Page 49 of His Duchess to Remember

But my mind was altered then. I was not who I am.

“Even now?” Anthony leaned forward. “Are you saying your memories have come back?”

“A few hours ago, aye,” Malcolm said. “They haven’t all come back, but they’re returning bit by bit.”

Anthony took a moment, his finger resting on his lips in an expression of bewilderment. It was to be expected; it was not every day that a friend admitted they had recently forgotten ten years of their life. Until that sudden shock of recollection on the bowling green, Malcolm had not remembered Anthony at all.

Before they had met by chance, they had moved in very different spheres. They would have had no cause to know one another, prior to Malcolm’s unexpected elevation into high society.

“Does your wife know your memories have returned?” Anthony asked, at last.

Malcolm shook his head. “We were playing lawn bowls. I excused myself, went for a ride to clear my thoughts, and ended up here.”

A low whistle trilled from Anthony’s lips. “Well, I am honored that you would think of me—or, indeed, remember me—and I am glad that I know of your affliction. Truly, I feared you might be dead.” He paused. “But… how long were you at Huntfield?”

“Almost two weeks,” Malcolm replied.

“So, you have been living with your wife?”

Malcolm nodded. “Indeed. She was… generous enough to allow me to remain, considering my condition.” He cleared his throat. “But that is over now. I am recovered, or so it seems, and I must leave as soon as possible.”

“Has it been unpleasant?” Anthony said.

“Pardon?”

“Your stay with your wife. Has it been unpleasant?”

Malcolm had the sense that he was wandering into some manner of ambush. Then again, he had never known Anthony to be sentimental. When Malcolm first spoke to Anthony about the match with Octavia, his friend had been pragmatic and encouraging of the union.

“She wants to lead separate lives. It’s what I want too,” Malcolm remembered saying, in the drawing room at Highcastle, while poring over Octavia’s latest letter of terms. “She wants children. I must have an heir. It would be a convenient match.”

“I daresay it would,” Anthony had replied. “Besides, you could not expect a society lady to live here, now, could you? She would die of boredom. Perhaps, you might grant her Huntfield?”

Malcolm frowned. So, it was Anthony who had suggested the English property. He had forgotten that. Huntfield House had been part of the estate, a summer residence of the former duke when the Scottish weather proved too hard for his old bones, and Malcolm had certainly had no desire to use it.

Indeed, prior to his marriage, he had often considered selling it, but something had always stopped him.

“I was nae in my right mind,” Malcolm finally answered, carefully. “It doesn’t matter if my time at Huntfield has been pleasant or nae. I am recovered now. I am myself again.”

And that means I must be as far away from Octavia and my son as it is possible to get…

“I should depart for Highcastle immediately,” he added.

A disapproving frown creased Anthony’s brow. “You cannot ride back to Scotland from here without saying a word to your wife.”

“Of course nae,” Malcolm said curtly. “That’s nae what I meant.”

Although he was not looking forward to the confrontation. He would rather face a foreign horde again than have to inform his wife that he would be leaving and, failing another accident that knocked his memories out of him, he would not be returning.

But why should I worry? he reasoned. My absence is what she wants. She’ll have her life back, the way she likes it.

Indeed, clearly he was worrying for nothing. If anything, his wife would be elated by the news, eager to restore peace to her home.

“I’ll leave after I’ve spoken to her,” he clarified. “And I should probably speak to the doctor, too. He is in London somewhere; he should nae be hard to find.”

Anthony sighed. “Well, if you are certain that this is what you want?”

“I am.”