Page 42 of His Duchess to Remember

Simon grinned, victorious. “Papa likes raspberries.”

“Does he now?” the cook said, as she dried her hands on a cloth.

Simon nodded. “Says raspberries from… um… Scotsland are best.”

“Scotland,” Octavia corrected gently.

She had no idea that Malcolm had been talking to their son about Scotland, about his ancestral home. Had he mentioned Highcastle too?

“Did he tell you about the castle where he lives?” She decided to investigate.

Again, Simon nodded.

“Would you like to go there?” Octavia held her breath.

How much had Malcolm said? Had he been trying to persuade their son to go there with him? Had he been putting thoughts into Simon’s head? What if he really did mean to take Simon away from her?

The little boy tilted his head to one side, still chewing, and swallowed before answering, “Maybe… not. Papa says it’s cold. He likes home more.”

The cook stifled a chuckle and turned her back.

He likes home more… Not ‘his’ home, not ‘their’ home, not ‘our’ home, just ‘home’. One that, not that long ago at all, he had avoided at all costs. A residence that, according to tenants and locals, he had never stayed at.

With every day that Malcolm remained at Huntfield, the knot that his accident had tangled in their convenient marriage was becoming more and more snarled. A mess that she could not even begin to unravel.

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

“Rogue is gone!” Simon cried, bereft, as he ran alongside the paddock fence.

Octavia and her son had returned not five minutes ago, and the first thing that Simon had wanted to do was check on the horses. She had no idea who ‘Rogue’ was. The name certainly did not belong to one of the household horses, so she could only guess that it was Malcolm’s black stallion: the impressive beast he had ridden to her on, defying the doctor’s orders and all logic and reason.

“I am sure Rogue is just sleeping,” Octavia said, to placate her worried boy.

The child did not hesitate; he ran straight for the stables, almost knocking into the stablemaster’s legs in his hurry. At the stall door that presumably belonged to the missing stallion, Simon ran into a greater obstacle.

He was not tall enough to see into the stall itself.

“Ah, you’ll not find him in there, Master Simon,” the stablemaster said. “Your father took him out a couple of hours ago.”

Simon whirled around, his face the very picture of distress. “Papa went without me?”

“Now, now, Master Simon, you wouldn’t be able to ride such a beast anyway,” the stablemaster soothed. “Rogue is a war horse. A mighty stallion. Much too dangerous for a young fellow like yourself to sit upon, even with your father.”

But the child was not calmed by the explanation. Tears welled in his beautiful green eyes, his bottom lip wobbling, looking as if the stablemaster had just reached in and torn out his heart, stamping it to bits on the stable floor.

“He promised!” the boy wailed.

Octavia rushed to him and gathered him into her arms, gently stroking his dark hair. “He promised?”

“Said he… would teach me riding,” Simon cried.

“Ah…” Octavia held him tighter. “But he has been, remember? He has been teaching you to ride on dear Bessie. Did he ever say he would let you ride on Rogue?”

The boy considered the question, tears streaming down his cheeks. “No, but… he went without me.”

“And I am sure he will be back soon, and you can give Rogue a carrot,” Octavia soothed.

Although within, she was brimming with a rising alarm. If this was Simon’s reaction to his father taking a leisurely ride in the countryside—for that was what she assumed it to be—then what on earth would he do if Malcolm left entirely? Her beloved son would be crushed. Utterly, utterly crushed.