Page 59 of His Duchess to Remember

“How is he?” Malcolm asked.

“He is as he was when you left the room,” she replied, for it had been a matter of no more than ten minutes.

Malcolm nodded. “I might take a walk to wake myself up.”

“Would you like company?”

He hesitated. “I can’t stop ye.”

What was that supposed to mean? He ordinarily would have jumped at the chance to walk in the gardens with her. There might have been a lively smile and a twinkle in his eyes; his arm offered to escort her before she could think of changing her mind.

Yet, there was none of that warmth.

“What I mean is,” he said, “that ye’re welcome to.”

It was a gentler remark, but it did nothing to allay Octavia’s suspicions that something was amiss. All morning, Malcolm had been behaving strangely. Or not strangely, but not quite like the version of him she had come to favor.

He had been particularly quiet up in the nursery, keeping to a chair on the opposite side of the room while he drank tea or stared at his son or looked like he might be sleeping. Any attempt at conversation had been met with short answers, until he had excused himself, claiming he was going to find something to eat.

That was shortly before the doctor arrived, so either it was coincidence or Malcolm had heard the doctor coming before Octavia had.

And why did he not simply ask the servants to bring some luncheon? She had learned during his time at Huntfield that he preferred to fend for himself, barely utilizing the staff, so that was not entirely uncharacteristic. Still, his lack of conversation and ready smiles were enough to trouble her.

“Doctor Stanforth will be busy tending to Simon for at least a short while,” she said. “I can walk until then.”

Malcolm’s nod was stiff as he replied, “Very well.”

He led the way out of the house and into the afternoon sunshine, his arms folded behind his back. Octavia walked at his side, keenly aware of a polite distance between them which had not been there before.

Soon enough, she found she had to quicken her pace in order to keep up with him.

If you did not want me to walk with you, you could have just said so, she fumed silently, somewhat out of breath.

“Might you slow down?” she urged, as they reached the edge of the gardens where the reflecting pool shimmered.

A sparrow fluttered down and sipped from the water.

“Hmm?” Malcolm glanced at her. “Oh… aye, apologies.”

He duly slowed, but there was agitation in his demeanor as if it bothered him to have to walk at her pace. He did not seem to be enjoying the walk at all, his eyes turned down toward the gravel, paying no attention to the beautiful surroundings.

“Is everything well?” she had to ask; she could not help it.

He put on a smile that did not reach his eyes. “I’m just worried about Simon’s welfare. I ken he’ll be fine, but… aye, it’s nae nice to see yer bairn sick.”

“No. No, it is not,” she agreed, feeling bad for pressing him.

Evidently, he was just trying to process the night’s events and likely would have taken this time to clear his head if she had not been beside him, asking him questions. Of course he was not his usual, cheery self when he had not slept and had been carefully tending to their son while she had dozed off.

It cannot be anything else, she told herself.

In the back of her mind, she had a nagging thought that he might have regained some of his memories, which might explain the change in him, but that made no sense. If he had regained his memories, he would have told her. He would have no reason to hide it.

Besides, he had not remembered their first meeting when they spoke last night. No, it could not be that. It had to be that he was just exhausted and overexerted.

“I think I will return inside for some luncheon,” she said with a smile, and rested her hand lightly on his arm. “You should wander in peace.”

She half hoped he might still ask her to stay. Instead, he dipped his head in a small nod and said, “I’ll see ye upstairs, to hear what Stanforth has to say.”