Page 68 of His Duchess to Remember

“So, I am a hound?” he teased lightly.

“You might be,” she replied, getting up. “I shall write back to Evelyn with the good news. She will be so pleased!”

She hurried off before Malcolm could say anything more, and as he returned his attention to the caterpillar, explaining how they all looked different, and that was how you could tell what butterfly they would become, he wondered if it really was too late for him to change.

It had been a long time since Octavia was this excited to attend a dinner party, even if it was just going to be a small affair between family.

In a lovely dress that she had purchased for the occasion, she swayed to the rhythm of the carriage and could not stop looking across to the opposite squabs. Malcolm looked breathtakingly handsome tonight, though, as far as she could tell, he had not done anything different.

“If ye keep staring at me, yer eyes will fall out,” he said, meeting her gaze.

She immediately looked away. “I was not staring.”

“Aye, ye were.”

“Well, I am… surprised that you agreed to come with me,” she said defensively. “I suppose I cannot quite believe that you are sitting there, ready to have dinner with my brother and his wife. You have never done so before.”

He shifted his attention to the window, where the hedgerows passed by, spiny fronds scraping at the glass. “Well, it’s nae so easy to have dinner in England when ye live in Scotland.”

“I suppose that is true,” she murmured, startled by a faint flutter of panic in her chest.

Every time Scotland was mentioned, regardless of the context, that feeling struck with greater intensity. It was ironic, really, that she had spent five years so very glad that they lived such separate lives, and now the thought of separation brought on a rush of panic.

“Do you miss it?” she asked.

“Miss what?”

“Scotland. Highcastle. Your solitude.” She paused, shaking her head. “Sorry, I keep forgetting that you do not remember. But… you must remember Scotland? The townhouse in Edinburgh that you once told me about?”

His eyes darkened, his mouth twisting into a grimace. “I miss nothing about that townhouse.” He hesitated. “It had a pleasant garden, I suppose, and a fine view of the castle. And there were walks by the river that I didn’t mind, or a walk up Arthur’s Seat.”

“Arthur’s Seat?” She had never heard of it before.

“Aye, it’s a hill. I don’t ken why it’s called that; something to do with King Arthur, I imagine,” he replied, his tone flat, to the point where she almost regretted asking about Edinburgh at all. “I’d go there sometimes to watch the sun rise or set. A place to seek some peace.”

She furrowed her brow. “Your house was not peaceful?”

He barked a cold, dry laugh. “Ye could say that.” His eyes met hers. “But what of ye? What of yer home? I assume that’s where we’re going.”

“It is,” she replied, annoyed that he had diverted the conversation but unwilling to press him. “My home was… peaceful enough. I was ignored, mostly, by my father. And my mother died when I was rather young, so I did not have her to give me attention.”

“I’m sorry.” Malcolm’s expression softened.

She shrugged. “You have no need to be. I do not remember her very well, and you cannot truly miss what you cannot remember.”

“I’m nae sure that’s true,” he countered. “I think ye can miss the absence of someone that used to be there, even if ye can’t remember them.”

His voice was a knife to the heart; a sentiment she had often believed but had never been able to put into words. Especially during the years leading up to her debut and, indeed, her debut itself, she had felt that way, missing the mother she could not even picture in her head.

“Hugo was a surprisingly good substitute,” she said, laughing it off. “He was all I really had when I was younger. My father only cared about him, but Hugo only cared about me. In truth, I do not know if my brother and I would be as close as we are if it were not for the loss of my mother, so I suppose there was one small blessing to come from it.”

“I’m glad ye had some comfort, just as I’m sorry that ye didn’t have yer mother there to give ye the attention ye deserved.” A thickness in Malcolm’s voice made her observe him more closely, noting the creases of pain at the corners of his eyes, the stiffness of his posture.

She was about to ask what had saddened him, when the gates of her childhood home came into view, the crunch of the gravel under the carriage wheels rather ruining the quiet atmosphere within.

A short while later, the carriage rolled to a halt outside the front doors of Ravenvale. Evelyn was already standing there, with Hugo at her side, as if they were waiting to welcome newcomers and not Octavia, who had lived there until the day she left for Scotland, married to Malcolm. A manor that had only truly been a home to her once her father was gone.

“Welcome, welcome!” Evelyn chirped as a footman opened the carriage door.