Chapter 31
CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE
“You should not be worrying about me. I should be worrying about you,” Octavia said with a dry laugh.
Evelyn sat opposite in the library, morning sunshine casting a glow upon the two women, while a low fire popped and smoldered in the grate. It had been a rather chilly morning, a rehearsal of the autumn that would soon be upon them.
“Nonsense. I do not need anyone fussing over me,” Evelyn protested, smiling. “I have enough of that from your brother. If he thought I would oblige, he would see to it that I was confined to my bed until the child is born.”
“What has the doctor said?” Octavia asked.
Evelyn shrugged. “That I should not exert myself, but that I am perfectly able to go about my daily business. And yes, that includes coming to see how my dear sister-in-law is faring.”
“I am quite well,” Octavia insisted. “Truly. It was… an adjustment, but I am getting used to it just being Simon and me again. That is true of any visitor, I think; it takes time for things to return to how they were.”
Evelyn shuffled forward to pour herself some more tea. “Perhaps that is true, but not every visitor is one’s estranged husband.” She paused. “And certainly not every visitor is someone you were falling in love with.”
“I do not even know if I was,” Octavia argued mildly.
“I think it was a trick of proximity, and of his injury. He was there, he was uncharacteristically sweet and charming, he was the sort of man I might have dreamed about when I was a young girl, and… there was, of course, our brief, shared history. I got confused, that is all.”
After Malcolm’s departure, she had explained everything to her brother and sister-in-law about the betrayal. They had been shocked to hear of it, but not nearly as critical as Octavia was.
“But you seemed so besotted with him when you came to dine with us,” Evelyn pointed out. “He was not the forgetful version of himself then.”
“No, but he was pretending to be,” Octavia countered.
Scrunching her mouth, her head tilted to one side, Evelyn fixed her sister-in-law with an assessing stare.
“Do you really believe that is true? Or do you think it might be possible that he was being himself? You have said it yourself; you had no opportunity to get to know him before. What if the man he was in those two weeks, when he withheld the truth was the most honest version of him?”
She took a pointed sip of her tea.
Meanwhile, the idea alone made Octavia’s head spin, confusing her all the more.
“I cannot be with him if I cannot trust him, Evie,” she said brusquely. “Anyway, it does not matter now. He has gone back to Highcastle, I am readjusting well, and all will seem normal again soon.”
Evelyn sighed and sat back against the settee. “And what of Simon? Is he readjusting?”
“He will.” Octavia reached for a cake to distract herself, and bit into it as if it had insulted her personally. “Children are resilient. Besides, what am I to do? Write to Malcolm and beg him to come back? No. He has made his choice and… it is what I wanted.”
“It is what you wanted when you were four-and-twenty and terrified of gentlemen,” Evelyn said, her tone sisterly. “But you are allowed to change what you want, my dearest Octavia.”
It was not in Octavia’s nature to ask someone to leave, least of all a friend and member of the family, but this was all becoming a bit too much. She struggled enough when she was alone, contemplating what might have been; she did not need Evelyn to sit there and make things worse.
Evelyn must have realized that she was pushing a little too hard, as she set her cup and saucer down and offered a sympathetic smile. “I saw Simon as I came down the driveway,” she said. “His riding is coming along very well.”
Octavia exhaled a small sigh of relief. “It is, though it still fills me with anxiety. I am always fretting that he might fall.”
“He will not fall far from that pony.”
“No… No, it was… well chosen,” Octavia croaked.
The sandy-colored Shetland pony had arrived just a few days ago and had already won the hearts of everyone at Huntfield House.
A mischievous little thing with a tufty white mane and stocky legs, Simon had fallen in love instantly, naming his new mount ‘Caterpillar.’ As if he, perhaps, hoped that the pony might one day transform into a mighty stallion like his father’s horse.
“Nevertheless, I do fear that the creature has a stubborn mind of his own,” she added, laughing tightly.
“Are we referring to the pony or your son?” Evelyn chuckled.
“They are well-matched in that regard too,” Octavia conceded, allowing herself a real smile.
She had already had to take Simon back to his room last night, after she had caught him trying to sneak out of the house to sleep in the pony’s stall. She doubted it would be the last time, or that she would always be successful in preventing him from sneaking out.
Catching Octavia’s eye, Evelyn smiled. “I am sorry that things have gone awry, my dear friend. Truly, I am.”
Octavia smiled back, her heart heavy. “It was always supposed to be temporary. It is nothing I did not know was coming.”
But I am sorry too. More than I can yet put into words.
She had dared to dream of more, and had received nothing in return.
She knew it would take a lot longer than she thought for her heart to be able to ‘readjust’ to that, especially when the memory of his kiss was now more vivid than ever, ambushing her whenever she found herself having a quiet moment or when she went to sleep at night.
Perhaps, in another five years, enough time might have passed for her to be able to forget that her husband had ever entered her life again. But, right now, the pain was more raw than she could admit, the days going by so very, very slowly.
Three weeks to the day since Malcolm left, and his absence had yet to get any easier. Simon asked for him, asked why he was not coming back, and when he did not understand, he descended into a tantrum; the kind that Octavia wished it was acceptable for her to throw, too.
“Remember not to pull on the reins too hard,” Octavia said, standing in the fenced paddock as a fine mist of rain began to drizzle.
It was one of the good days, with Simon enjoying his riding lesson on the back of Caterpillar. The stablemaster was instructing and observing, as capable as any tutor, but even Octavia knew that it should be Malcolm teaching.
He had such patience. Such a clear way of explaining things.
“I’m not pulling,” Simon protested, as he trotted by, jiggling to the jaunty gait of the pony.
“No, I know, but just remember not to pull too hard,” she said.
The mischievous pony had a tendency to stop very suddenly when the reins were pulled, as if he too was trying to teach Simon riding manners. And though, yes, it was not far to the ground, she did not want her son to be thrown over the animal’s head.
On the other side of the paddock, the stablemaster offered a sympathetic look and a gruff chuckle.
I know he needs his father, but what can I do?
Several times, she had gone to her study and cut a fresh sheet of paper, ready to write to Malcolm. Once she had put the tip of her quill to that paper, however, all words failed her.
“You see how fast!” Simon cheered, as his little feet lightly tapped the side of the pony.
The beast shot forward, running with such vigor that Octavia feared her son would be shaken right off the saddle.
“Perhaps a little slower, darling!” she said, her voice shrill.
Just then, she heard hoofbeats that could not possibly belong to the stocky, sturdy pony. A thud that echoed the beat of her heart.
Puzzled, she turned around to look at the driveway, but there was no one there.
Am I imagining things?
She slowly moved her gaze around the vicinity…
and froze as she saw a powerful black horse charging across the lawns from the direction of the forest. A dark coat, dappled with rain, flew out behind the rider.
A man so familiar, so longed-for, that she had to rub her eyes to be certain she was not hallucinating.
The enormous horse continued its charge toward the paddock. Even the Shetland pony stopped to observe the new arrival, tossing his blonde mane, despite Simon’s attempts to get the beast to move again.
Then, Simon also noticed the rider.
“Papa!” The boy scrambled down from the saddle and ran with all of his might toward the fence.
The stablemaster caught him before he could squeeze through and get in the path of the stallion, as the boy continued to cry out for his father.
Malcolm brought Rogue to a rearing halt, showing his prowess as he held his seat with ease and smiled down at his awestruck son. The stallion added some flourish with his pawing hooves before he landed back down on the ground, snorting his way toward the little boy that he had become fond of.
“Good afternoon, Rogue,” Simon said, his hand reaching for the stallion’s searching nose.
Sliding down from the saddle, Malcolm approached the fence and leaned over it. His green eyes were fixed upon Octavia, who stood in shock, her hand to her heart, wondering which of her prayers had brought him back.
He is here. He is actually here.
She began to walk toward him, remembering to school her face into a mask of indifference. She did not want him to know just how much she had missed him; it was all too embarrassing.
“Papa!” Simon held up his arms to his father.
With effortless strength, Malcolm reached over the fence and pulled his son up. Brushing the rain-dampened locks of hair out of Simon’s face, Malcolm held him for a moment, but one look at Octavia, and he seemed to change his mind, putting the boy on the fence instead.
“Ye like the pony, then?” Malcolm asked.
Simon nodded, grinning. “His name is Caterpillar.”
“Caterpillar, eh? Well, that’s a fine name for the lad. He’s like those fuzzy ones I showed ye in the garden.”
Simon burst into laughter, nodding harder. “That’s why his name is Caterpillar!”
Octavia had thought it was a strange name for a pony, but now she understood that it went far deeper than a childish choice of name; it was a link to her son’s father. A means of remembering him that she had not understood.
“Do ye think that Caterpillar and Rogue can be friends?” Malcolm asked, the huge stallion and the tiny pony currently sniffing one another through the fence, assessing each other.
“Yes. Friends. But… maybe they don't live together,” Simon said thoughtfully. “Rogue… Rogue would squash Caterpillar.”
Malcolm smiled. “Ah, ye think Rogue might accidentally squash him if they share a stall? I think ye’re probably right, but they can eat grass together in the paddock.” He plucked Simon off the fence, holding him against his side, and opened up the gate. “Shall we see how they get along?”
He led the stallion in and the fearless pony stood his ground, the two animals sniffing and nosing one another, until… they both seemed to lose interest and wandered off in their own directions to eat some of the sweet grass.
“They not like each other,” Simon lamented, stricken.
Malcolm chuckled, a rumble from deep in his chest. “On the contrary, laddie. That means they’ll get along very well. It’s only when horses start biting and kicking each other that ye ken they don’t like each other, but these two? Aye, they’ll be just fine.”
The little boy brightened and, as Malcolm set him down, he ran off toward the pony.
Even at a distance, Octavia could hear her beloved son telling Caterpillar that he had to be nice to Rogue, and share his grass, and that he wasn’t to bite or kick in case he accidentally got squashed.
All of a sudden, Malcolm was there at her side, casting a shadow across her.
“You might have written,” she said crisply.
“I figured I’d be here before my letter, so I didn’t bother,” he replied, his eyes gleaming with joy as he watched his son.
Octavia swallowed, wishing he would look at her instead. “And… what is the purpose of your arrival here?”
Are you staying? Are you just here for a short while, so our hearts will break again when you leave?
“I mean to take up residence in the old Dower House,” he said. “I ken it’s nae being used.”
She turned to him, a gasp slipping from her lips. “Pardon?”
“I intend to stay here in England until Simon comes of age,” he explained.
“I don’t want to miss a moment of him growing up, but I won’t break the rules of our agreement.
This house is yers; I gave it to ye, and I won’t intrude upon it.
So, I’ll be turning the Dower House into my residence.
Ye get yer peace, and I get to see my son grow up. ”
The Dower House was a pleasant building to the north of the estate, on the edge of ancient woodland, with lovely gardens that were as well tended as the main manor’s gardens. The building could just be glimpsed out of certain windows and was, perhaps, a fifteen-minute walk away.
And it is still too far, her mind whispered.
Her voice, however, would not admit to that. After breaking her trust and putting her through the agony of his absence, she was not ready to forgive so easily, even if she was beyond thrilled that he was right there at her side, where she wanted him to be.
“Would that be acceptable to ye?” he said, as he gazed at her.
She swallowed thickly. “I cannot stop you and, as you say, there is no one living in the Dower House. It… deserves to be occupied.”
“So, ye don’t mind?” he asked, his voice so soft and deep that it made her skin tingle as if there was a storm coming.
“I shall not argue,” she answered stiffly. “After all, Simon needs his father.”
And I need you, my husband. She had tried not to, but now that he was here, now that he was back, she could not deny that everything felt… right again. As if something that had been lost had finally been restored.
A dream come true.