Chapter 3
“Miss Watton,” Tessa burst out suddenly, unable to contain herself even a moment longer, “you’re really coming with us? Truly? You’re here, but I thought perhaps Papa was only doing this to make me calm down, but you’re here, and you’re sitting with us, and—”
“Tessa,” the Duke said sharply.
Madeline’s breath caught at the sound of her name spoken with such joy, such unguarded relief.
Children she tutored usually liked her. Little Jonah had been such a ray of sunshine, eager for her praise and company. She had grown used to that gentle affection, to the warmth that built slowly over time.
This was different.
Tessa’s excitement came all at once, unfiltered and absolute, as though Madeline’s presence alone had already promised something good. It struck her like a warm wind after months spent bracing against storms, and for a moment a strange ache bloomed beneath her ribs.
She had not been anyone’s source of excitement in this way before.
It startled her, the way Tessa looked at her as though she were someone worth hoping for.
And beneath that unexpected warmth came a second ripple: the guilty, trembling awareness that she was stepping into a future she had not planned.
The Duke leaned toward his little girl, the stern set of his brows softening just faintly when he saw the panic flicker across her face.
“Tell me if anything aches.” His voice was low, almost rough with the remnants of fear.
“Nothing aches,” Tessa whispered, looking at him with earnest conviction.
“Are you certain?”
“Yes, Papa.”
The carriage rocked softly beneath them as he exhaled, a long, quiet breath that seemed to loosen something tight in his chest. He leaned back against the cushioned seat, though not fully; his posture remained alert, shoulders still taut, as though another jolt of panic might seize him at any moment.
“You frightened me,” he said quietly, his gaze still fixed on her.
Tessa’s lower lip pushed forward, her brows knitting together in an expression that mixed indignation with the faintest glimmer of guilt. “I didn’t mean to,” she said, her voice rising as her chin lifted stubbornly. “I only wanted to look at the skaters.”
“And you lost sight of me,” the Duke replied. The muscles along his jaw tightened as he studied her face, searching for any hint that she understood the gravity of what she’d done.
“You lost sight of me,” she countered, crossing her arms tightly over her chest. Her cheeks puffed slightly as she narrowed her eyes at him. “I was right there.”
The Duke’s gaze sharpened, his eyes narrowing. A faint line formed between his brows, the tension drawing across his features like a shadow.
“You were not right there,” he said, his voice controlled and firm. “You were halfway across the tent.”
“It wasn’t halfway,” she muttered, her mouth twisting into a mulish pout, though her lashes flickered in a way that suggested she suspected she was losing ground.
“It may as well have been,” the Duke grunted.
Madeline watched the tension coil between them, father and daughter mirroring each other in stubbornness and hurt, neither willing to soften first. She shifted forward slightly on the carriage seat, drawn in despite herself.
The urge to stabilize the moment rose almost before she realized she meant to speak.
“Your Grace,” she said softly.
Both turned.
Madeline’s voice gentled, her tone coaxing rather than chastising. “She did not wander away with mischief in her heart. Children see something they love and run toward it before they think twice. It’s a habit of youth, not disobedience.”
The Duke’s jaw tightened. “And if she had fallen? If no one had been near?”
“I was near,” Madeline said quietly. “And so were your instincts. You found her within moments.”
Tessa nodded eagerly. “See? Miss Watton agrees with me.”
Madeline smiled faintly, the expression softening her features as she tilted her head toward Tessa. “I don’t believe I said that.”
The child’s brows pulled together in a puzzled knot and her nose scrunched slightly. “Didn’t you?”
“I said you didn’t leave with bad intentions,” Madeline replied gently, her voice warm and firm.
“But you must remember that when people love you, their fear is part of that love.” She shifted a little closer, her hands resting loosely in her lap as she met Tessa’s eyes.
“Your father wasn’t angry without reason.
He was frightened because he thought you might be hurt. ”
Tessa blinked slowly, her lashes lowering and lifting again as her frown softened. Her shoulders, once rigid with indignation, slumped a fraction, and her fingers eased from the defensive grip they had around her seat.
“He was really frightened?” she murmured, her voice smaller now, threaded with dawning understanding.
Madeline nodded, her gaze flicking briefly toward Wilhelm before returning to the girl. “Terrified, I imagine.”
At that, the Duke’s eyes snapped toward her. His brows lifted ever so slightly, a faint line forming between them as though he was both offended by her boldness and moved by her accuracy, yet he said nothing.
The girl turned back to him. Her expression had softened and her eyes were wide with new curiosity. “Were you, Papa?” she asked, leaning forward just a little. Her voice was cautious, as if fearing the truth might break under its own weight.
The Duke cleared his throat, his posture stiffening. His gaze shifted away for a moment, settling on the carriage window as if the passing blur of winter landscape might offer him an escape.
“That is not the point,” he muttered, though his voice lacked its earlier edge.
Tessa’s lips drew together in a small pout as her gaze dropped to her boots. She lifted one hand to fiddle with a loose thread on her mitten.
“It feels like the point,” she whispered.
Madeline’s lips curved, the warmth of it reaching her eyes before she could stop it, but it seemed to soften the air between all three of them, as though she had quietly rearranged the moment into something gentler simply by being in it.
Tessa slid across the seat until she reached her father and nestled softly against his arm. “I’m sorry, Papa. I didn’t mean to make you worry.”
The Duke closed his eyes briefly, then rested a large hand on her small shoulder. “Do not leave my sight like that again.”
“I won’t.” She leaned closer. “Not unless there is something very interesting.”
“Theresa.”
“Nothing too interesting,” she corrected quickly.
Madeline hid a laugh behind her mitten.
Mrs. Hayward watched the exchange with keen eyes; her hands folded neatly in her lap.
Madeline could almost feel the woman assessing her, turning this new stranger over in her mind, weighing her usefulness and potential reliability.
The housekeeper said nothing, which made her silent scrutiny all the more pointed.
Once Tessa settled, the Duke turned toward Madeline. The shift was subtle but unmistakable: from father to Duke, reclaiming authority.
“I acted impulsively earlier,” he said. “That is not a habit of mine, but circumstances demanded quick decisions.” His gaze held hers for a moment that felt far longer than a heartbeat. “There is still much I need to know about you, Miss Watton.”
Madeline tensed slightly. “Of course, Your Grace.”
“Where did you learn to teach?” he asked.
“My father taught me, Your Grace,” she replied. “He believed languages were the door to the world, so he started me early. Later, I served as tutor for two families in Bath and Gloucestershire.”
“And why did you leave them?”
Her pulse fluttered. “Circumstances changed.”
“Circumstances?”
“Yes,” she said, though she offered no elaboration.
The Duke watched her closely, his eyes narrowing. Madeline kept her expression calm, though a flicker of heat touched her cheeks under his scrutiny. His gaze was not cruel, but it was piercing, far too perceptive for her comfort.
“And your methods?” he asked. “How do you handle difficult pupils?”
“It depends on what makes them difficult,” Madeline answered carefully. “Sometimes children are troublesome because they fear failure. Sometimes because they fear being judged harshly but most of the time simply because they wish to be understood. I try to find that root and work from there.”
His eyes warmed, though only faintly. “Gentleness over discipline.”
“Not always,” Madeline said. “But often gentleness teaches more than scolding does.”
Tessa nodded sagely. “I like her.”
“That is not the requirement,” the Duke said.
Madeline’s lips twitched. “No, but it is helpful.”
“Helpful,” he echoed, unimpressed. “We shall see.”
Her eyes met his again, and something in the quiet space between them seemed to stir, warm and bright and far too easily felt.
A flutter rose in her stomach, light and unsteady.
Madeline looked away quickly, afraid that if she held his gaze a moment longer, she might forget how to breathe altogether.
The Duke cleared his throat, shifting slightly. “When we arrive, the staff will prepare a room for you near Theresa’s. You will have access to the schoolroom and the library. Meals are taken at regular hours. You may dine with the servants or take your meals privately.”
Madeline nodded, her hands folding neatly in her lap as she tried to steady the quick beat of her pulse. “Yes, Your Grace.”
“You will be expected to accompany Tessa during her daily routines, assist her with lessons, and report directly to me regarding her progress.”
“I understand, Your Grace.” Her voice remained calm, but she felt the faintest tightening in her chest as he spoke, the realization settling that she had stepped into a life she did not yet understand.
He watched her again, his gaze tracing her features with that same thoughtful, searching quality she could not decipher. His eyes lingered for a moment too long on her mouth before lifting to her eyes once more.
“I will need your previous address in the village so that a footman may retrieve the rest of your things.”