Page 85 of His Duchess to Remember

“They are well-matched in that regard too,” Octavia conceded, allowing herself a real smile.

She had already had to take Simon back to his room last night, after she had caught him trying to sneak out of the house to sleep in the pony’s stall. She doubted it would be the last time, or that she would always be successful in preventing him from sneaking out.

Catching Octavia’s eye, Evelyn smiled. “I am sorry that things have gone awry, my dear friend. Truly, I am.”

Octavia smiled back, her heart heavy. “It was always supposed to be temporary. It is nothing I did not know was coming.”

But I am sorry too. More than I can yet put into words.

She had dared to dream of more, and had received nothing in return. She knew it would take a lot longer than she thought for her heart to be able to ‘readjust’ to that, especially when the memory of his kiss was now more vivid than ever, ambushing her whenever she found herself having a quiet moment or when she went to sleep at night.

Perhaps, in another five years, enough time might have passed for her to be able to forget that her husband had ever entered her life again. But, right now, the pain was more raw than she could admit, the days going by so very, very slowly.

Three weeks to the day since Malcolm left, and his absence had yet to get any easier. Simon asked for him, asked why he was not coming back, and when he did not understand, he descended into a tantrum; the kind that Octavia wished it was acceptable for her to throw, too.

“Remember not to pull on the reins too hard,” Octavia said, standing in the fenced paddock as a fine mist of rain began to drizzle.

It was one of the good days, with Simon enjoying his riding lesson on the back of Caterpillar. The stablemaster was instructing and observing, as capable as any tutor, but even Octavia knew that it should be Malcolm teaching.

He had such patience. Such a clear way of explaining things.

“I’m not pulling,” Simon protested, as he trotted by, jiggling to the jaunty gait of the pony.

“No, I know, but just remember not to pull too hard,” she said.

The mischievous pony had a tendency to stop very suddenly when the reins were pulled, as if he too was trying to teach Simon riding manners. And though, yes, it was not far to the ground, she did not want her son to be thrown over the animal’s head.

On the other side of the paddock, the stablemaster offered a sympathetic look and a gruff chuckle.

I know he needs his father, but what can I do?

Several times, she had gone to her study and cut a fresh sheet of paper, ready to write to Malcolm. Once she had put the tip of her quill to that paper, however, all words failed her.

“You see how fast!” Simon cheered, as his little feet lightly tapped the side of the pony.

The beast shot forward, running with such vigor that Octavia feared her son would be shaken right off the saddle.

“Perhaps a little slower, darling!” she said, her voice shrill.

Just then, she heard hoofbeats that could not possibly belong to the stocky, sturdy pony. A thud that echoed the beat of her heart.

Puzzled, she turned around to look at the driveway, but there was no one there.

Am I imagining things?

She slowly moved her gaze around the vicinity… and froze as she saw a powerful black horse charging across the lawns from the direction of the forest. A dark coat, dappled with rain, flew out behind the rider. A man so familiar, so longed-for, that she had to rub her eyes to be certain she was not hallucinating.

The enormous horse continued its charge toward the paddock. Even the Shetland pony stopped to observe the new arrival, tossing his blonde mane, despite Simon’s attempts to get the beast to move again.

Then, Simon also noticed the rider.

“Papa!” The boy scrambled down from the saddle and ran with all of his might toward the fence.

The stablemaster caught him before he could squeeze through and get in the path of the stallion, as the boy continued to cry out for his father.

Malcolm brought Rogue to a rearing halt, showing his prowess as he held his seat with ease and smiled down at his awestruck son. The stallion added some flourish with his pawing hooves before he landed back down on the ground, snorting his way toward the little boy that he had become fond of.

“Good afternoon, Rogue,” Simon said, his hand reaching for the stallion’s searching nose.