Chapter 16

Sixteen

A loud crack echoed through the woods, and before Victor could fully register what had happened, a tree branch fell, crashing onto the path ahead of them. Toro halted immediately, but Angelique reared, startled, her front legs kicking the air. In a blur of motion, Christina was thrown from the mare's back. Victor's heart twisted violently, and his breath hitched as he watched her fall.

He dismounted swiftly, his boots hitting the ground with a heavy thud. Rushing to her side, his insides churned with dread. Angelique, thankfully, had not landed on her, but the sight of Christina wincing on the forest floor filled him with a raw, gnawing fear.

"Christina," he called softly, his hands moving over her body, checking for any sign of injury. His fingers grazed over her arms, her ribs, her legs—desperate to ensure she was unharmed.

She opened her eyes and struggled to catch her breath. "What... what happened?" she asked, her voice shaky as she attempted to sit up. Victor slipped his arm behind her back, helping her ease into a sitting position.

"Are you in pain?" he asked, his voice tight with concern.

She shook her head, though she winced again. "No... merely had the wind knocked out of me."

Victor's gaze darted to Angelique, and Christina followed his eyes. The mare lay on the ground, struggling to rise. Christina gasped, her concern immediately shifting. "Angelique—what's wrong with her?"

"I'll tend to her," Victor said, his tone firm. He moved to the horse, his hands running gently over her foreleg. The strain was obvious near the hoof—likely from landing awkwardly on the uneven forest floor. He helped Angelique to her feet, watching as she limped, favoring the injured leg.

Turning back to his wife, Victor found her already standing, though unsteadily. "How are you feeling?" he asked, his brow furrowed.

Christina offered him a faint smile, though worry flickered in her green eyes. "I'm well. What about Angelique?"

Victor explained, "A branch fell in front of us. She reared and must have twisted her leg when she landed."

Without hesitation, Christina knelt beside the mare, her fingers tracing carefully over the injury. "We need to get her back to the castle," she said, her voice steady despite the concern in her gaze. "If we wait too long, the injury might worsen."

Victor watched her, his admiration for her sharp reasoning growing. She spoke with certainty, with care, and he could not help but feel a strange pull toward her in that moment.

"I'll ride back on Toro and send for help," he suggested.

But Christina shook her head. "No. I once twisted my ankle, and it didn't take long for the swelling to worsen. Angelique needs care immediately, and we're not too far from the castle. She can limp back with us."

Victor couldn't deny the logic of her argument. And yet, something in him resisted. He strode toward her without warning and scooped her up in his arms. Christina gasped, her hands instinctively gripping his shoulders.

"You fell, Duchess," he said, his voice low. "I'm not convinced you're entirely all right."

She laughed softly, her breath warm against his neck. "I assure you, I am quite well."

Ignoring her protest, Victor set her atop Toro and handed her the reins. Then, taking Angelique's reins in his hand, he began walking the mare back toward Kilton Castle, leading the small procession with steady, deliberate steps.

By the time they reached the stables, the worry that had gnawed at him earlier had not fully subsided. Christina dismounted gracefully, her concern still fixed on Angelique.

"I'll stay and help with her," she offered.

Victor's eyes darkened. "No. You're seeing a physician." She opened her mouth to argue, but he wouldn't hear it. Before she could protest further, he swept her off her feet again, cradling her in his arms as he carried her toward the castle.

"Your Grace!" she laughed, though she soon surrendered, wrapping her arms around his neck.

"Smith!" he called as they entered the grand foyer. The butler appeared almost instantly, and Victor barked an order for the physician to be summoned at once.

Suddenly, a flurry of voices and footsteps filled the hall. The girls, with Lady Annabelle in tow, rushed toward them, their anxious chatter filling the space.

"Mother!" Amelia cried. "Are you hurt?"

Agnes tugged at his coat, her face pale with worry. "Put her down, Father! Let me help her!"

Victor tried to call the girls to order, but their panic overwhelmed him. The children surrounded Christina, all speaking at once, their concern like a storm battering against him.

"Young ladies," Christina's voice rose above the chaos, gentle yet firm. Instantly, they fell silent.

She smiled at them reassuringly. "I fell, yes, but I am quite unhurt."

Amelia furrowed her brow. "Then why is Father carrying you and calling for a physician?"

Christina's gaze flicked to Victor's, warmth and amusement dancing in her eyes. "Your father is very protective, and… very charming."

Victor felt a strange tightness in his chest at her words, and though he tried to dismiss it, the feeling lingered.

The girls, still uncertain, stepped aside to let him pass, though their eyes followed him as he carried Christina up the stairs and into her bedchamber. He set her down gently on the bed, watching as she winced when her right shoulder brushed against the pillow.

"Ah," he muttered, sitting beside her. "You are hurt, Christina."

Christina's eyes widened a fraction. Perhaps she was surprised at his deliberate use of her Christi name. A slight smile played on her lips. "You sound so certain, Victor."

He leaned closer, his voice dropping to a whisper. "I am."

Their eyes met, the distance between them narrowing, and Victor felt that familiar pull, the one he had been trying to resist for days. He leaned in, his gaze flicking to her lips, but just then, a soft giggle behind him shattered the moment.

Victor turned sharply, spotting Annabelle and his daughters whispering and stifling their laughter. Clearing his throat, he stood abruptly.

"We should allow your mother to rest," he said, ushering the girls out of the room with a firm yet gentle hand.

As Victor closed the door behind him, he was immediately met by a flurry of voices. The girls swarmed around him, their faces alight with worry and curiosity. Amelia, ever the bold one, was the first to speak, her voice quick and breathless.

"Father, what happened to Mother? Is she hurt?" Amelia's wide eyes locked onto his, demanding an explanation.

Cassidy, not far behind, echoed her sister's concern. "Tell us, Father! Is she all right?"

Victor took a measured breath, steadying his thoughts. "A branch fell in front of us, startling Angelique," he began, trying to maintain his usual calm demeanor. "The mare reared and lost her footing, and your mother... well, she fell with her."

Katherine's brow furrowed as she looked up at him. "Who is Angelique?" she asked. Victor paused for a moment, realizing with a pang of guilt that he had never shared much of his life—his interests, his passions—with his daughters. His chest tightened, a strange ache blooming there.

He had always been too distant, too concerned with keeping order, and in doing so, he had inadvertently created a divide between them. Christina had spoken of how eager the girls were to spend time with him, and now, he could see it plainly in their eyes.

Victor swallowed hard, his gaze softening as he looked at Katherine. "Angelique is one of my horses," he said quietly. "And Toro, the stallion you saw earlier, is another. I've trained them both myself."

Cassidy's eyes widened with awe. "You trained them yourself, Father?"

Lady Annabelle, who had been listening intently, gave a soft giggle. "But, Your Grace," she said, her tone teasing, "you look far too serious to train horses."

Victor allowed himself a small smile, though it didn't quite reach his eyes. "Even serious men can ride and train horses, Lady Annabelle," he replied.

Agnes, who had been clutching the hem of his coat, tugged gently. "Father, can we see them? We're hardly ever allowed in the stables except when Mother takes us."

The tenderness in Agnes's voice caught him off guard, and for a moment, all the rigid formality he held onto so tightly slipped away. He knelt down to her level, gently brushing a lock of her hair from her face. "When Angelique is better," he promised softly, "I will introduce you to both of them. You have my word."

Agnes's face brightened with a smile, and for a fleeting moment, Victor felt a warmth he hadn't experienced in years. Rising, he cleared his throat and led them down to the drawing room.

"I trust you will all behave yourselves so your mother can rest," he said firmly but not unkindly.

Amelia, always quick to offer her assurances, clasped her hands behind her back and smiled sweetly. "We wouldn't dream of disturbing Mother, Father. We'll be on our best behavior."

Victor gave her a nod, his lips twitching slightly at her attempt to sound prim. As he turned to leave the drawing room, Miss Peversly appeared at the doorway. She curtsied with what he could only describe as a practiced elegance, though her presence always unsettled him.

"I have heard of the unfortunate incident involving Her Grace," she began, her tone carefully modulated to sound concerned, though Victor noted that it lacked any true sincerity. "Is there anything I might do for you , Your Grace?"

Victor's brow furrowed slightly. It struck him as odd that she asked what she could do for him and not for Christina, who was, after all, the one who had fallen and was in pain. The lack of genuine concern for his wife did not sit well with him.

His voice was clipped as he responded, "There is nothing I require from you, Miss Peversly."

Her smile faltered, but she quickly masked it, offering another curtsy before turning away. Victor watched her retreat, feeling the weight of her presence linger long after she had gone.

Just then, something brushed against his boots. He didn't need to look down to know what—or rather, who—it was.

"Carrot," he muttered, half amused, half exasperated. The feline mewed up at him, his orange fur brushing against Victor's leg as if seeking his attention.

Victor turned to a nearby footman. "Take him up to the duchess," he ordered, watching as Carrot trotted off, his little tail swishing with contentment.

As the footman scooped up the cat, Victor turned toward the front door to return to the stables. There was something about the governess's demeanor that still lingered in his mind, a nagging sense of unease he couldn't quite shake. And yet, his thoughts kept drifting back to Christina—how she had fallen but still insisted on helping Angelique.

His wife was unlike anyone he had ever known. She unsettled him in ways he didn't quite understand, and yet, he couldn't stop thinking about her.

Christina winced as her left hand touched her aching right shoulder. It felt swollen beneath her fingers, but not broken—at least, she didn't think it was. "It's not broken, Addison," she murmured, "or rather, I hope it's not." Her voice wavered slightly with the pain, though she tried to keep it steady.

Her gaze softened as she glanced down at Carrot, curled up beside her, his soft purring a soothing balm for her frazzled nerves. Gently, she stroked his fur, her mind momentarily distracted from her own discomfort.

Addison, her faithful maid, stood nearby, concern evident in her eyes. "The girls are still terribly worried about you, Your Grace," she said softly. Christina sighed, wishing she could go to them, reassure them that she was fine, even if she was feeling more pain than she had let on.

Before she could reply, a gentle knock sounded at the door. Addison moved to answer it, opening it slightly to reveal Mrs. Brimsey's familiar, motherly face peeking in. "Begging your pardon, Your Grace," the housekeeper said, "may I come in?"

Christina nodded, shifting slightly but wincing as her shoulder protested any movement. "Of course, Mrs. Brimsey," she replied, trying to sit up properly but finding the effort nearly impossible without causing more pain.

The housekeeper entered, her brow furrowed with concern as she inquired after Christina's condition. "How are you faring, Your Grace?"

"My shoulder aches," Christina admitted, her tone soft but resigned. It was an ache she hadn't expected to linger so much.

Mrs. Brimsey's expression brightened with reassurance. "Not to worry, ma'am, you shall be well again very soon. The physician is here."

At that, Mrs. Brimsey turned back to the door, allowing the physician, Mr. Browning, to enter. He greeted Christina with a polite bow, introducing himself as he stepped forward to examine her. His presence was calm and professional, but before he could begin, the door opened again.

This time, Victor entered the room, his tall figure silhouetted against the light from the hallway. He walked in quietly, taking his place beside Christina's bed without saying a word.

Mr. Browning's examination was brief. "It is nothing more than a bruised shoulder, Your Grace," he said, his tone professional and reassuring. "There is no break or dislocation, just a nasty bruise. Rest will do wonders."

Christina smiled up at Victor, attempting to ease the tension she sensed in him. "See? There's nothing to worry about. I told you." Her words were gentle, but Victor's response—or lack thereof—puzzled her. He didn't return her smile; instead, he remained distant, his expression closed off.

Before she could say anything more, Victor's voice broke through the silence. "What can be done to lessen her pain?" he asked the physician, his tone low but firm. The question startled her. He was showing a level of care she hadn't expected, but the way he asked it, so devoid of warmth, left her even more confused. Which Victor was real—the tender man who had carried her inside, or the one who now stood here, his concern masked by cold detachment?

Mr. Browning prescribed laudanum for the pain and reiterated the need for rest. As the physician gathered his things and prepared to leave, Victor remained at Christina's side. His voice was steady but distant as he looked down at her. "Take the physician's advice and rest, Christina."

She nodded, but before she could say anything more, he turned and left, the door closing softly behind him. Christina leaned back against the pillows, her heart feeling heavier than her bruised shoulder. Why did he do that? Show care one moment, and then distance himself the next? It was as though he didn't want to let her in but couldn't fully keep himself from caring either.

Her thoughts were interrupted by another knock at the door. This time, Addison opened it without waiting for permission. Christina heard her maid's voice, firm and protective. "Her Grace has no wish to see you."

Then came a voice that made Christina's pulse quicken with unease. "I am only here to wish the Duchess well."

"Miss Peversly," Addison said, her tone stiff and formal, clearly trying to dismiss the governess. "I'll deliver your message."

But Christina, despite everything, felt a strange impulse. "Let her in, Addison."

The maid hesitated, her eyes locking with Christina's for a brief moment. There was a subtle shake of her head, as if urging her mistress to reconsider. Yet Christina, her mind still swirling with thoughts of Victor, didn't see the harm in Miss Peversly's visit. What could the governess possibly do to her now?

Miss Peversly entered, her skirts swishing in that way Christina had come to find ominous. She curtsied, her expression as demure and polite as ever. "Your Grace," she began smoothly, "I came to express my deepest sympathies for your unfortunate accident. I do hope you recover swiftly."

Christina, though weary, nodded graciously. "Thank you, Miss Peversly."

The governess's eyes gleamed slightly as she continued. "I thought, in your current state, it might be best for the children if I took over their care until you are fully recovered."

Christina's entire body tensed, her hand instinctively clenching the fabric of her nightrail. She glanced at Addison, whose subtle shake of the head returned. A knot formed in her stomach as her gaze flickered back to Miss Peversly. She was about to suggest that Miss Peversly speak with the Duke when the governess spoke again.

"I've already discussed the matter with His Grace," Miss Peversly said with a sly smile. "He has granted his permission."

Christina's stomach dropped. She felt her pulse quicken, a wave of unease crashing over her. Why would Victor so quickly hand the children back to her? Without even consulting her?