Page 88 of His Duchess to Remember

“Should I attend?”

Mr. Lincoln chuckled. “I don’t know if it’s my place to decide that, Your Grace. If you’re worried about Simon, he will be in good hands, as always.”

“But, if I were to attend, I would have to extend the invitation to Malcolm, would I not?” she said, a flurry of nerves making her stomach flip. “Although he does not like such gatherings. He probably would not want to come, even if I asked him. That might be better, actually, because then Simon would have his father here while I went to this gathering.”

The butler softened his voice as he said, “Your Grace, I think you’d have to ask His Grace if he wants to attend with you or not.” He hesitated. “That being said, if it’s not too bold of me to say, it’s common enough knowledge now that His Grace is here at Huntfield. People might gossip if you were to attend all alone.”

Octavia chewed her lower lip in consternation. She certainly did not want a scandal, or anyone whispering about her. And she had felt so much better at Joan’s ball, with Malcolm at her side, fending off the stares and the mutterings with his mere presence.

But I cannot force him to go, and we would have to stay there.

Being husband and wife, that meant they would have to share a bedchamber… unless, of course, she could send her reply immediately and request separate chambers. Then again, if there were a great many people coming to stay, there might not be room for such an accommodation to be made.

Her nerves were rising, and she had not even asked Malcolm to attend with her yet.

“You are quite right, Mr. Lincoln,” she said, getting up. “I should speak to him about it before I make any decisions.”

She was halfway to the door when the butler called her back.

“I can fetch His Grace to you, instead of you traipsing into the woods to find him.”

Octavia shook her head, deciding that she would probably need the walk to clear her head before she spoke to Malcolm. “That is quite all right. I am quite capable of finding him myself, and I am most interested to see how Simon has fared in his fishing.”

She continued out into the hall, her heart already hammering wildly in her chest. Although she and Malcolm had shared the same spaces over the past few days, she had not truly spoken to him since he returned. Right now, she doubted she would be able to get a single word past the tight feeling in her throat.

Outside, it was a lovely, mild day with just the faintest chill of changing seasons in the air. The leaves had not yet begun to turn, and would not for some weeks, but the promise of colder weather was there in the breeze.

Octavia marched across the lawn, wishing she had thought to put on sturdier boots before she left, and headed for the woods in the distance. The woods beyond the Dower House, where Malcolm led his mysterious existence whenever he left Huntfield of an evening.

By the time she found the path that she knew her husband and son had taken to reach a small stream, for Malcolm had been reluctant to take Simon back to the larger river, Octavia was breathless.

“Simon?” she called out, her shout muffled by the towering oaks and spongy moss.

“Mama?” the boy shouted back, her heart swelling as it did whenever she heard his sweet voice.

Hitching up her skirts so they would not trail in the mulch, she followed the path until she came to the stream in question. Perched on a rock, her husband and son were dangling fishing rods into the crystalline water, shoulder-to-shoulder—or, rather, shoulder-to-ribs—looking so perfectly content that she wished she could have captured the moment to keep forever.

“Did you catch anything?” Octavia asked, beaming.

Simon nodded proudly. “Two trouts.”

“Will that be enough for our supper?”

The boy pulled a face. “They’re swimming again.”

“We have been catching them and putting them back,” Malcolm explained, his mouth quirked in a tempting half-smile, his green eyes meeting hers with an intensity that left her more breathless than the walk.

“Well, that is… very kind of you. I am sure they are glad of it,” she said, finding her voice again. “Malcolm, I wondered if I might have a word with you?”

Malcolm raised an eyebrow. “Of course, lass.”

Lass… It had been weeks since he called her that, and she had not realized how much she missed the endearment. There was something about the way he said it that caused her heart to somersault and her skin to flush.

“Simon, why don’t ye find me some good skimming stones, so we can show yer mama what I’ve been teaching ye,” he added, as he took both rods and set them down.

With great enthusiasm, the little boy slid down from the rock and crouched on the pebbled shore of the stream, sifting through the array for the promised stones.

Meanwhile, Malcolm walked toward Octavia, moving slowly as if he feared she might bolt, his eyes never leaving hers.