Chapter 10
CHAPTER TEN
Their first dancing lesson began the following afternoon, the summer sunshine beating down upon the estate. Much too hot to enjoy oneself outside.
The ballroom, however, offered little respite from the warmth of the day. Sunlight slanted in through the long windows, and Octavia was already sweltering, sweat beading upon her brow.
Then again, that might have had more to do with who she was waiting for than the heat of the room.
“Where is he?” she mumbled, her gaze flitting to the clock.
Malcolm was late. Five whole minutes late, which might not have seemed like much, but when she had been dreading this all day, those additional minutes were an unusual form of torture.
If anything, he should have been early, considering she was doing this for his benefit.
And he will come in smiling, acting like nothing is wrong…
The ballroom door opened and, as if summoned by her annoyed thoughts, Malcolm strode in.
“Good afternoon to ye, my lovely wife,” he said breezily, wearing his customary uniform of a flimsy shirt and an exposing kilt, his calves on display for all to see.
Octavia swallowed. “That will have to be the first thing to change.”
“What?” he asked, walking toward her, looking as if he had just stepped out of one of the romantic novels that her friends favored.
“Your attire,” she said tersely. “After this lesson, you are to go into town with Mr. Lincoln. He will take you to the tailor, and let us all pray that appropriate garments can be made for you in time.”
Malcolm glanced down at himself. “This is appropriate where I hail from. Aye, maybe I’d have on a waistcoat and tailcoat, but there’s naught wrong with the kilt.”
“You will cause the ladies to faint,” Octavia retorted.
“As long as it’s nae ye fainting, I don’t mind.” He smiled, his eyes shining with irreverence. “Of course, if ye do faint, I’ll be right there to catch ye.”
“You will wear trousers,” she argued, already losing some of her breath as she craned her neck to look up at him.
Why did he have to be so handsome? Why did he have to be so… cheerful and handsome? It was quite unfair to be both, particularly when that had not always been the case.
Malcolm shrugged. “If that’s yer preference, then fine; I’ll relent and suffocate my legs for yer comfort.”
“Thank you.” She huffed out a sigh. “Now, as there is no one in the manor who can play the pianoforte for us, we shall have to conduct the lesson without music.”
Malcolm took a half step closer. “I can hum, if ye like? Or we can just dance to the rhythm of our own music?”
She backed off, if only to prevent his proximity from stealing all of the breath in her lungs. “If you cannot take this seriously, then we shall not have a lesson at all.”
He put up his hands in a gesture of surrender. “Apologies, lass. I assure ye, I am taking this very seriously. That last thing I want is to embarrass ye at a ball.”
“Well… good,” she mumbled, resting her hands on her hips. “I did some research about which dances were in favor a decade ago, and which have become more common in the years you have missing. So, we shall start with a quadrille, and then we shall move onto a… um… a waltz.”
Her tight throat barely managed to squeeze out the word. There were some in society who still thought the dance to be obscene, but, more often than not, it showed up at every ball.
Am I really going to teach my husband how to waltz with me?
If she could not handle him standing at such close proximity, how on earth was she supposed to get through an entire waltz? They would need to be far closer for that.
As if we have not been much closer, once upon a time.
Her cheeks burned like two furnaces at the mere thought.
Indeed, it probably seemed ridiculous that she was fretting over a waltz when they had a son together, and that son had not simply appeared out of nowhere.
But that had been years ago, when things were clear and agreed between them, when their proximity had had no future expectations or feelings attached.
He was the one who had confused everything by telling her he wished to stay, and that he meant to woo her. Now, each word, each flirtation, each step toward her, had a weight to it that left her flushed and flustered.
“A waltz?” Malcolm quirked an eyebrow. “Things really have changed in society. I remember there were almost riots about that manner of dance, back when I was a younger man.”
Octavia blew a lock of hair out of her face, frustrated. “Let us start with the quadrille.”
He bowed his head in a nod. “I am at yer mercy.”
As it turned out, it was rather difficult to teach Malcolm a quadrille without the three other couples required. Considering it was a group dance that called for a constant change of partners, with elements involving the four ladies of the group dancing together, the first lesson proved hopeless.
Yet, he had picked up the steps well enough and had a natural grace that his warrior-like physique made surprising.
They would, perhaps, have to avoid a quadrille until Malcolm had watched one first, to see how the steps he had learned were implemented.
“Does this mean we’re to attempt the waltz now?” he asked.
Octavia chewed her lower lip and nodded. “Unless there are other dances you don’t quite remember?”
“I have vague memories of being taught to reel. That can’t be much different to yer English dances,” he offered.
She paused. “Wait… so you do not remember any dances? How can that be when you have only forgotten a decade?”
“I didn’t hail from a fine family like yers,” he replied with a shrug.
“What I have, I inherited by chance. Aye, we were well-to-do, with a pleasant townhouse in Edinburgh, but we weren’t nobility.
I only became a duke because there were nay other male heirs, and I was the end of the tentative bloodline. ”
Octavia blinked, astounded. How had she not known that? She had researched him plenty when she had been searching for a suitable husband for herself, but she must have missed that part.
Oh, mercy, my work has just tripled…
If he had not been taught to be a duke from a young age, as most heirs were, then that explained his utter lack of etiquette at the dining table.
It also explained his informal attire, his novice understanding of dances, and why he now seemed so lighthearted.
He had forgotten the weight of being a duke, as well as everything that came with being a duke.
“Does that mean you have no understanding of how the estates are run?” she asked, dumbfounded.
He grimaced. “I can’t make head nor tail of the ledgers, though I’m getting there.”
“I can… help with that, if you would like?”
After all, she had been overseeing most of Huntfield’s matters since it became her home. Highcastle was a mystery to her still, and she had no knowledge of running an actual castle, but she knew that Malcolm kept ledgers and documents pertaining to it at Huntfield too.
Malcolm perked up. “That sounds like a fine idea. With yer aid, it might stop me from throwing everything into the fire, just to be done with it.”
“Then, yes, I will help,” she said, still confounded.
How could I not have known?
Her thoughts were interrupted by Malcolm offering his hand to her. “I can’t be sure, but I think the waltz starts like this.”
She stared at his hand, so rough and large and scarred, and cursed herself as her heart fluttered.
To add insult to injury, her traitorous mind decided to conjure up a vision of them waltzing together, pressed closer than was permitted, her hand clasping his lapel while his hand rested too low on the small of her back, the two of them whirling around the room until she was quite dizzy.
“Well?” he prompted.
Hesitantly, she took his hand.
Her breath faltered as he put his other arm around her, the side of his hand coming to rest at her shoulder blade. She gently touched his arm, a light grip, and wondered how he knew this opening stance. Had he been studying before his lesson, using the books in the library?
“And… one,” she said, stepping back. “Then two… then…”
He moved as if he had done this before, leading her.
Gazing up at him in surprise, she almost forgot her steps, the mistake causing him to come far closer than he was supposed to. She gripped his arm tighter to steady herself, and he, in turn, let his palm splay against her back so that she would not lose her balance.
Her heart skipped and her lungs forgot how to function as she met those beautiful, summer green eyes. It was almost an embrace, reminding her of the moment he had returned to her, how fiercely he had hugged her in the drawing room even without knowing who she was.
“How do you know what to do?” she managed to say.
He smiled. “I thought, since ye meant to be a strict tutor, that I ought to prepare beforehand.” He leaned in slightly. “But books can only teach so much.”
All of a sudden, he swept her around in a circle, then another, then another, until she was clinging to him as much in excitement as alarm.
A yelp escaped her throat as his hands found the curve of her waist and, without warning, he lifted her up into the air, whirling around with her.
It did not seem to cost him any effort whatsoever, his strength holding her up securely…
so much so that, in a rush of joy, she stretched out her arms and closed her eyes, feeling as if she were flying.
In slow rotations, he brought her back down to the ground, and his arm slid around her, pulling her close as they swayed together.
“This is not a waltz,” she rasped, her heart racing.
“I thought I ought to teach ye some of a Scottish reel in return,” he said.
“This is how they dance in Scotland?”
He chuckled. “Well, nae exactly. I put in a few steps of my own.”
As much as she tried to fight against it, her face and neck prickled with fresh warmth.
There was such an inescapable charm to him and, for a moment, it saddened her.
He was now someone she might have liked to meet when she was younger, before everything happened to twist her view of gentlemen.
And what had twisted him into the man she remembered, when this was who he used to be?
To her alarm, she felt moisture on her cheek.
Malcolm frowned and brushed the tear away with his thumb, his hold on her relaxing.
He stepped back. “Have I done something to upset ye?”
She shook her head, hastily wiping her eyes.
“But I must have,” he insisted. “Nae just now, but before. I must have done something to ye to make ye want to be so far away from me, to make ye want to lead separate lives.”
“It was not you,” she blurted out, needing to unburden herself. “You were not the one who hurt me. You were not the one who made me want nothing to do with men.”
He deserved to know that; she could not allow him to blame himself for another gentleman’s lasting mark upon her mind.
Malcolm’s brow creased in consternation. “But someone hurt ye?”
Turning her gaze away from him, the pleasure of the dance dissipating, she dipped her head in a reluctant nod.
“Tried to,” she murmured. “And I have not trusted a man since, nor shall I. They are all the same.”
If he was offended by the remark, he did not show it. Instead, his hand reached for hers and held it gently. “What happened? Why do ye feel that way?”
“I was in London,” she began haltingly. “I had been to the theater and… found myself alone, somewhere that I should not have been. A man cornered me, sought to take advantage of me, and… I still dread to think what might have happened if Laurence had not intervened.”
She drew in a shaky breath, her mind prickling with the awful memory. Something she would have liked to knock out of her head for good.
“There was a duel. Laurence acted in my honor and almost went blind because of it.” Her mouth twisted, her eyes stinging with tears she refused to spill.
“I could not even defend myself. Someone else had to do it for me. As I said, if it had not been for Laurence’s timely intervention, I would have surely been ruined.
And it sickens me that I could not… do anything to help myself.
That is why I do not trust men, and never shall. ”
A glint of something flashed in Malcolm’s eyes. “Might I have the name of the gentleman?”
“No, you may not,” she replied.
“I would be discreet.” He offered a smile.
“It was years ago, and it was dealt with,” she said crisply.
Malcolm lightly squeezed her hand. “By Laurence?”
She nodded. Had he not been listening? Did she need to repeat herself?
“Who is Laurence?” he asked.
Oh… of course. He does not know anyone.
“He is Joan’s husband. It is their ball that we are attending,” she answered, dropping her gaze to the floor.
She did not want to see pity on her husband’s face, nor anger. Anger had not fixed anything then, and it would not fix anything now.
“Do ye trust him?” Malcolm said softly.
Octavia’s throat bobbed, embarrassment creeping up the back of her neck. “I suppose I do. He was… very kind to me.”
And I responded to that kindness by being an idiot, thinking I was in love.
The humiliation of that was almost as great as the humiliation of being cornered by that beast. She had not realized, back then, when she was young and foolish, that she was just mistaking gratitude for affection.
After the incident, aside from her brother, Laurence had been the only other man she trusted, and she had let it confuse her.
“But ye don’t trust me?” There was no offense in Malcolm’s voice, just a lilt of sadness.
“Like I said, I do not trust any man,” she replied flatly, aware of his eyes on her.
He brought her hand to his lips and kissed it softly. “As well as wooing ye, lass, I mean to prove that ye can trust me. Ye don’t have to believe me right now, but I will win yer trust and I won’t break it.”
Octavia’s heart fluttered wildly, suddenly aware of the warmth and roughness of his palm against hers.
The tenderness in his voice gave her no choice but to remember their first night at Highcastle, when he had knelt before her and brushed her cheek, telling her to relax in that same sweet, comforting voice.
She broke away from him, muttering excuses, and left the ballroom before he saw just how red a face could turn.
What were you thinking? She scolded herself as she walked through the hallways. Why would you share all of that with him?
The entire point of her marriage was that her husband knew almost nothing about her, and she had just broken that covenant. Worse still, her entire being kept betraying her, flushing and fluttering with every sweet and charming word he spoke, as if she were a debutante all over again.
The sooner he gets his memory back, the better.
For the last thing she needed was to actually miss him when he left, just like her son.