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Summary
"Your injury," said Sophie. "I can make a compress, if-"
"Thank you, but I assure you it is nothing," Mr. Bridgerton said. "Goodnight." He managed to make it to the door before he staggered and collapsed, as his legs no longer could support him.
Sophie rushed to his side. She pulled his coat aside and stared in horror as his entire right side was stained with dark red blood, nearly black by how sodden his shirt and undone waistcoat were.
"Mr. Bridgerton, you're bleeding!" she exclaimed.
It was so much blood — too much blood. Mr. Bridgerton needed a doctor, but how could she fetch one at this time of night, with the storm? They were completely isolated from the rest of the world, which meant that Benedict Bridgerton's life was in Sophie's hands.
Or, what if Benedict's injury was just a little bit worse?