited, “I hope Papa doesn’t marry her.”