Page 60 of His Duchess to Remember

“I shall see you then,” she said, as brightly as she could, before turning back toward the house.

On her way, she glanced back at her husband. He walked with his chin to his chest and his shoulders hunched, looking every bit like the man she had begun to like having around, and yet… she still could not shake the feeling that something had changed.

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

The gardens of Huntfield were nothing like the wild and rugged gardens of Highcastle. For so many years, Malcolm had looked out upon the gloomy glen and the dramatic mountains in the distance, finding peace in that isolated corner of the world.

He had never needed company, not there at least. Of course, he had appreciated the company of his comrades, and he would have given anything to spend another hour with his brother, but solitude served him well because of his losses. There was no worrying when one was entirely alone.

Now, here at Huntfield, he felt the weight of responsibility for others once more. He did not like the sensation: how it pressed down on him, how it made old memories resurface, how it made his mind race and his blood roar in his ears, how exposed it made him feel.

Ye’re a fool for ever coming here. He wished he could speak to the amnesiac version of him who had thought it so very wise to ride to Huntfield to bother his wife. He wished he could shackle the idiot, to prevent him from ever leaving Scotland.

To make matters worse, he did not know how to keep up the pretense that he was the version of himself that Octavia seemed to prefer. It had not been his natural state for ten years and, like a too-small waistcoat, it did not fit who he was now. Just smiling felt foreign to him.

“Your Grace?”

Malcolm bristled. Was it so difficult to wander through the gardens to gain some peace without being disturbed?

He turned to find the butler approaching. “What is it, Lincoln?”

The butler blinked in surprise, reminding Malcolm to adjust his tone. In keeping the news of his recovered memories from Octavia, he had to keep it from everyone else, too… with the exception of Stanforth, who had been warned that, under no circumstances, was he to inform anyone of the change.

“Apologies.” Malcolm sighed. “It has been a long night.”

Mr. Lincoln relaxed. “Of course, Your Grace, and I’m sorry to interrupt you. It is just that the doctor wishes to speak to you.”

“Already?”

The butler nodded. “Yes, Your Grace.”

“Very well.” Malcolm tilted his head from side to side to try and unravel a knot. “Tell him to meet me in the study.”

“At once, Your Grace.”

Mr. Lincoln hurried off, and though he knew he should probably return inside immediately, Malcolm took another few moments to lift his face to the sunshine and close his eyes. As the warmth bathed his face, he found himself wishing that he could lose his memories again, if just for a week or two. Just until Simon was better.

Ye are better at this than me, he thought, speaking to the version of himself that could not be brought back. Ye would ken how to deal with all of this. Ye might be useless with ledgers and business, but… ye still had a heart back then.

He opened his eyes again and made his way toward the house. His search for peace and quiet would have to wait.

A short while later, seated behind the desk where he had formerly fumbled through ledgers his memory-less mind did not understand, Malcolm raised his head at a knock on the door.

“Come in,” he said gruffly, one of those ledgers open in front of him.

It all made perfect sense now, the key to his private code restored to him along with memories of his wedding, his honeymoon, his first kiss with his wife, the first time he had set eyes on his son, and the moment he held his brother in his arms as he died. The moment he heard that his mother’s heart had given up. The moment he stood in the slurry of a mud-slicked field, surrounded by dead friends, comrades, men who had helped him survive his losses. A clash of the darkest shadows of his life and glimmers of light that he had tried to douse.

He shook off the thoughts and fixed his attention on the doctor, who had just walked in, looking rather sheepish.

“What do ye make of him?” Malcolm asked stiffly and slammed the ledger shut.

The doctor jumped a little. “It’s as the other doctor said. A fever. Nothing I haven’t seen before. Nothing of grave concern.” He approached the desk and sat down. “He managed to open his eyes for a very short while, and he is young and healthy; he will continue to improve. I have left instructions with the nursemaid, and better medicine to keep bringing his fever down.”

“Thank you.” Malcolm sat back in his chair and breathed a small sigh of relief.

It was not that he did not trust the local doctor, but he knew of Stanforth’s credentials.

And if I had listened to ye in the first place, I wouldn’t be in this mess now. He could not forget that. Doctor Stanforth had tried to stop him from leaving Highcastle, but in his ‘youthful’ naivety as a man with a twenty-three-year-old mind, Malcolm had been too determined.