Page 105 of His Duchess of Scandal
“I am not pranking,” Phoebe called back, looking over her shoulder at them. “I am most serious! I will fly like the birds.”
Charles and Hermia were on their feet in seconds, racing forward, but they were not quick enough. For before Charles could call out to Phoebe, to reprimand her or warn her, the branch beneath her left foot snapped. With a scream, she fell, not quite having found her grip with her hands, and she tumbled to the ground.
A horrible cry escaped Hermia’s lips, torn and panicked as the world moved in slow motion. They were still too far, not there when it mattered, too wrapped up in one another.
Bile rose into her throat, and she pressed a hand to her mouth right as Phoebe hit the ground with a terriblethud.
A beat of silence passed between them, before Phoebe started crying. They were not uncontrollable wails, but genuine sobs of pain as she curled into herself.
Charles rushed to her, his breathing labored, and immediately scooped her up into his arms.
Her elbows and arms were scraped, and her knees were also grazed, but Hermia could not stop looking at how her ankle swelled. It had bent when the branch broke, and the girl had landed right on it.
A wave of dizziness assaulted her as she looked at it, as she dragged her focus to Charles, who only stared down at Phoebe, haunted.
As if he were already blaming himself.
“Charles—”
He cut her off with a quick, “Let us take her home.”
Phoebe cried harder, clinging to him. “Papa, please do not be cross with me!Please!”
And what heartbreak it was to know Phoebe worried more about the anger on her father’s face than her wounded ankle. But he just held her to him, his silence sending his walls sky-high, higher than Hermia had been prepared to face that day after so long of seeing them lowered.
In a way, she, too, feared the look on his face.
Miss Ternan could not stop apologizing, but Hermia scarcely heard the woman, too focused on Phoebe and her pain. Too focused on her husband, who looked ready to tear himself apart.
Please just know that you are not the cause, Hermia begged silently.
Snippets from their conversation echoed in her mind. He had referred to them both in regard to Phoebe’s future, anusthat would face her debut.
I was weak.
I was distracted.
I was not careful, and Heavens, this is what I get for shirking the pillar of duty I swore to live by.
I should have been more attentive. My mother was right: inattentive minds miss too much. Lax behavior can cause too much danger. Now, my daughter is hurt, and it is my fault. It is all my fault.
“How could I have been so selfish?” he whispered to himself, leaning over Phoebe’s bedside.
How many times had he even come into her room over the last year? How many times had he read a bedtime story to heror kissed her forehead to bid her goodnight? How many times had he forgone complimenting her for a pretty gown, or good behavior, even if he had thought it was rare?
How many times had he failed as a father?
A wretched ache bloomed inside him, and he fell into it, aware that he was gripping Phoebe’s hand tightly. The physician would be there soon, but until then, Charles swore he would never, ever let his little girl down. He would never shirk his duty again.
Hours passed, and soon, he was not even aware it was dark, not until the bedroom door behind him creaked open and hands rested on his shoulders. His eyes didn’t stray from the sleeping girl in her bed.
“Charles,” Hermia whispered, pressing to his side. Not to seek attention, but to comfort him, yet he felt so detached from himself, so far removed from the room. “Charles, you must sleep.”
“I cannot.”
He couldn’t bring himself to look at her.
“Charles, she will need you rested.”
