Page 42 of An Offer By the Beastly Duke

Keeping his expression neutral, Malcolm nodded. Nicholas’ face lit up as he dashed off, returning in the time it took Malcolm to have the horses saddled. The young boy looked at the animals with an expression of such intense, suppressed excitement that he looked like he might vibrate out of his skin.

They rode out through the south gate and onto the long, flat stretch of the rear grounds, straying further from the castle.

Malcolm set an easy pace and watched Nicholas in his peripheral vision. The boy sat forward, weight in the wrong place, his small hands white-knuckled on the reins.

“Sit back,” Malcolm instructed, his voice gentler than he was used to. Something about guiding this boy, who did not know any better, who was doing nothing wrong, made Malcolm soften. “Use your seat bones, not your thighs. Remember, you are riding a horse, not clinging to a mast in a gale.”

Nicholas’ face flushed, as though embarrassed to have to be taught, but shifted like Malcolm had told him to. “Like this?”

“Yes, yes, very good. Now drop your shoulders.”

He watched the change move through the boy’s posture. A slight relaxation that rippled from the shoulders to the elbows and finally to the wrists. The reins loosened half an inch. The horse responded instantly, his gait smoothing out.

“Very good,” Malcolm said. With a teasing smile, he added, “See? You can listen when you want to.”

Nicholas laughed sheepishly. “It really does feel better. I feel as though I am not fighting him now.”

“You were fighting yourself, likely putting pressure on yourself to be perfect. But here is the thing, Nicholas. You do not have to be. You just have to be willing to learn. And, now, see? You are sitting with him.”

They rode in silence for several minutes. Hector moved through the long grass in easy sweeps with his nose down.

“Mr. Perth always said to hold on tighter,” Nicholas said, looking out over the fields.

“Mr. Perth was wrong. Strength is useless without balance.”

“I thought so.” Nicholas looked at the tree line, then back at Malcolm. “Can I ask you something?”

“You’re going to regardless.”

“Why did you join the Navy? You are a duke, and you have all of this.” He waved a hand at the horizon. “You surely did not have to go.”

Malcolm kept his eyes ahead, his jaw tightening for a heartbeat.

“I went because the sea was louder than the thoughts in my head,” he said it matter-of-factly, which was the only way it could be said. It was far too old a statement to make to a child, but Malcolm could not put it any other way.

Nicholas was quiet for a long time. Then his face brightened with a wide smile. “I can make some noise in your house if you want.”

Malcolm felt half a smile forming on his face as he chuckled, shaking his head at the child’s innocence, as if the thoughts in one’s head could be so easily drowned out.

Nicholas sighed, and Malcolm gave him a questioning look, but he was gazing out at the lands.

“Is something on your mind?” Malcolm asked.

Nicholas nodded slowly, taking a moment before he answered.

“It is just… riding with you really makes me wish I had someone to do things with and play with more often. Mama does everything with me, she really does. She paints with me and reads to me, and she even comes out to watch me ride even though I can tell she finds the wind very cold.” He paused. “But I can tell when she does not like something.”

Malcolm waited, the rhythm of the hooves the only sound between them.

“She tries to hide it, but I can always see. When we paint, her hands are loose. When we read, she’s happy. But when I want to go fishing or talk about hunting… she does it because I want to, not because she wants to.”

The grounds ran out ahead of them, flat and quiet.

“She never told me to stop asking,” Nicholas continued softly. “She would have always come, but I didn’t want her to not enjoy herself.” He lifted his eyes to Malcolm. “She does everything. She runs the house and makes sure I do my studies, and she never complains. I did not want to add more things to her list of chores.”

Malcolm said nothing.

He looked at the tree line, but he saw Lady Romwich, standing in the rain or kneeling by a muddy bank with a composed face and freezing hands, performing the role of both parents without once letting her son see the cost.