Chapter 17
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
Upon the discovery that Doctor Stanforth had gone to London for a couple of days, Malcolm had not known where else to turn.
He was not even sure what he needed: medicine could not undo his situation, his wife and son could not help, nor could he think of anyone who might be able to offer him advice, for who else had suffered from amnesia? It was not exactly commonplace.
So, he had taken himself to the stables, thinking he might like to ride to clear his head.
Before he knew it, he was not merely riding aimlessly across the estate, as he had done earlier that day; instead, he found himself following now-familiar roads toward London, remembering the way as if he had a map etched into his head.
The journey was not far, a matter of no more than two hours, and the stallion did not seem to mind the additional exercise.
But he was not going to the city in search of the doctor.
Hooves clattering on the cobblestones of Mayfair, the late afternoon replaced by hazy, golden early evening, Malcolm and Rogue came to a halt outside an elegant white townhouse. Flowers bloomed in window-boxes, adding a splash of color.
Jumping down from the saddle, Malcolm ran up the steps of an arched porch and banged on the door. Within, a dog barked a warning.
The door opened a few moments later to reveal an austere-looking butler. “May I help you, sir?” He frowned, then his eyes widened. “Your Grace? Apologies. I was not aware you would be visiting. Please, do come in. I shall have the footman take your horse.”
“Thank ye,” Malcolm said gruffly, as he pushed into the townhouse.
He had been here just twice before, but he had not forgotten it. Agitated, his head pounding as more memories broke through the veil of his amnesia, he took himself to the drawing room to wait for his friend, Anthony Drew, the Duke of Knotgill.
The dog that had furiously barked, a liver-and-white spaniel with ears so long they almost trailed on the floor, pattered over to him and sat down. Reaching down, Malcolm sought to calm himself by petting the dog… but it was not working.
A short while later, the door opened, and Anthony entered.
“I thought the butler had gone mad when he said you were here,” he said with a hesitant smile. “I told him, 'It cannot possibly be Malcolm Gale; he would rather break his own ankles than set foot in England again'. Yet, here you are.”
Malcolm gave his friend a strained look. “Aye, here I am.”
“What brings you here?” Anthony sat down on the opposite settee. “I am not displeased, do not mistake me, but this is highly unusual. I mean, when did I last see you? It must have been…”
“Half a year, give or take,” Malcolm replied.
The last time they had seen one another was at Highcastle. Anthony had come up to Scotland, as he did every year, to hunt on Malcolm’s estate with his two brothers and a few other guests.
It was, in truth, how they had met in the first place.
Malcolm had just inherited his dukedom out of nowhere and was struggling with his new reality when Anthony had turned up on the doorstep of Highcastle.
Apparently, he had had an agreement with the previous duke to hunt every year on his lands, and he was keen to continue the arrangement.
What had begun as a rather brazen request had turned into an unexpected and very timely friendship. Anthony had stayed a while at Highcastle to help Malcolm, training him in how to be a duke, offering advice, and even setting him up with his first couple of business associates.
“You did not respond to my last couple of letters,” Anthony said, an eyebrow raised. “I have been wondering, in truth, if I should ride up to Highcastle to ensure that you had not died.”
“As ye can see, I’m alive,” Malcolm said grimly.
“Well, you do not look too happy about it,” Anthony teased, a note of true worry subtly lacing his words. “What is the matter? It must be grave indeed if it has brought you all the way to London.”
It was no secret that Malcolm despised the city.
He could run an estate, engage in successful business endeavors, welcome peers into his castle to hunt game, and fight in wars with skill and without fear, but he could not bear the frippery and pomp of balls, dinner parties, and everything else that came with being part of society. Especially the London kind.
I had forgotten that…
“I find myself in a… strange situation,” Malcolm replied, furrowing his brow.
“Consider me curious,” Anthony encouraged, as he sat back and waited patiently.
“Some weeks ago, I was out riding,” Malcolm began. “I heard someone cry out, so I went to investigate. There were two lads on the riverbank, screaming. I assume they’d been fishing in my river; they had a few trout hanging from a pole.
“They were only young and frightened out of their minds. I kenned them, albeit vaguely. Took me a while to realize what it was they were screaming about, when I saw another lad’s head pop out of the water.
He was drowning, and the current was fierce.
The water was deep, but my horse had crossed that river a thousand times.
“I took Rogue in, and I got to the boy. Dragged him out and put him on the saddle. We were almost back on dry land when a water rat came shooting out of its hole, and bit Rogue on the leg. My horse doesn’t spook easily, as ye ken, but he bucked and I…
fell backward into the river. My leg must have been tangled in the reins because he eventually pulled me out before I ended up drowning, but I’d…
hit my head on something. A rock under the water. I was out cold.
“When I woke up, I was in my bedchamber at the castle with no memory of where I was or how I got there. There was a doctor there, and he told me the boy was fine and had gone home with his brothers. I didn’t remember any boy, but he explained the accident, as recounted by the brothers.
Then, gradually, it turned out that I hadn’t just forgotten the accident; I’d forgotten the past ten years of my life.
In my mind, I was three-and-twenty, still in my first weeks as a soldier at war. ”
It felt peculiar to have the memories right there, so readily available. He had not forgotten everything that had happened since the accident, and had certainly not forgotten the inexplicable frustration of reaching for a memory, only to find absolutely nothing where it should be.
Anthony blinked, slack-jawed.
“My brother wasn’t yet dead, my mother wasn’t yet dead, and I had nay notion that I was a duke,” Malcolm added thickly. “The doctor had to explain everything to me. Even then, it took me a while to believe him.”
Anthony shook his head as if to dislodge the shock, though his eyes remained wide. “What of your wife? I assume you did not remember her?”
“Again, I had to be told, but… as soon as I heard about her, I rode away from Highcastle and went straight to her,” Malcolm said, a tightness in his chest. “Even now, I have nay idea why I did that. I didn’t ken her. She wasn’t anything to me.”
His chest constricted even more at those last five words, for though he now recalled the past decade, he also recalled the time he had spent with Octavia since his accident.
Getting to know her, feeling such warmth toward her, wanting to be part of a family with her, certain that he would never desire to leave her side again.
But my mind was altered then. I was not who I am.
“Even now?” Anthony leaned forward. “Are you saying your memories have come back?”
“A few hours ago, aye,” Malcolm said. “They haven’t all come back, but they’re returning bit by bit.”
Anthony took a moment, his finger resting on his lips in an expression of bewilderment.
It was to be expected; it was not every day that a friend admitted they had recently forgotten ten years of their life.
Until that sudden shock of recollection on the bowling green, Malcolm had not remembered Anthony at all.
Before they had met by chance, they had moved in very different spheres. They would have had no cause to know one another, prior to Malcolm’s unexpected elevation into high society.
“Does your wife know your memories have returned?” Anthony asked, at last.
Malcolm shook his head. “We were playing lawn bowls. I excused myself, went for a ride to clear my thoughts, and ended up here.”
A low whistle trilled from Anthony’s lips. “Well, I am honored that you would think of me—or, indeed, remember me—and I am glad that I know of your affliction. Truly, I feared you might be dead.” He paused. “But… how long were you at Huntfield?”
“Almost two weeks,” Malcolm replied.
“So, you have been living with your wife?”
Malcolm nodded. “Indeed. She was… generous enough to allow me to remain, considering my condition.” He cleared his throat. “But that is over now. I am recovered, or so it seems, and I must leave as soon as possible.”
“Has it been unpleasant?” Anthony said.
“Pardon?”
“Your stay with your wife. Has it been unpleasant?”
Malcolm had the sense that he was wandering into some manner of ambush. Then again, he had never known Anthony to be sentimental. When Malcolm first spoke to Anthony about the match with Octavia, his friend had been pragmatic and encouraging of the union.
“She wants to lead separate lives. It’s what I want too,” Malcolm remembered saying, in the drawing room at Highcastle, while poring over Octavia’s latest letter of terms. “She wants children. I must have an heir. It would be a convenient match.”
“I daresay it would,” Anthony had replied. “Besides, you could not expect a society lady to live here, now, could you? She would die of boredom. Perhaps, you might grant her Huntfield?”
Malcolm frowned. So, it was Anthony who had suggested the English property. He had forgotten that. Huntfield House had been part of the estate, a summer residence of the former duke when the Scottish weather proved too hard for his old bones, and Malcolm had certainly had no desire to use it.
Indeed, prior to his marriage, he had often considered selling it, but something had always stopped him.
“I was nae in my right mind,” Malcolm finally answered, carefully. “It doesn’t matter if my time at Huntfield has been pleasant or nae. I am recovered now. I am myself again.”
And that means I must be as far away from Octavia and my son as it is possible to get…
“I should depart for Highcastle immediately,” he added.
A disapproving frown creased Anthony’s brow. “You cannot ride back to Scotland from here without saying a word to your wife.”
“Of course nae,” Malcolm said curtly. “That’s nae what I meant.”
Although he was not looking forward to the confrontation. He would rather face a foreign horde again than have to inform his wife that he would be leaving and, failing another accident that knocked his memories out of him, he would not be returning.
But why should I worry? he reasoned. My absence is what she wants. She’ll have her life back, the way she likes it.
Indeed, clearly he was worrying for nothing. If anything, his wife would be elated by the news, eager to restore peace to her home.
“I’ll leave after I’ve spoken to her,” he clarified. “And I should probably speak to the doctor, too. He is in London somewhere; he should nae be hard to find.”
Anthony sighed. “Well, if you are certain that this is what you want?”
“I am.”
“You are not tempted to stay a while longer, just to see if you might like living as a family?” Anthony prodded, and gained a sharp glower in return.
“Nay, I am nae. I have taken up enough of her time.” Malcolm got to his feet. “As I have taken up enough of yers.”
Anthony rose with him, hurrying to follow him to the front door.
“You do not have to leave, my good man. We have not yet had our tea. There is no need to rush at all.” He moved in front of him.
“We can summon the doctor here. I know that I would feel better if you stayed while my footman fetches him.”
Malcolm did not like the feeling of being trapped, a bristling sensation that rose through him as he looked from his friend to the door. It would have been no great effort for him to shove Anthony aside, but… perhaps his friend was right.
Rogue could certainly use the rest.
The stallion could have journeyed for hours and hours at a steady pace, but Malcolm had pushed him rather hard on the road to London.
“Very well,” Malcolm said, retreating. “Although, if ye stand in my path the next time I attempt to leave, ye’ll nae like the consequences.”
Anthony laughed awkwardly. “I promise; I will not.” He glanced up at him. “Goodness, I had forgotten how frightening you can be sometimes.”
“Aye, it’s a wonder I have any friends at all,” Malcolm replied wryly as, with a puff of breath, he returned to the drawing room.
Now that he thought about it some more, refreshments would be a welcome thing. And while he drank his tea and ate whatever sweet morsels accompanied it, he would have time enough to figure out how he was going to broach the subject of his greater departure with his wife.
Ye should never have let me stay in the first place, Octavia…
For though she might be pleased by the news, he knew of one, somewhat smaller person who would not.
This is what ye get for doing something decent. After all, no good deed went unpunished.