Page 28 of His Duchess to Remember

As if we have not been much closer, once upon a time.

Her cheeks burned like two furnaces at the mere thought. Indeed, it probably seemed ridiculous that she was fretting over a waltz when they had a son together, and that son had not simply appeared out of nowhere. But that had been years ago, when things were clear and agreed between them, when their proximity had had no future expectations or feelings attached.

He was the one who had confused everything by telling her he wished to stay, and that he meant to woo her. Now, each word, each flirtation, each step toward her, had a weight to it that left her flushed and flustered.

“A waltz?” Malcolm quirked an eyebrow. “Things really have changed in society. I remember there were almost riots about that manner of dance, back when I was a younger man.”

Octavia blew a lock of hair out of her face, frustrated. “Let us start with the quadrille.”

He bowed his head in a nod. “I am at yer mercy.”

As it turned out, it was rather difficult to teach Malcolm a quadrille without the three other couples required. Considering it was a group dance that called for a constant change of partners, with elements involving the four ladies of the group dancing together, the first lesson proved hopeless.

Yet, he had picked up the steps well enough and had a natural grace that his warrior-like physique made surprising.

They would, perhaps, have to avoid a quadrille until Malcolm had watched one first, to see how the steps he had learned were implemented.

“Does this mean we’re to attempt the waltz now?” he asked.

Octavia chewed her lower lip and nodded. “Unless there are other dances you don’t quite remember?”

“I have vague memories of being taught to reel. That can’t be much different to yer English dances,” he offered.

She paused. “Wait… so you do not remember any dances? How can that be when you have only forgotten a decade?”

“I didn’t hail from a fine family like yers,” he replied with a shrug. “What I have, I inherited by chance. Aye, we were well-to-do, with a pleasant townhouse in Edinburgh, but we weren’t nobility. I only became a duke because there were nay other male heirs, and I was the end of the tentative bloodline.”

Octavia blinked, astounded. How had she not known that? She had researched him plenty when she had been searching for a suitable husband for herself, but she must have missed that part.

Oh, mercy, my work has just tripled…

If he had not been taught to be a duke from a young age, as most heirs were, then that explained his utter lack of etiquette at the dining table. It also explained his informal attire, his novice understanding of dances, and why he now seemed so lighthearted. He had forgotten the weight of being a duke, as well as everything that came with being a duke.

“Does that mean you have no understanding of how the estates are run?” she asked, dumbfounded.

He grimaced. “I can’t make head nor tail of the ledgers, though I’m getting there.”

“I can… help with that, if you would like?”

After all, she had been overseeing most of Huntfield’s matters since it became her home. Highcastle was a mystery to her still, and she had no knowledge of running an actual castle, but she knew that Malcolm kept ledgers and documents pertaining to it at Huntfield too.

Malcolm perked up. “That sounds like a fine idea. With yer aid, it might stop me from throwing everything into the fire, just to be done with it.”

“Then, yes, I will help,” she said, still confounded.

How could I not have known?

Her thoughts were interrupted by Malcolm offering his hand to her. “I can’t be sure, but I think the waltz starts like this.”

She stared at his hand, so rough and large and scarred, and cursed herself as her heart fluttered. To add insult to injury, her traitorous mind decided to conjure up a vision of them waltzing together, pressed closer than was permitted, her hand clasping his lapel while his hand rested too low on the small of her back, the two of them whirling around the room until she was quite dizzy.

“Well?” he prompted.

Hesitantly, she took his hand.

Her breath faltered as he put his other arm around her, the side of his hand coming to rest at her shoulder blade. She gently touched his arm, a light grip, and wondered how he knew this opening stance. Had he been studying before his lesson, using the books in the library?

“And… one,” she said, stepping back. “Then two… then…”