Page 41 of His Duchess to Remember

Evelyn exhaled slowly. “Thank goodness for that.”

“She adores her flowers,” Hugo said fondly, glancing at his sister. “I never thought much of flowers until I met her. Sometimes, when we go riding, we stop at a quiet spot in the forest, and she picks wildflowers while I watch and wonder how I got so lucky.”

Evelyn chuckled. “What he means is, I pick flowers in the glade while I wait for him to catch up to me.”

“It has been a long time since I have let you get ahead of me,” Hugo protested, grinning, as he walked over to his wife.

“Let me?” Evelyn teased in reply, her eyebrow raised.

“Naturally, I have to stay close by; there is no telling what might happen to you if I did not. A branch to the chest could knock you flying, and I would have to nurse you back to health.” He stooped and pressed a kiss to his wife’s lips, unashamed and unbothered that his sister was in the room.

Upon countless retellings of the time before they were married, Hugo often asserted that rescuing Evelyn in the woods after a misfortune with a low-hanging branch was the moment he knew he was ‘doomed.’ The moment he knew he loved her and would rather take a blow to the chest himself than ever see her in pain.

The story, however, took on a different edge this time as thoughts of Malcolm’s accident splintered through her brain.

Is that why I am so confused? Do I feel… responsible for him?

Perhaps that was why she suddenly felt like she cared for him, because she had been thrown into the position of warden over his welfare.

Yes, that could certainly be it.

Or was it because Simon obviously adored his father, and Octavia had no choice but to appreciate whatever her son did?

“Apologies,” Hugo said ruefully. “I was not thinking.”

Octavia put on a smile. “Nonsense. The situations are not at all the same.” She got up sharply and dusted off her skirts. “I should find my son before he devours too many sweets.”

She did not wait for their reply, but as she walked from the room she was struck by a sudden smack of sadness.

Her brother and her sister-in-law were the most perfect example of a couple in love. Even all these years later, they behaved like newlyweds, so familiar in their affection that they mirrored one another sometimes, and never liked to be far from each other. They were friends as well as spouses, always playful, always grateful for their love, always united.

Of course, they quarreled now and then, but their love was a lovely thing. Indeed, Octavia was surrounded by couples with that rare and wondrous love, and though she had chosen not to pursue it for herself, had never much cared about being the one attending events and parties alone, she suddenly felt, for the first time, like the odd one out.

But that does not mean I should try to be like the others now. Like the accident that had prompted her brother to fall in love with his wife, her situation was entirely different.

She pressed on to the kitchens and paused for a moment outside the door to gather herself. A few deep breaths and a sweep of the cheeks to check for tears, and she was ready to be her usual, smiling, adoring, motherly self.

“Ah, I see you were persuaded by eggs and toast?” she said cheerily.

Simon sat up on the workbench, his legs dangling, heartily making his way through a large plate of breakfast. The cook smiled at the boy, and then at his mother. Everyone in this household was so very fond of Simon, for there were not yet children to liven the hallways, doted on by the staff.

Evelyn had been with-child a few times over the past five years, but the pregnancies had never stuck beyond four or so months. At eight-and-twenty now, Evelyn would never say it directly, but Octavia knew she was beginning to lose hope.

It seemed all too cruel, in truth, that Octavia should have been granted the most perfect son after one brief honeymoon, while Evelyn and Hugo, who loved one another without end, had been denied the joy of parenthood.

Still, Octavia prayed for them often, and she had not lost hope that she would one day become an aunt. After all, there were countless ladies in society who were still having children well into their thirties. There was even Lady Bridgewater who, at two-and-forty, had just been blessed with twins.

“It is delicious!” Simon chirped, extending the ‘e’ for as long as he could, smearing butter across his mouth with the back of his hand.

Octavia chuckled; it was one of his new favorite words.

“Can Papa have some?” Simon asked, between bites.

Octavia’s laughter faded. “He will have had his breakfast by the time we return home.”

“Can we give him a tart?” Simon was clearly determined to go back to Huntfield with a gift, and Octavia could not deny him.

“Very well. We can bring a tart for him.”