Page 70 of His Runaway Duchess

Edward dropped onto his knees beside his son. It was too soon to feel relief. A fall from a horse could break a person’s back or neck, and they might not realize it until a moment too late.

Alex was blinking up at him, his eyes brimming with tears, and Edward longed to gather him into his arms and reassure him that all was well.

He couldn’t, though. Not yet. It was too soon to give in to emotion.

“What hurts, Alex?” he asked bluntly. “Your back? Your neck? Can you move your legs? Is there tingling or numbness or any sort ofwrongnessin your body?”

Alex swallowed thickly. “There’s a lot ofwrongness. I feel like one big bruise.”

Daphne chuckled at this, and Edward shot her an angry look.

“It’s my arm, Papa,” Alex continued. “I landed on it when I fell, and it hurts so much.”

“Let me see.”

Trying to be as gentle as he could, Edward inspected the injured arm, drawing back Alex’s sleeve. There was tremendous bruising and swelling, of course, but he could not tell whether it was a broken bone or not.

“The doctor will have to look at it,” Edward said. “Now, if you’re sure you haven’t broken anything else, Alex, we ought to get you up and out of this freezing mud, and into the warm house. The doctor has been called.”

Alex nodded, sniffling.

As carefully as he could, trying not to jostle the boy’s injured arm, Edward helped Alex to his feet. Once he had reassured himself that neither of Alex’s feet was pointing in the wrong direction, he scooped him up into his arms and began to carry him up the hill.

“Peter, fetch the horses, would you?” he directed. “Duchess, you come with me. I have words I’d like to speak to you.”

The walk back to the house was silent. Inside, the servants were in a frenzy. Mrs. Trench was practically in tears.

“I only turned my back for a moment,” she kept saying, over and over again.

“It wasn’t her fault,” Alex spoke up manfully. “I heard that Daffie was going out for a ride, and I slipped away. I shouldn’t have done it, Papa. I know that.”

“Well, in the future, you must be more careful,” Edward answered grimly. “I know that this was not Mrs. Trench’s fault, but in some households, she might be dismissed for letting her charge sneak away when he is supposed to be studying. And then how would you feel?”

Alex bowed his head at that, looking miserable.

“Don’t you think that’s enough, Edward?” Daphne spoke up, scurrying after him into the house. “He’s already so upset. And Mrs. Trench?—”

Edward rounded on her, his eyes blazing. “Must you interfere ineverything, Duchess? Why do you never listen to me? Please, keep your own counsel. I need tothink.”

Turning on his heel, he stormed towards the parlor, which had been set up for Alex to rest and recover while they waited for the doctor.

Daphne did not follow him this time. She lingered in the hallway, pale and a little angry.

That was fine. Edward was angry, too. Livid, in fact.

Mrs. Trench had prepared a couch for Alex, along with hot milk and some bread and jam. Clarissa was there too, plumping up cushions and giving murmured instructions to the maids.

“Your Grace, I can’t apologize enough…” Mrs. Trench began, her face pale with anxiety.

“It’s not your fault, Jemimah,” Edward responded briskly. “The Duchess is to blame for this.”

His words carried. The servants around him flinched, exchanging looks. He knew, without turning to look, that Daphne had heard.

Alex shifted uneasily. “It isn’t Daffie’s fault either, Papa. I asked her if I might make the jump, and she said no. She said that it was too dangerous. She suggested the race instead.”

“A race? Down a steep, dangerous hill, against an eight-year-old boy?” Edward snapped. “If the Duchess had been a little more careful, you would not be lying here with a broken arm. She is to blame for this.”

There was a tense silence after he’d spoken, and then he heard footsteps retreating down the hall.

---