“No,” Charlotte said gently at once. “Your mother shall be perfectly fine.”
“But she is bleeding.”
“Aye, and your father likely frightened her terribly by bleeding first,” Charlotte replied softly. “Gentlemen are quite dramatic creatures when injured.”
The boy blinked at her uncertainly. “They are?”
“Oh indeed,” Charlotte assured him. “My husband once acted as though he were mortally wounded because a horse stepped upon his boot.”
That was not entirely true, though Victor had certainly cursed with great feeling at the time. The little boy gave a weak laugh despite himself. Charlotte smiled warmly and brushed a strand of hair from his damp forehead.
“You are being very brave,” she said quietly. “Your parents shall be proud of you.”
Before the boy could answer, Joan approached, carrying a cup of water with surprising steadiness. Charlotte looked up at her sister in mild astonishment. Normally, Joan would have been loudly recounting the drama of the accident to everyone within hearing distance. Instead, she crouched beside Charlotte and handed the boy the cup with unexpected gentleness.
“Here,” Joan said kindly. “Drink slowly or you shall spill it down yourself.”
The boy obeyed immediately.
Charlotte watched her sister carefully whilst warmth spread unexpectedly through her chest. Joan even spoke softly to the child, distracting him by asking whether he preferred horses or dogs. The boy began speaking between sniffles about a terrier he owned, and Joan listened with patient interest that Charlotte had rarely seen from her before.
For years, Charlotte had carried the weight of her family upon her shoulders.
She had been the eldest. The responsible one. The one who soothed fears and solved problems and protected everyone else no matter how exhausted she herself became. Yet now, watching Joan comfort the frightened child so naturally, Charlotte realized something that startled her deeply.
My sisters are growing up. They no longer need me to shoulder every burden alone.
A strange feeling of relief washed over her.
“Joan,” Charlotte murmured softly. “You are very good with him.”
Joan looked momentarily embarrassed. “Well, someone ought to keep the poor thing distracted.”
“You are doing wonderfully.”
Joan huffed awkwardly. “Do not become sentimental over it.”
Charlotte laughed softly despite the tension around them. Even now, Joan could not tolerate earnest praise for more than a moment. Yet pride swelled warmly inside Charlotte all the same. Perhaps her sisters truly would be alright. Perhaps Charlotte no longer needed to fear constantly for everyone’s future.
Suddenly, she felt a hand grip her arm tightly.
Charlotte startled and turned at once. The breath nearly left her lungs. Victor stood behind her, looking utterly stricken. His face had gone white beneath the afternoon light, and his usually immaculate composure had shattered entirely. His dark hair had been windblown, and his chest rose unevenly as though he could barely breathe properly.
“Victor,” she whispered.
He did not answer immediately. Instead, he crouched before her and touched her shoulders, arms, face, waist, almost frantically inspecting her as though unable to believe she sat there unharmed. His hands trembled so badly that Charlotte’s chest ached at the sight. Never before had she seen him stripped so completely bare of all his walls and arrogance. This was not the confident duke who teased and provoked her endlessly.
This was simply a terrified man.
“Are you hurt?” he demanded hoarsely. “Charlotte, tell me truly.”
“I am not hurt,” she said gently. “Victor, I am perfectly fine.”
He searched her face as though uncertain whether to believe her. “You swear it?”
“Yes.”
“You were not inside the overturned carriage?”
