Page 81 of His Duchess to Remember

Adense fog hung over the wilds of the Highcastle estate, blotting out the mountains, snaking through the forests, the mist creeping right up to the grey stone of the castle walls.

From his study, where a roaring fire crackled in the grate as if it were winter instead of the end of summer, Malcolm watched the swirling fog. Ledgers and documents sat stacked on his desk, but he did not have the concentration he once had, his mind wandering so easily these days.

It had been two weeks since he departed Huntfield. Two weeks since he had last seen his wife and son, yet they were in his thoughts from morning until night.

I should’ve held her one last time, at least.

He shook his head. No, she would not have wanted that. He had lost any privilege he might have had to touch her, to embrace her, to kiss her, and that mistake could not be undone.

A knock at the door brought him out of his daze.

“Come in,” he said, sitting up straight.

The housekeeper bustled in. “There’s a visitor for ye, Yer Grace.”

“A visitor?” Malcolm perked up. “Who is it?”

“That English duke who comes huntin’ for stags here,” the housekeeper replied, not bothering to hide the note of disdain.

She was not fond of the English.

“Ah…” Malcolm swallowed down the sting of disappointment. “Take him into the drawing room. I’ll be along shortly.”

“He’s already there, Yer Grace, making himself at home,” the housekeeper mumbled, as she turned to leave.

Of course it’s nae Octavia. Why would it be? Malcolm chided himself in the wake of the old woman’s departure.

He doubted he would have been pleased if it was Octavia, for the journey to Highcastle was long and arduous, and not the sort of journey a woman, a duchess, should be making.

Taking a deep breath, Malcolm got up from the desk and headed out to greet his friend, somewhat puzzled by the man’s arrival. It was not yet time for the stag hunting season, and the housekeeper had made no mention of Anthony arriving with friends, which she assuredly would have done.

As expected, he found Anthony in the drawing room, sitting upon the settee with an air of familiarity.

The man smiled as Malcolm entered. “I see your housekeeper still has not warmed to me.”

“Was she rude?” Malcolm asked, though he could not find it in him to smile.

“Oh, terribly. But I do not mind. There is a certain charm to it that I almost look forward to now,” Anthony replied, grinning. “I asked if I might have some tea, and you would have thought I had asked for her firstborn.”

Managing a halfhearted laugh, Malcolm sat down opposite. “What brings ye all this way? I wasn’t expecting ye until September.”

“Can a gentleman not simply come and visit his friend?” Anthony said, all innocence.

Malcolm raised an eyebrow. “Nae when this is usually yer prime hunting season in society, drifting from manor to manor, garden party to ball, making a nuisance of yerself.”

Chuckling, Anthony clasped a dramatic hand to his chest. “You do not think a gentleman can change his ways? Perhaps, I have decided to be a good boy this summer season.”

“Aye, and I saw a unicorn right there in the forest this morning,” Malcolm said dryly.

“You have caught me.” Anthony put his hands up in mock surrender. “I was on my way to attend a house party in Northumberland when I had a sudden compulsion to keep riding toward Highcastle. It was only the Earl of Sedburgh’s party, and they are notoriously dull.”

Warily, Malcolm eyed his friend. “And what, pray tell, compelled ye to keep riding? Dull or nae, I doubt ye would have struggled to find something to amuse ye.”

Anthony’s ordinarily jovial face turned rather serious, a weary sigh puffing out of his lungs. “It is my worry for you, old boy.”

“Worry?” Malcolm snorted. “What on earth would ye be worrying about me for? My memories came back. I don’t have headaches anymore. I have suffered nay ill effects from being knocked on the head.”

“I am worried that you have made the wrong choice by returning here to your… hermitage,” Anthony said, a line appearing between his eyebrows. “It does not do a man any good to be in such isolation. And, my dear friend, I think you were comfortable at Huntfield. Dare I say ‘happy.’ You were certainly less gloomy than I have seen you in all the years I have known you.”