Chapter 13
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
Malcolm knew, without doubt, that he had never had something so precious in his arms in his entire life. He did not need his memories to know it, as he carried Octavia into the manor.
She had fallen asleep on the journey back from Joan and Laurence’s, and he had not had the heart to wake her. Not when she had looked so peaceful, so at ease, in a way she had not since his arrival.
I’m not going to disappoint ye, lass.
He wished she could believe him, but he understood that he still had a long way to go to prove himself to her.
“Your Grace?” The butler appeared, and immediately slapped a hand over his mouth. Lowering his voice, he whispered, somewhat muffled, “Did you have a pleasant evening? Did you remember all of your steps?”
Malcolm nodded. “I did, and I did.”
“Well then, I’ll leave you be.” The butler withdrew his hand and smiled fondly at the duchess. “Goodnight, Your Grace.”
“Goodnight,” Malcolm whispered back.
He carried his wife up the stairs and found his way to her bedchamber, or what he hoped was her bedchamber. There, he carefully lay her down on the bed and picked up a blanket to cover her with.
She barely stirred, though a small smile crept onto her face as she lay there, fast asleep.
“Goodnight, lass,” Malcolm said quietly, as he leaned down and pressed a light kiss to her forehead.
Taking one more moment to look at her, once again bewildered as to how he could have ever stayed away from her, he left her to her peaceful slumber.
Octavia blinked awake to sunlight filtering in through the drapes, her mind foggy with sleep. Rubbing her eyes, she frowned at the pattern of the curtains.
Where am I?
She sat bolt upright and looked around, panic making her heart thud violently against her ribcage. It was not her bedchamber but as she continued to absorb her surroundings, she realized that she was at least in her own manor. A guest room that she vaguely remembered decorating.
“What am I doing in here?” she mumbled, racking her brain for memories of the night before.
She recalled leaving the ball and then… nothing.
Did Malcolm put me here? Did he carry me?
There was no other explanation for it.
Startled by the revelation, she threw back the blanket that had been carefully draped across her and rushed out of the room. She was still wearing her gown, but she hitched up the long skirts so she could sprint to her own bedchamber.
The maid was in there, laying a fire.
“Christine!” Octavia yelped, for she had hoped to be alone.
The maid jumped. “Your Grace. Goodness, you frightened me.”
“Apologies. Apologies.” Octavia hastily closed the door and began pulling off her gloves.
“Let me help you, Your Grace,” the maid said.
Octavia took a steadying breath. “Yes, thank you. That would be very kind.”
Before long, she was out of her lovely gown and wearing something more appropriate for the day: a simple dress of light green muslin, her hair freshly combed and re-pinned, her face refreshed by a good wash at the basin.
“Do you happen to know how I ended up in one of the guest rooms?” she asked the maid, her mood calmer.
Christine hid a smile. “A guest room, Your Grace? I just… assumed you had spent the night in your husband’s chambers.”
“Well, I did not,” Octavia retorted.
“Apologies, Your Grace. I didn’t mean to cause offence.” The maid bowed her head. “I saw His Grace carrying you upstairs. I shouldn’t have assumed; you’re quite right.”
So, Malcolm had carried her to bed. Octavia shook her head, half-wishing she had been awake to experience it, half-wishing she had not fallen asleep in the carriage.
Things were becoming altogether too complicated, the lines of her treasured marriage of convenience blurring.
I need advice. I need someone to tell me what to do.
“Christine, could you speak to Mr. Lincoln and have the carriage brought around?” she said abruptly.
The maid quirked an eyebrow. “Where shall I say you’re going, Your Grace?”
“To my brother’s.”
“Will His Grace be joining you?”
“No!” Octavia yelped, calming her voice as she added, “No, thank you. I shall take Simon with me. If His Grace asks where I am, just say that I have gone to visit friends.”
Christine bowed her head. “Very good, Your Grace.”
The maid departed quickly, and it was not long before Octavia followed her out, so she could get Simon ready as swiftly as possible. Preferably before Malcolm had any idea that his wife and son were not planning to be at home today.
“Well, this is an unexpected surprise,” Hugo said, glancing up from the morning papers. “What brings you here, dear sister?”
Octavia had clearly intruded on simple, romantic domesticity. Hugo sat reading his papers on the settee in the drawing room, while Evelyn sat close to him, her legs tucked beneath her, her head on his shoulder, reading a book.
“And my most excellent nephew!” Hugo brightened and set down his papers, holding out his arms for Simon.
The boy laughed giddily and ran toward his uncle, climbing up into his lap.
Hugo and Evelyn immediately turned all their attention toward the little boy, lavishing him with attention, asking about his latest adventures, while threatening to let him have all of the cakes in the kitchen.
“There are some raspberry tarts, and they are all for you,” Hugo said with a wink.
“But you must stay for luncheon, so do not ruin your appetite completely,” Evelyn cooed, ruffling Simon’s hair.
“I haven’t had breakfast,” Simon said cheerily.
The next moment, Hugo and Evelyn were staring at Octavia as if she had horns sticking out of her head. Hugo’s stare carried an edge of confusion, while Evelyn’s was outright worried.
“Is everything all right?” Evelyn asked.
Octavia swallowed. “Simon, why don’t you go down to the kitchens and see if they can find something other than raspberry tarts for your breakfast?” She turned to Mrs. Foster, the housekeeper, who had led her into the room in the first place. “Could you take him?”
“Certainly, Your Grace,” the old woman replied, extending a hand toward Simon. “Come on, dear boy. Let us see what cook has made.”
Simon hesitated for a moment, but eventually decided to follow his stomach. Humming happily to himself, he took the housekeeper’s hand and allowed her to lead him out of the drawing room.
“What is wrong, Octavia?” Evelyn jumped right in.
On shaky legs, Octavia made her way to the opposite settee and sank down. “It is Malcolm.”
“What has he done?” Hugo’s tone darkened. “Has he hurt you? Threatened you? Has he hurt Simon?”
“What?” Octavia blinked. “No… no, nothing of the sort. In truth, I have the opposite problem.”
Hugo relaxed. “Oh? What do you mean?”
There was no one in the world that Octavia trusted more than her brother and her sister-in-law, and she could no longer bear the truth of her husband’s condition alone. With them, she could unburden herself and, perhaps, receive some answers to her quandaries.
“He is… quite changed,” she began uncertainly. “There was… Well, there was an accident. I do not know the exact details, but I know that my husband struck his head, was knocked unconscious, and when he awoke, he… had lost ten years of his life. The memories, I mean.
“Now, the doctor that was tending to him is currently at Huntfield House, but… the truth is, he does not know what might happen in terms of Malcolm’s recovery.
Apparently, amnesia is so rare and so complicated that anything could happen.
He might regain his memories tomorrow, or a month from now, or years from now; he might regain some but not all, or he might never regain them. ”
Hugo stared at his sister, open-mouthed.
“And it seems that the Malcolm of ten years ago,” she continued, “is not at all the same as the man that I married. For one thing, he wishes to be involved in my life and Simon’s. For another, he does not seem to want to leave again… and I do not know what to do.”
Her voice cracked, the pressure of the last week finally catching up to her.
“Wait, wait, wait.” Hugo waved his hands. “If Malcolm has lost all of his memories from the past decade, how does he even know about you and Simon?”
“The doctor told him,” Octavia replied. “Indeed, the very moment Malcolm found out, he decided to ride straight to Huntfield. Simon adores him, and he adores Simon. They are… so lovely together. Malcolm plays with him, in ways that I lack the imagination for; he is teaching him to ride and is considering buying him a pony; Simon just… brightens every time his papa is with him, and… I am so confused by it all, and so afraid that he will stay, but I am also afraid that he will leave and break Simon’s heart. ”
Sinking back into the settee, Hugo let out a low whistle. “My goodness…”
“That is one way of putting it,” Octavia replied wryly.
“Well, this is not at all what you wanted.” Her brother pointed out the obvious. “It is not what was agreed. Now, I know I was not pleased about the arrangement to begin with, but I know it made you happy. Are you here because you want me to make him leave Huntfield?”
Octavia swept a hand over her hair, her eyes scrunched as the weight of that question threatened to crush her brain. Was that why she had come to Hugo?
No… No, it is not as simple as that.
She shook her head. “I just do not know what to do. What if he decides to stay forever? How do I navigate that? What if he stays for a few years, and then suddenly remembers everything? His entire character would change back, would it not? And Simon adores this Malcolm, not the one who never met him.”
Hugo looked like he was about to answer, when a startling crash snapped her brother’s attention toward the drawing room door.
The shout of dismay that followed had Hugo up on his feet, heading for the exit with a muttered, “Just give me a moment. I shall contend with this, then come back to see what advice I can offer… though I cannot promise much, at present.”
He headed out and, as the door closed behind him, Evelyn leaned forward on the settee.
“But what do you make of this new Malcolm?” she asked, with a pointed smile.
“It does not matter what I make of him,” Octavia replied defensively.
Evelyn got up and came to sit beside her sister-in-law. “On the contrary, I think it matters just as much.” She brushed a lock of hair out of Octavia’s face. “Do you feel something for him?”
“What?” Octavia spluttered. “No, of course not. I… could not possibly. I do not trust men, I do not like men, I do not… I could not… I mean, he is… I…”
Evelyn smiled. “Forgive me if I am speaking out of turn, but if you were not confused about him, you would be furious, not troubled. You would not have hesitated to accept Hugo’s offer to get him out of your house.” She paused. “Are you enjoying spending time with him too?”
“He is… different, that is all,” Octavia replied, feeling rather vulnerable.
“He is amusing and charming and sweet and caring, and he does not avoid looking at me. He has told me that he means to woo me and win my trust, but… he is not himself. And yes, I am behaving strangely around him: my heart beats faster when he is near, and my hands shake when he touches me or looks at me a certain way. But it does not mean I have feelings for him. This is exactly what happened with Laurence: I mistook gratitude for love then, and I am mistaking confusion for… something more now.”
Evelyn chuckled. “Or you got it exactly right this time, and you are, against your wishes, falling in love with your husband.”
Not a single word could force its way out of Octavia’s throat as she sat there, staring at her sister-in-law in abject disbelief. Of course, Evelyn was wrong. She had to be. Because if Octavia was falling in love with her husband…
What a terrible thought.
It would be the same as doting on a wolf, not knowing when the beast would turn on her.