Chapter 33
CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE
The journey to Dorset was surprisingly comfortable, thanks to the companionship of Evelyn, who had decided to travel with her sister-in-law.
Meanwhile, Hugo and Malcolm were outside the carriage on horseback, both deciding that they would rather ride than suffer the suffocating interior for such a long journey.
“Do you think Selina will have received my letter in time?” Octavia asked, her nerves rising the closer they got to their final destination.
Evelyn chuckled. “Even if she did not, dear Octavia, I will be happy to share a room with you.”
“But what about Malcolm?”
“He can share with Hugo.” Evelyn flashed a mischievous grin. “Now that your husband has decided to stay at Huntfield, it will be a good opportunity for him and Hugo to get to know one another better.”
Octavia did not know what Malcolm would make of such an arrangement, but it served to calm her somewhat.
“Although,” Evelyn said in a pointed tone, “it would not be the first time that you and Malcolm have shared a bedchamber. Perhaps, this could be a good opportunity for the two of you to get to know one another better.”
Octavia’s stomach twisted into knots. “No. No, I do not think so.”
“So, is he to remain at the Dower House indefinitely?” Evelyn smiled sympathetically. “Is there no hope of him being forgiven?”
“I do not know,” Octavia said, turning her gaze out of the window.
The sparkling sea stretched out to the horizon, gulls wheeling and squawking, fishing boats sculling by in the distance, the late afternoon sky transforming the world into a hazy dream.
“If you have asked him to come to this ball with you, that must be progress?” Evelyn pressed, making the inside of the carriage seem all the more smothering.
“Evie, please,” Octavia rasped, her hand pressed to her chest.
“Apologies, Octavia. Apologies. I am getting carried away,” Evelyn said. “It is just that… I have always wanted you to be as happy as your brother and I are. It did not seem possible before, but now? Anyway, I shall say nothing more. Forgive me.”
Octavia cast her sister-in-law a sideways glance. “Thank you.”
Just then, the manor came into view, rising up from the edge of the cliff. A majestic building of golden sandstone that gleamed in the rich sunlight, sitting alone on that promontory.
Well, I suppose that means it is too late to turn around and go home.
Octavia had disappeared with Evelyn the second that the carriage had arrived at the cliffside manor, while Malcolm had been shown to a rather charming bedchamber in the west wing that directly overlooked the sea.
He did not quite know what to do with himself, other than to sit and enjoy the view and several cups of tea while he waited for the ball to begin.
He could hear the buzz of activity going on throughout the lower levels of the house, and figured he would indeed be of the most use by staying out of the way.
As the clock on the mantelpiece ticked toward the official start of the ball, however, he dressed quickly in the clothes he had brought and headed out in search of his wife.
“There ye are,” he said, spotting her on the landing.
Octavia turned in surprise… and promptly took his breath away.
She wore a most unusual gown, a fine veil of bluish-green muslin layered over whatever was beneath. The fabric looked almost liquid as she moved, making him think of ancient water goddesses; she was so ethereal, standing there in the low light, in that remarkable gown.
“I hope ye weren’t thinking of heading downstairs without me.” He offered his arm, and gave a nod to Evelyn and Hugo, who had just appeared from their room.
Octavia’s throat bobbed as she took the proffered arm. “Not at all. I was just waiting for my escort.”
“Well, here I am.” He smiled down at her. “I doubt there has ever been a lass more beautiful than ye, Octavia.”
Her cheeks pinkened. “You should not say such things.”
“Why nae?” he countered, deciding to be bold. “I thought ye wanted me to be honest from now on.”
Her eyes narrowed, and he realized he might have miscalculated.
“Shall we head down?” Evelyn asked, coming to the rescue.
Putting on a tight smile, Octavia nodded. “Yes, I think we shall.”
Despite her obvious displeasure, she held tightly to Malcolm’s arm as he led her down the stairs to where the ball was already in full swing.
Guests were streaming in through the front doors, while more were mingling in the hallway, gradually making their way to the grand ballroom, where lively music drifted out.
Octavia remained close to Malcolm’s side, as he instinctively curved his body to block anyone who might bump into her or stare at her. Although, regarding the latter, he wondered how anyone could possibly not stare when she looked as remarkable as she did.
“Reminds me of our first dance,” Malcolm said softly, close to her ear, as they weaved their way to the ballroom. “And our second.”
Octavia peered up at him, her frown returning. “I do not wish to dance tonight, if that is what you are asking.”
“Is that nae what a ball is for?” He smiled. “To dance?”
“Not in this gown,” she replied. “I did not have time to take it to the seamstress for adjustments, and it is a little bit too long. So, alas, I cannot dance, not unless I wish to fall on my face.”
He shrugged, laughing quietly. “I can just lift ye up and whirl ye around. Yer feet don’t even need to touch the floor.”
“I fear that would cause the same effect as me falling on my face,” she muttered, as she gently pulled him toward the spot that Evelyn and Hugo had found, right beside the terrace doors that opened out onto the sea view.
The cool breeze was a welcome thing, fighting against the sweltering heat of the ballroom. Yet, looking out across the dance floor, he was surprised by his disappointment that he was not dancing there with his wife.
She’s nae going to forgive me, is she?
He shook off the thought. It was still early in their reunion, and he was not the sort of man who gave up easily.
Besides, the night was still young. Perhaps, after a glass of punch or two, she might agree to be whirled about the dance floor with him after all.
“I believe the waltz is next, lass, if ye feel so inclined,” Malcolm said, surprising Octavia for the hundredth time that night.
Indeed, it was getting harder to feign indifference with every earnest remark he made.
After an hour of sitting there by the terrace, hearing his attempts to joke with her and to strike up a conversation that might interest her, she was beginning to feel rather guilty, in truth.
“I told you, I cannot dance tonight,” she replied, toying with the handle of her punch glass. “I am sorry for it, but it truly would not be worth the catastrophe.”
He nodded, his eyes alight with amusement. “Are ye sure ye’re nae just sparing my feelings because ye don’t ken if I remember how to dance or nae?”
“No, I am certain it is because of my dress,” she replied, bemused.
What is the matter with him?
His lovely smile had not left his face all evening, despite her rebuffing his attempts to amuse her. Indeed, his trying to amuse her was a bewildering thing, for it was almost as if he was the Malcolm who had suffered amnesia.
Now that she thought about it, he had been that way ever since riding back from Scotland to move into the Dower House. His entire demeanor had been more relaxed, and though she had not experienced it directly, she had seen how silly and playful he had been with Simon.
“It’s probably for the best,” he said, chuckling. “I never could dance very well, even after Anthony spent weeks trying to teach me how. I still don’t ken how I made it through our first dance without tripping ye or tripping myself.”
Weirdly vexed, Octavia turned to him and puffed out a breath. “Did you hit your head again?”
“What?”
“I am just trying to figure out why you are so… different, all of a sudden,” she said, frowning. “Have you gone mad, perhaps?”
“Lass,” he replied, his voice low and enticing, “I have never been more sane in my life. And it wasn’t a knock to the head that did it; it was a conversation with the boy whose life I saved when I did knock my head.”
She blinked, thrown by his admission. “What do you mean?”
“The lad I saved from the river came to Highcastle,” Malcolm explained.
“He came to ask for work so he could help himself and his brothers. A lad who had nothing but his pride but set it aside so he could better his life. And he said something to me that changed everything: “Whatever I do with my life, I mean to be a better man than my father. If I can do that, I’ll be happy.” In that moment, I realized that he and I wanted the same thing, and were already achieving it. ”
Octavia’s eyes widened at the warmth in his voice and the passion with which he spoke those words.
“I didn’t have to set my pride aside, but my fear,” he continued, as his hand found hers.
“My fear of hurting those I love, and losing them. I thought that if I could build high enough walls around myself, then I wouldn’t suffer pain or grief again, but when ye build such high walls, ye don’t feel anything again. Ye become a husk. A living ghost.
“Then, I lost my memory, and I rode to ye without even kenning ye, and when those memories came back, it was already too late; I didn’t want to be a husk again, because of ye,” he urged, and brought her hand to his lips, kissing it.
“But I ken that I hurt ye, that I broke yer trust, and rather than run away from it, I want to be at yer side until ye can trust me again. If that takes forty years, so be it, but I won’t stop trying to earn it back. ”
Octavia stared at him, not knowing what to say.
“And now I ken why I rode to ye in the first place,” he added with that radiant smile of his.
She swallowed. “Why is that?”
“Because there was a part of me,” he replied, as he brought her hand to rest on his heart, “this part of me, that couldn’t ever forget ye. I could take twenty hits to the head, and I wouldn’t forget ye, or how I have felt about ye since the first night at Highcastle.”
Her eyelids fluttered, her lungs unable to draw breath. “How you… have felt about me?”
He nodded. “The week of our honeymoon. I left so soon because I could already feel that ye were thawing my heart. I was already half in love with ye, and I chose to run from it because, back then, I thought that to love something was to lose it. I thought I was a blight on anyone who cared for me. A cursed soul, who’d hurt ye one way or another.
And, of course, ye’d already said ye didn’t want joined lives.
But I ken, with all of this heart, that I will never hurt or lie to ye again because I’m more than half in love with ye now, lass. ”
It was the confession she had daydreamed about in his absence and since his return. It was the confession she had imagined since she was a little girl, before experience had made her build such high walls of her own.
He loves me.
Her heart ached, straining with the urge to respond in kind.
She wanted to tell him that he was not alone in his feelings…
but she could not get her mind and mouth to cooperate with that eager heart.
For how could she genuinely confess her love when she still could not trust him?
There was no love without trust, not really.
“I’m nae expecting ye to say it back,” Malcolm said, as if reading her mind. “If that takes forty years too, so be it. I might nae have so many virtues, love, but patience is one of them.”
She managed to get her head to tip into a nod. “Thank you.”
“Now, what do ye say to that dance?” he asked, so hopeful that she could not bring herself to refuse.
“I suppose just one would not hurt,” she replied, as she allowed him to lead her to the dance floor, where they had just missed the waltz.
But as she stood waiting beside him, she peered up at him out of the corner of her eye and heard a quiet voice in her head whisper, I love you too. It might take me a while to say it out loud but my goodness, I love you too.