Chapter 11 #2
Octavia felt Malcolm’s grip tighten and as she peered up, she saw a flash of the old him: the warrior who suffered no fools.
“Was there something ye wished to say, ladies?” he called out with a dry smile. “Ye could just greet us instead of twittering amongst yerselves like a gaggle of geese.”
The gossipers fell silent, their jaws slack, their faces reddening at the remark. These were ladies who had gotten away with commenting as they pleased for so long, without consequence, that they had probably forgotten that not everyone would just tolerate it.
“Any of ye?” He smirked. “Och, but ye were so loquacious a moment ago. What happened? Did ye lose yer audacity? What a pity; I’d have liked to hear ye say those things directly to me. Ye see, I don’t care for it when people speak unkindly of my wife.”
The group of women stared as if he were a peculiar, and probably terrifying, creature walking among them. In that instant, not one would have dared to say a word to Malcolm.
A strange pride swelled in Octavia’s chest as she gazed at him.
“Enjoy yer evening, ladies,” he said. “I’d urge ye to be more cautious with yer tongues. Ye never ken who might take offense.”
With that, he ushered Octavia across the entrance hall and into the long hallway that stretched down to the open doors of the ballroom. Fine music drifted out, a lively tune that lightened her spirits.
“Do ye experience that a lot?” Malcolm asked, holding her in such a way that it was like he meant to use his body to protect her from any onslaught of unkind words.
Octavia shrugged. “It is not uncommon. There is always at least one. It is why I do not attend many events, though I always attend my friends’ parties and balls.”
He paused and glanced down at her, his eyebrows knitted together. “I’m sorry for that. I’m sorry that my absence put ye under such harsh scrutiny.”
“You have no need to apologize,” she told him. “It was my choice, remember.”
“Maybe so, but ye shouldn’t have to contend with that.”
Octavia allowed herself a small smile. “Well, I daresay I shall not hear a peep from them for a while, so that is something.”
Indeed, she felt almost buoyant as he guided her the rest of the way to the ballroom.
Protected. Safe from the judgment of others.
If she thought someone was staring at her unkindly or whispering about her behind their hands, all she had to do was turn inward, toward the breadth of Malcolm’s chest, and it was like nothing could reach her.
A few steps into the ballroom, they were enthusiastically set upon by Frances and Dominic, closely followed by Joan and Laurence. At least, the ladies were enthusiastic, while Laurence hung back more politely, and Dominic looked like he wished he could be anywhere else.
The poor semi-reformed hermit never had got used to enjoying himself at events. Nevertheless, he attended, just to please his beloved wife.
“Now, this is marvelous!” Frances crowed, clapping her hands together. “The Duke and Duchess of Highcastle, together at last. I shall be honest, Your Grace, I half-wondered if you were real. If it were not for darling Simon, I might have continued to doubt your existence.”
Octavia chuckled. “Malcolm,” his name felt strange, but not unpleasant on her tongue, “this is Frances, and her husband Dominic: the Duke and Duchess of Alderwick.”
“A pleasure to make yer acquaintance.” Malcolm bowed his head to Frances, before offering his hand to Dominic, who shook it politely.
Between the two men, the strength of their respective grip must have been immense.
“And yours,” Frances said brightly. “We were saying, not long ago, that it was high time that you returned to your lovely wife.”
There was a slight edge to her voice, to let Malcolm know that she was not completely delighted to meet him. The tone of slight misgivings.
“If I’d heard ye say that, Duchess, I’d have agreed with ye,” Malcolm replied, taking it in his stride. “I am where I want to be now.”
“Oh…” Frances’ eyes widened. “Oh, well… that is wonderful.”
“And this is Joan and Laurence, the Duke and Duchess of Ashcroft,” Octavia said, feeling less anxious by the moment.
Malcolm raised a curious eyebrow, a different sort of smile appearing on his lips. Without hesitation, he put his hand out to Laurence.
“Might I have a word with ye?” he asked, as Laurence shook his hand.
“Uh… yes, of course,” Laurence replied.
Octavia watched, puzzled, as the two gentlemen walked a short distance away, out of earshot. There did not seem to be any animosity or awkwardness; Malcolm’s demeanor relaxed as he spoke and Laurence nodded.
“What is that about?” Frances whispered.
Octavia shook her head. “I do not have the faintest notion.”
Oh… Oh no…
She thought back to the story she had told about the scandal and the duel. What if Malcolm blamed Laurence for it? What if there was a misunderstanding?
The two men returned a few minutes later, neither of them looking like they had just had a hushed argument. Instead, there was a friendliness between them, an unspoken accord that had Octavia dying of curiosity.
“Is all well?” Joan asked.
Malcolm nodded. “Aye, all’s well. I just wanted to thank yer husband.”
“Thank him?” Joan frowned.
“For his assistance in keeping my wife safe, before I kenned her,” Malcolm replied, as he moved to stand beside Octavia again, his arm resuming its place around her waist.
A soft gasp slipped from Octavia’s throat as she peered up at him, stunned by the revelation.
He had not reacted badly to her explanation of the events, but nor had he brought it up at the dinners they had shared.
She had assumed he wanted to bury it and pretend he had never heard about it, so for him to thank Laurence…
Her heart warmed; she could not help it.
“Shall we dance, lass?” Malcolm asked.
She nodded before she could stop herself. “I think that would be… pleasant.”
Indeed, after what he had just done, she doubted she would mind if he missed a few steps… as long as he did not lift her into the air or hold her too close.