Chapter 22 #2
Charlotte looked thoughtful for a moment before letting out a small breath. “There is not much left to tell.”
“I doubt that very much,” he replied. “You continue surprising me daily.”
Charlotte looked down at the sheets for a moment before speaking more quietly. “After my father died, there was not enough money.”
Victor’s expression softened immediately. “You mentioned taking work before.”
She nodded faintly. “I did sewing at first, though I was never particularly gifted at embroidery. Then helped tutor children, copied letters for solicitors, anything respectable that would pay.”
Victor stilled slightly as he listened. Charlotte spoke plainly, yet he could hear the exhaustion those years had carved into her.
“You supported all of them?” he asked. “As best I could,” she admitted.
“Mama tried to hide how frightened she was, but I knew. Joan was forever growing out of shoes, Penelope ruined gloves as though it were a hobby, and Irene would pretend not to be hungry so the rest of us could eat more.”
Victor frowned deeply at that. “Christ.”
Charlotte gave a tiny shrug. “It was difficult at times, though we managed well enough.”
He stared at her with growing admiration, twisting uncomfortably in his chest. She spoke of sacrifice so casually, as though carrying her family upon her shoulders had simply been expected of her.
“You should not have had to bear all of that alone,” he said quietly.
Charlotte smiled sadly. “Someone had to.”
Victor looked away for a moment, guilt unexpectedly stirring inside him. He had spent years drowning himself in gambling halls, women, and drink, while this woman had fought tooth and nail merely to keep her family clothed and fed.
He had possessed more money than he could spend in three lifetimes, and yet he had done nothing worthwhile with it.
Charlotte noticed the shift in his expression immediately. “What is it?” she asked gently.
Victor exhaled slowly and rested back against the pillows. “Nothing flattering about myself, I assure you.”
She studied him carefully before reaching out and taking his hand beneath the blankets. The simple gesture nearly undid him.
“You care greatly for your family too,” she said softly.
Victor gave a humourless laugh. “I would not say greatly.”
Charlotte frowned. “You care for Lady Elizabeth very much.”
“That is different.”
“Why?” she asked quietly.
Victor stared up at the canopy above them for several long seconds before answering.
“My parents died in a carriage accident when I was young,” he said flatly.
Charlotte’s fingers tightened around his hand immediately. Victor swallowed once before continuing.
“I was with them.”
Her eyes widened slightly, though she wisely remained silent.
“The horses spooked during a storm,” he said. “The carriage overturned down an embankment.” His jaw tightened. “I survived. They did not.”
Charlotte shifted closer beside him slowly, as though afraid he might pull away.
“Victor…”
“Lionel and I were never the same after that,” he continued roughly. “We were not particularly close before, but afterwards…” He shrugged one shoulder stiffly. “Everything changed.”
He did not tell her the worst part. He did not tell her that sometimes he still heard his mother screaming in his dreams, or that he had spent years convinced their deaths were somehow his fault because he had begged them to travel. That darkness remained locked firmly inside him where it belonged.
No, I can never tell her that.
Charlotte brushed her thumb gently across his knuckles. “Is that why you always ride horseback?” she asked carefully.
Victor blinked and glanced toward her. “What?”
“I realized I have never once seen you willingly enter a carriage.”
Her voice was soft with understanding rather than judgement. “You always take a horse.”
Victor felt oddly exposed beneath her perceptive gaze. “I dislike carriages,” he muttered.
Charlotte’s lips curved faintly. “That is a very dignified way of describing terror, Your Grace.”
He narrowed his eyes at her. “I am not terrified.”
“Mm,” she hummed teasingly. “Of course not.”
He should have been offended. Instead, to his own irritation, he found himself amused.
Charlotte shifted onto her side to face him fully now. “Perhaps you could overcome it.”
Victor immediately grimaced. “Absolutely not.”
“Victor,” she said patiently.
“No.”
She laughed softly. “You are being stubborn.”
“I am being sensible.”
Charlotte propped her chin upon her hand and smiled at him in that infuriatingly sweet way that weakened his resolve.
“What if I helped you?” she asked gently.
Victor stared at her as dread instantly coiled in his stomach. The mere thought of willingly climbing into a carriage made his chest tighten unpleasantly.
“No,” he repeated more firmly.
Charlotte leaned closer and pressed a light kiss against his jaw. “Please?” she whispered.
Victor shut his eyes briefly in defeat. It was profoundly unfair that she had discovered so quickly how vulnerable he was to her affection.
“You fight dishonourably, Duchess,” he muttered.
“I learned from the best,” she replied smugly.
He opened his eyes again and found her smiling at him with such warmth that refusing her suddenly felt impossible. Victor sighed heavily like a man marching toward execution. “One short carriage ride,” he said reluctantly.
Charlotte brightened immediately. “Truly?” “Do not sound so delighted,” he grumbled. “I may yet throw myself dramatically into a hedge halfway through.”
Charlotte burst into laughter and threw her arms around his neck impulsively. Victor caught her easily against him, his annoyance vanishing the moment her body pressed against his.
“Thank you,” she whispered against his skin. He tightened his arms around her slowly and buried his face briefly in her curls.
“You are becoming dangerous to me, Charlotte,” he murmured quietly.
She pulled back just enough to look at him in confusion. Victor only kissed her again before she could ask what he meant, because he was not yet ready to speak the truth aloud.
Every hour spent beside her loosens another brick from the walls I have built around myself for years.