Page 46 of His Duchess to Remember

“Bowls!” Simon chirped. “We can play bowls!”

Octavia laughed, her eyes shining as they held Malcolm’s gaze. “I suppose we could… if you wanted to? I believe the lawn has recently been trimmed.”

“I can’t say I’ve ever played it, but aye, I’d be glad to,” Malcolm replied, feeling as if she had just handed him a great gift.

Leaving the cat to her nap, the three of them got to their feet and made their way through the beautiful gardens. They passed the reflecting pool, where Simon paused to toss a few stones into the water, delighting in the ripples. From there, they cut through the rose gardens, heady with perfume, and underneath an arch of cherry blossoms that had long since shed their petals, before wandering through a tunnel of the most exquisite wisteria to the bowling green.

In theory, Malcolm understood and knew about the game, but he had no memory of ever playing. Perhaps he had, after he had become a duke, but he could not be sure.

He stood by with Simon as Octavia fetched the necessary accoutrements from the nearby pavilion, and marveled at her beauty when she returned to explain the rules.

“I shall throw this little ball here,” she said. “The aim is to get as close to the little ball as possible with these larger balls. Now, would you like to be green or red?”

The larger balls seemed to be made of solid, polished wood, each respectively painted with two green spots or two red spots.

“Ye pick first,” he replied generously.

Octavia glanced at her son. “You can be on my team, Simon. Which color would you rather be?”

“Green,” Simon replied, with no hesitation at all.

Malcolm smiled. “Very well. I’ll be red.”

The game sounded simple enough, and he was nothing if not adept when it came to hitting targets, but he knew he would have to be careful not to win too easily. Indeed, this was more about getting to spend time as a family than emerging the victor… or so he told himself.

“I should warn you,” Octavia said in a sly voice, her eyes twinkling with mischief, “I am very good at bowls.”

As if to prove her point, she rolled her first ball. It skimmed cleanly across the trimmed grass and came to a standstill not more than an inch from the target.

“A fine shot,” Malcolm said with a smirk.

Octavia glanced back at him. “Why, thank you.”

Moving into position, Malcolm crouched low and squinted toward the smaller ball to gauge the distance. There was something familiar in the movement, something that conjured a chill down his spine.

He shrugged off the sensation and loosed the ball in his hand, applying what he hoped would be just enough force.

To his mild annoyance, his ball knocked into Octavia’s, nudging it that little bit closer to the target.

“How generous of you,” she teased, clearly delighted.

“There are still five balls left,” Malcom pointed out, matching her grin.

“Bowls,” she corrected. “Or boules, if you prefer. And there are only two attempts left, as we are playing singles.”

He realized he might have underestimated his wife’s skill at the game, but he tilted his head magnanimously. “That is plenty, dear wife.”

Her eyes fluttered for a moment, her cheeks flushing that lovely shade of pink once more. She turned from him and, with a fresh ball in her hand, performed an unexpected throw. The ball arched upward and came to land just shy of the ‘jack,’ before rolling another half-inch toward it, as if possessed to win.

“Yes, Mama!” Simon cheered, clapping eagerly.

Undeterred, Malcolm crouched again, assessing the distance, trying to sense how he might roll the ball without it being an advantage to his wife.

He bowled the ball… and smiled as it curved around Octavia’s, slowing to a standstill right beside the jack. Almost flush, in fact.

“Are you certain you have not played this before?” Octavia asked, her eyes narrowing.

“I have played ball games before,” he replied, rising back to his feet. “This one is surprisingly simple.”