Chapter 3 #2
Her fingers tightened around the fabric of her skirt before she forced them to still. “My… address.”
“Yes,” he said, tilting his head slightly, studying the sudden stiffness in her posture.
She hesitated and tried to hide her alarm, but not quickly enough to escape him.
“Is there a problem?” he asked quietly; his voice softened, but his eyes sharpened, examining hers.
“No,” she said, though her voice lacked its earlier certainty. She wet her lips, aware of his gaze following the movement. “I shall write the address down for you once we’ve reached your home.”
“Very well,” he said at last.
Silence settled between them, filled with the rhythm of the carriage wheels and the faint brush of winter wind against the glass.
Madeline let her gaze drift toward the window. Snow stretched across rolling fields, pale and glittering. She felt the tension in her body ease a fraction now that Hale was far behind. Yet a different tension remained, tied entirely to the man sitting across from her.
’The Duke’s presence felt too large for the small carriage.
Every time she looked away, she felt the weight of his gaze return to her as though drawn by a pull he didn’t understand or didn’t care to hide.
She tried not to dwell on the heat fluttering low in her belly, tried to focus on the rhythm of the wheels beneath them and the muted hum of Tessa’s quiet fidgeting.
Gradually the noise of the village faded and was replaced by open countryside and the rustling whisper of winter wind against the carriage windows. The motion steadied her breathing, though it did nothing to numb the awareness curling warm beneath her ribs.
The view outside widened as they left the narrow lanes behind. The carriage passed through wrought-iron gates and rolled along a sweeping drive bordered by evergreens dusted with snow.
Kirkford Hall appeared through the trees like something out of a storybook, all warm stone and towering windows catching the afternoon light.
Madeline inhaled softly.
It was the grandest home she had ever seen.
When the carriage stopped, Tessa immediately seized her hand. “Come, Miss Watton! I want to show you the music room, and the big staircase, and Mrs. Hayward’s gingerbread jar—”
“Tessa,” the Duke said firmly.
The girl froze and her shoulders slumped marginally. “We have to do proper things first, don’t we?”
“Yes.”
Madeline kneeled beside her. “Proper things do not take long. And then you may show me everything.”
Tessa brightened instantly. “Everything?”
“Everything,” Madeline promised.
The girl nodded vigorously and the Duke’s eyes softened, just barely.
Inside, the grand entrance hall glowed with lamplight. Servants lined up as the Duke entered.
“This is Miss Madeline Watton,” he said. “She will be staying with us. Prepare a room for her beside Theresa’s.”
A chorus of “Yes, Your Grace” followed.
Mrs. Hayward clapped her hands. “Come along, all of you. No need to stand about staring.”
The servants dispersed, leaving silence and warm air around them.
The Duke motioned toward a set of doors. “Miss Watton, if you please.”
She followed him into a study lined with bookshelves and deep mahogany tones. The fire crackled low, the scent of woodsmoke curling through the room.
The Duke shut the door behind them and Madeline’s pulse quickened.
“Please sit,” he said, gesturing to a chair near the fire.
She obeyed.
He remained standing a moment, collecting himself, the posture of a man reclaiming familiar ground after a day that had thrown him off balance. When he finally sat across from her, the formal presence of a Duke settled over him fully again.
“I want to be certain you understand the nature of the position,” he began. “My daughter requires stability. Discipline. Structure.”
Madeline folded her hands primly. “I understand.”
“And I will not abide anyone who undermines her education or indulges her excessively.”
“Of course.”
“And I expect absolute discretion.”
She met his gaze steadily. “Naturally.”
He inhaled a quiet breath, watching her as though weighing every syllable she spoke. “You will have full room and board, appropriate attire for your station, access to the library for teaching materials, and an annual allowance for supplies. As for your salary…”
He named a figure substantial enough to make Madeline blink.
“That is more than what is required, Your Grace. You’re being much too generous.”
“It is not a matter of generosity. It is a matter of hiring someone competent.”
Madeline felt heat rise in her cheeks. “Thank you. I already feel like your daughter and I are going to get along splendidly.”
The Duke’s expression cooled slightly. “This is not about getting along. It is about educating her.”
“I believe both are possible,” Madeline replied, lifting her chin. “A child learns best when she feels secure.”
He leaned forward, eyes narrowing thoughtfully. “And you believe you understand her?”
“I want to.”
A beat of silence stretched. He stared at her with such intensity that she felt the warmth rise inside her again, something low and treacherous. She could not recall the last time a man looked at her with that kind of focus or curiosity. Her heart thrummed too quickly.
A knock at the door snapped her out of it, and Mrs. Hayward entered. “Your Grace, the room is ready.”
The Duke stood and Madeline rose with him.
“I will have the solicitor draw up the contract,” he said, watching her more closely than before. “You are free to settle in for the day.”
“Thank you,” she murmured.
As she followed Mrs. Hayward toward the door, she felt the shift in the air before she turned. The Duke’s heavy gaze was still on her, searching for something. Her knees wobbled as she aimed to step away from him. She exhaled deeply, then tried again.
Madeline lowered her eyes and stepped into the corridor, her pulse fluttering wildly.
She was not afraid of the Duke and yet, she could not quiet the erratic beating of her heart, even after she had left his sight.