Page 80 of His Duchess to Remember

It pained her to think that her darling son could believe that he was to blame, and yet she could not bring herself to tell him that she was probably more to blame. Almost as much to blame as Malcolm himself.

“But… I love papa,” Simon whimpered into her shoulder. “I don’t want him to go.”

“I know, my darling.” Octavia held him tighter. “I am sure he will write, and we shall see about that pony for you.”

Simon pulled back, smearing his cheeks with his little fists. “Do you want papa to go?”

She swallowed uncomfortably and brushed the tears from her son’s face, realizing as she looked upon that sweet boy, the very echo of his father, that she did not. She did not at all want to return to a life that did not have Malcolm in it.

But she could not tell Simon that.

So, with the brightest smile she could muster, she said, “He has to go home, my darling. Now, what do you say to a slice of apple pie?”

Children were easy to distract. She, however, did not have that luxury.

Rogue was saddled and ready to depart, tossing his majestic head and pawing at the gravel. Malcolm, however, had gone back inside to fetch something from his guest chamber, while Octavia stood there on the porch with Simon at her side, lost for what to do with herself.

“When will Papa be back?” Simon asked, peering up at her, his voice anxious.

Octavia gulped; she had been worried this might happen.

“Do you remember what I told you before? That your father has to return to Scotland, which is too far away for him to come back?” she said, already dreading the moment that he was old enough to realize that, although Scotland was a fair distance, it was not so far that Malcolm could not visit.

But that was a problem for a future version of herself. Perhaps, Simon would have forgotten the joyful weeks he had spent with his father by then.

The boy’s face fell. “Oh… I forgot.”

“But you must be brave, my darling,” she urged. “You must say farewell to him, and you must not let him see that you are sad. Can you do that?”

Simon gave a small nod. “Yes, Mama.”

At that moment, footsteps in the entrance hall heralded Malcolm’s return, though Octavia could not bring herself to look at him. She did not want him to leave, but she would not stop him from going; he had made up his mind.

“Well then,” Malcolm said, clearing his throat. “I’ll say goodbye to ye both.”

Octavia kept her eyes on the ground. “Goodbye, Malcolm.”

“Aye, farewell to ye.”

She thought she heard a slight catch in his voice, but she could not be sure if she was just imagining what she wanted to hear.

“Goodbye, Papa,” Simon said, in the bravest voice he could manage, a faint tremble giving away his true sorrow.

Malcolm stooped and picked the boy up. “Goodbye, laddie. Don’t ye forget yer lessons about riding, and ye be good for yer mother.”

“I will,” Simon murmured, burrowing his face into Malcolm’s broad shoulder for a moment.

Out of the corner of her eye, Octavia watched as Malcolm gave his son a tight squeeze and then slowly set the boy back on the ground. With that, her husband headed down the porch steps and climbed up into the saddle with all the ease of a man who had done so a thousand times before.

Then, all too soon, Malcolm turned the stallion around and began to make his way down the driveway. A canter at first that stretched into a dramatic gallop, his coat flapping out behind him like wings, taking him away from Huntfield House for good.

A cry fought to escape Octavia’s throat, a shout to call him back, but as he passed through the gates and disappeared from view, not a sound had emerged from her lips.

Goodbye, Malcolm… I fear I shall miss you terribly.

Far more than she had ever thought possible.

CHAPTER THIRTY