Page 50 of His Duchess to Remember

“You are not tempted to stay a while longer, just to see if you might like living as a family?” Anthony prodded, and gained a sharp glower in return.

“Nay, I am nae. I have taken up enough of her time.” Malcolm got to his feet. “As I have taken up enough of yers.”

Anthony rose with him, hurrying to follow him to the front door. “You do not have to leave, my good man. We have not yet had our tea. There is no need to rush at all.” He moved in front of him. “We can summon the doctor here. I know that I would feel better if you stayed while my footman fetches him.”

Malcolm did not like the feeling of being trapped, a bristling sensation that rose through him as he looked from his friend to the door. It would have been no great effort for him to shove Anthony aside, but… perhaps his friend was right.

Rogue could certainly use the rest.

The stallion could have journeyed for hours and hours at a steady pace, but Malcolm had pushed him rather hard on the road to London.

“Very well,” Malcolm said, retreating. “Although, if ye stand in my path the next time I attempt to leave, ye’ll nae like the consequences.”

Anthony laughed awkwardly. “I promise; I will not.” He glanced up at him. “Goodness, I had forgotten how frightening you can be sometimes.”

“Aye, it’s a wonder I have any friends at all,” Malcolm replied wryly as, with a puff of breath, he returned to the drawing room.

Now that he thought about it some more, refreshments would be a welcome thing. And while he drank his tea and ate whatever sweet morsels accompanied it, he would have time enough to figure out how he was going to broach the subject of his greater departure with his wife.

Ye should never have let me stay in the first place, Octavia…

For though she might be pleased by the news, he knew of one, somewhat smaller person who would not.

This is what ye get for doing something decent. After all, no good deed went unpunished.

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

“He is not here?” Octavia rasped. “What do you mean, he is not here?”

When an hour had passed, and her husband had not returned to find them, she had assumed that he might have taken to his rooms to rest. She was no stranger to a headache herself, and she had not recently struck her head rather hard; of course, he would need some rest, for he had probably overexerted himself again.

However, when she had put Simon to bed and wandered downstairs to dine alone, Mr. Lincoln had news for her. Unwelcome, rather worrying news.

“I thought you knew,” the butler spluttered, eyes wide in horror. “I would not have asked you when he might be returning if I didn’t think you knew he had ridden off.”

She scraped back her chair, her heart lurching into her throat. “Well, when did he leave?”

“Not long after you had finished playing bowls,” the butler replied, his voice shaking.

Octavia gasped, and her hand gripped the back of the dining room chair. “We… had not finished playing. He left because of a headache. He was… He was supposed to go and find Doctor Stanforth, to ask for some medicine.”

He has been gone for hours! For a moment, she found that she could not draw a full breath, her chest too tight. She massaged the spot with the heel of her palm, but it offered no respite.

“Ah, well, perhaps that is it, Your Grace,” the butler said, with a great sigh of relief. “You see, Doctor Stanforth went to London this morning. Maybe His Grace went after him, if he is in possession of His Grace’s medicine.”

In truth, Octavia was not even sure that her husband was taking medicine. She had assumed that he must be, but what sort of tonic existed in the world for lost memories? The doctor himself had explained that the only cure was time, and even that was not a guarantee.

“Does my husband have a residence in London?” Octavia managed to say, imagining a thousand dreadful scenarios.

What if he has pursued the doctor, but has lost his way on the roads? He does not have the memories of how to get to London from here. Oh… what if he stopped to ask for directions, and has been set upon by brigands? What if he has fallen again and is in great pain?

She sucked in a sharp, agonizing breath as a worse possibility crept into her skull: What if he has remembered everything… and ridden back to Scotland? What if the most I can expect now is a letter to say that our time together is over?

Her hand gripped the back of the chair until her knuckles whitened. What would she tell Simon? How would she explain that to her beloved boy? How could she possibly put his heart back together if his father crushed it?

“Not anymore,” the butler replied. “The townhouse he once had was sold a few months after he became the Duke of Highcastle. Everyone assumed he would sell Huntfield first, but he never did.”

“Does he… know anyone in London? Would there be somewhere he might stay?” she asked, her tone almost pleading.