Page 70 of His Duchess to Remember

Evelyn laughed through tears. “We wanted to wait, to be certain. I did not want to have to disappoint anyone.” Her hand came to rest on her belly, an echo of what Octavia had done a few minutes ago. “But I really feel like this will be the one, Octavia. I know it. A cousin, at last, for dear Simon.”

Malcolm cleared his throat. “My mother had me when she was one-and-thirty, after a decade of… disappointments. She had my brother two years later.” He did not know why he was saying this, but he could not stop. “I don’t ken if that’s reassuring to ye or nae, but I was my mother’s lucky one.”

These two were not like his own mother and father. Hugo was clearly not bitter with Evelyn about her losses, showing such sympathy and care toward his wife. Something Malcolm’s father was incapable of.

And though Barnaby had come along two years later, Malcolm had often wondered if it would have been better if he had never been born. Barnaby had been marked for misery from birth, their mother attacked with accusations, that sweet boy punished for no other reason than his father’s cowardly, weak-minded character.

“She did?” Evelyn stared at Malcolm with something like relief in her eyes.

He nodded. “Aye, she thought it would never happen, and then she had the two of us in rather quick succession.”

“You do not know what a… glad thing that is to hear,” Evelyn rasped, her lips pulling into a wide smile.

Hugo nodded, chuckling. “If we have a son, and he is half as large and fearsome and full of vigor as you, I shall be quite content.”

“And if he is small and not at all intimidating?” Evelyn challenged with a grin, elbowing her husband in the ribs.

“I shall be equally content,” Hugo replied, as he leaned in to kiss her cheek. “Just as I shall be equally overjoyed if we have a daughter who is quiet and studious or wild and stubborn as a mule. I do not care about their size or if they are a boy or a girl, just as long as they are healthy, and they arrive into this world safely. And that you, too, are safe as you bring them into the world.”

The utter devotion and love jarred Malcolm as he observed and listened. He could not have imagined his father ever saying something so tender to his mother. Indeed, that ogre would not have cared a jot about his wife’s welfare, and would have flown into a rage if she had dared to birth anything other than a son.

As Octavia returned to her seat and the real dessert was served—a great slab of what appeared to be blackberry and apple pie, with a hearty pouring of custard over the top—Malcolm reached for his wine glass and raised it up.

“To the health of yer baby,” he said, a little choked up.

The adoring couple raised their glasses and chorused back, “To the health of our baby.”

Meanwhile, beside him, Octavia peered up with a warm smile and still-watery eyes, as she said quietly, “To the health of the baby.”

“You know, Malcolm,” Hugo interjected, once he had swallowed his mouthful of wine, “I was not exactly fond of you when I first met you. Not that I even really met you; if I recall correctly, most of our brief correspondence was done through letters, and then I barely said two words to you at the wedding. But I rather think you are a decent man.”

Malcolm cleared his throat. “That’s very generous of ye.”

“Nonsense, it is the truth,” Hugo insisted. “You have been excellent company this evening, and it is obvious to me that you have a fondness for my sister. As it is clear that she has a fondness for you. I never thought I would see the day, but I cannot say I am angry about it. Rather, I am relieved!”

“Brother, stop it!” Octavia urged, her cheeks turning a charming shade of pink. “You are going to embarrass us.”

Hugo cackled. “Apologies, apologies, I shall say nothing more about it… but there is definitely a change in the two of you. I have seen the way you have been stealing glances over dinner.”

“Brother!” Octavia rasped, her eyes bulging.

“I am sorry.” Still chuckling, Hugo pretended to turn a key in front of his mouth and put his hands up. “I shall be silent. I shall not embarrass you further, dearest sister. I promise.”

But the proverbial horse had already bolted, and Malcolm could not deny that he had been stealing glances at his wife throughout dinner. Admiring her beauty, admiring her wit and humor, wondering how he could have been so fortunate and unfortunate as to marry such a remarkable woman.

She deserved so much more than he had offered, and could offer.

“Come, let us eat our pie before it gets cold,” Evelyn said, flashing a pointed look across the table to Octavia. A look that Malcolm could not decipher.

What am I doing?

With a tight throat, he dug his spoon into his pie and wondered if an overfull stomach would work the same as a rock to the head.

CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

“Here you are,” Octavia’s voice roused Malcolm from a dinner-induced stupor. “I did not know where you had gone.”

While Hugo, Evelyn, and Octavia had been amusing themselves in the drawing room, he had slipped away to steal some peace and quiet to try and soothe his agitated mind. The terrace had seemed a safe enough place, on a bench in the twilight, watching the stars emerge one by one like candles in city windows.