Preston rose from his seat immediately, as did Miss Claywell, both abandoning their meals.
“Which child?” he demanded.
“Miss Winifred, I’m afraid. She’s being carried to her room.”
Preston paused in the foyer to note his other nieces standing with Charlotte. “What happened?” he demanded.
Charlotte winced.
He really must watch his tone. The females in his life were not soldiers to be ordered about.
“I apologize,” he quickly said. “What occurred and how badly is she injured?”
“Winifred was skipping toward the foyer when her toe caught on a rug and she went flying, striking her head on a step.”
Beside him, Miss Claywell gasped.
“I sent for Dr. Forester right away,” Charlotte explained.
“You should have sent for me,” Preston added.
“I wasn’t certain how serious her injuries were. Other than a cut, and a few tears, she appeared to be otherwise unharmed.”
Charlotte still should have sent word to him. Winifred was his responsibility.
“I am certain she is going to be fine,” Miss Claywell said as she placed a hand on his arm, which managed to calm Preston almost immediately.
“Dr. Forester bandaged her up and was not concerned, but Winifred wanted to come home.”
“Are you certain there is no fear of a head injury?” Preston worried. There were those in battle who suffered concussions and blindness after being struck in the head and Winifred was only a five-year-old girl.
“Dr. Forester assured me that he is not concerned,” Charlotte insisted gently. “If anything, she might suffer a minor headache, and soreness, but that is all.”
Preston blew out a sigh of relief. “Thank you for bringing them home, Charlotte.”
“I’m sorry that she was injured, Preston. It happened so quickly.”
“As it usually does with Winifred,” he assured her. “I don’t blame you Charlotte, I simply panicked.”
She chuckled. “As a parent would.”
He just wished Winifred’s parents were here to see to her care. Instead, it was him and he still had no idea how to raise five girls.
“I’ll go check on her,” Miss Claywell said. “I’ll see that she’s settled into her bed and ask if she needs anything.”
Preston would like to remind Miss Claywell that she was the governess, not the maid, but he was also glad that she was going to care for Winifred, as a mother would. Or, how he hoped his future wife would respond.
She’d only known the girls a short time, but Althea experienced the same panic within that she heard in Lord Melcombe’s voice when they learned how Winifred had been injured. She tried to calm him, even though she wasn’t calm herself, and at the first opportunity excused herself to check on the child.
When she reached Winifred’s chamber, the maid was assisting her into a nightgown, then tucked her into bed.
Althea pulled up a chair and looked down at the little girl. A bandage was wrapped around her head, but no blood was visible so hopefully, the cut wasn’t too long or deep.
“How are you feeling?”
“My head hurts.”
“I’m sure it will be gone in the morning.”
