Chapter 29 #2
“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?”
“No, that is not our carriage.”
His eyes shut briefly in overwhelming relief. Charlotte could almost feel the force of his fear leaving him little by little. Yet even then, he could not stop touching her, his gloved hands lingering against her arms as though reassuring himself she truly existed before him.
Joan slowly stood nearby and exchanged a wide-eyed glance with Penelope.
“Well,” Penelope whispered loudly enough for Charlotte to hear, “he looks as though he has seen death itself.”
Joan nodded solemnly. “Our brother-in-law is entirely ruined by love.”
“Mama owes me five pounds,” Irene added quietly. “I said the duke was in love months ago.”
“Girls,” Harriet hissed, though she herself looked suspiciously emotional.
Charlotte would have been mortified under normal circumstances, but she scarcely heard them. All her attention remained fixed upon Victor. His eyes looked darker than she had ever seen them. Vulnerable. Frightened. Desperate.
Victor leaned closer. “Come home with me.”
The plea in his voice nearly undid her entirely. Charlotte stared at him in wonder. This proud, difficult man who had spent years avoiding closeness now looked at her as though she alone anchored him to the earth. Her throat tightened painfully with emotion.
“Did you come for me?” she asked softly.
His answer came without hesitation. “Yes.”
Something warm and aching broke open inside her chest.
“I will always come for you,” Victor whispered.
Charlotte’s eyes burned suddenly. Before she could speak, he pulled her gently toward him and kissed her.
The noise of the crowded street seemed to disappear at once.
She melted into him without thought, her fingers clutching the front of his coat whilst his hand cradled her cheek with desperate tenderness.
Someone nearby gasped dramatically.
“Oh heavens,” Joan declared. “They are kissing in the middle of the street.”
Penelope sighed dreamily. “This is the most romantic thing I have ever witnessed.”
Harriet dabbed discreetly at her eyes. “I knew that stubborn man adored her.”
Victor barely seemed aware of any of them.
When the kiss finally ended, he rested his forehead briefly against Charlotte’s as though steadying himself.
His breathing remained uneven. Charlotte touched his cheek softly and realized with sudden heartbreak that he truly had believed he might lose her today. .
Charlotte smiled shakily through the tears threatening her eyes. “Take me home, Your Grace.”
Victor kissed her forehead once more before helping her carefully to her feet.
“With pleasure, Duchess,” he murmured.