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.
He dressed quickly, methodically, fastening his cravat with fingers that did not move with their usual precision as his mind raced ahead through practicalities.
She could not have gone far. She would have tried to avoid being noticed.
She would probably seek lodging at a modest inn where questions were few and memories unreliable.
She would choose invisibility if it were offered to her.
He intended to deny her that.
He was bending to pull on his boots when a soft knock sounded at the door. Wilhelm froze.
“Papa?” Tessa’s voice came through the wood, small and tentative, and something in his chest tightened painfully as he straightened at once.
He closed his eyes briefly, gathering himself, smoothing the fury into something she would not see.
“Yes love,” he called, his voice already gentler as he crossed the room and opened the door.
Tessa stood in the corridor, fully dressed, her curls still slightly mussed from sleep, clutching her doll against her chest. Her eyes lifted to his face immediately, searching.
“Is Miss Watton awake?” she asked. “She didn’t come to wake me.”
The question almost threw him off again.
Wilhelm crouched in front of her without thinking, bringing himself level with her, his hands settling on her small shoulders. “She had to go out early this morning,” he said carefully. “She left me a note.”
Tessa’s mouth trembled. “Did she leave us?”
“No,” he said at once, more firmly than he had intended. He gentled his tone, cupping her cheek with one hand. “She has not abandoned you. Not for a moment.”
Tessa blinked rapidly. “But she promised she would stay.”
“She meant it,” he said, and felt the truth of it settle deep in his bones. “Sometimes adults have to make very difficult choices, even when they do not want to.”
Tessa’s lower lip wobbled. “Did I do something wrong?”
The question tore at him.
“No,” Wilhelm said fiercely. “Never that. Madeline loves you very much. More than you know.”
“Then why did she go?” Tessa whispered.
He met her gaze steadily. “Because she believes she is protecting us,” he said. “And because she has not yet learned that she does not have to face things alone.”
Tessa considered this, her brow furrowing in a way painfully reminiscent of Madeline herself.
“You’ll bring her back?” she asked.
“Yes,” he said without hesitation. “I promise you.”
That seemed to satisfy her, if only a little. She nodded, pressing her face briefly into his shoulder before stepping back.
“Will you tell her I saved her place at breakfast?” she asked solemnly.
Wilhelm’s throat tightened. “I will.”
Once Tessa had gone, Wilhelm remained where he was for a brief moment.
His hand rested against the doorframe as though he might recollect himself there.
The softness he had allowed her drained from him with, replaced by a focused urgency that settled into his bones.
There would be time later for fear, for doubt, for the full weight of what Madeline’s absence meant. Now, there was only action.
He moved quickly through the corridors, scarcely aware of the servants he passed or the murmured greetings he ignored. His stride was long and purposeful as he crossed the house and mounted his horse without delay.
The morning air bit sharply against his face as he rode hard toward Henry’s estate.
The rhythm of hooves striking the road matched the relentless churn of his thoughts.
Madeline would be frightened, careful, already measuring every choice she made against the danger she believed herself to be.
The knowledge tightened something fierce and unyielding in his chest. He would not allow her to disappear again, not into fear, not into isolation, and certainly not into the reach of the woman who was trying to destroy her.
Henry’s expression shifted the moment Wilhelm entered his study, coat still half-fastened, his eyes dark and unyielding.
“She’s gone,” Wilhelm said the moment he crossed the threshold, the words coming out too fast, as though they had been burning in his chest the entire ride.
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.