A Tip of the Cap (London League, Book 3)

by Rebecca Connolly

  The bedrooms were all beautiful and in grand condition, with tapestries and carpets unlike any she had ever seen. There was a perfect balance of light and dark in the décor of the house, nothing seeming too masculine or too feminine, and even her rooms, situated comfortably in the west wing with the rest of the family, were perfect for her tastes. She wondered why her rooms did not adjoin her husband’s, as surely would have been customary in their situation, but they were not far from his, so the point was probably moot anyway.

  Her favorite part of the estate, above all else, was the grounds, which she had taken to wandering daily. While not as extensive as one might have expected for a house of this size, they seemed rather perfect to her. There were woods and hills and streams, and even a glorious ravine that gave one a spectacular view of the surrounding areas. The gardens were pristine, and the gardener well-compensated for his efforts, as he ought to have been. It was an enclosed garden, which only added to the romanticism, as the crumbling rock of the walls seemed more part of the garden than any sort of boundary.

  Truly, Knightsgate was a lovely place, nestled snugly in the beauty of Hampshire, with the same warmth and invitation one could feel from the county’s landscape itself. Pity that the warmth it portrayed in timber, trestle, and tone did not touch its thorny master.

  But Beth would fix that. She could make things better, she was sure of it. Surely it would not always be like this. She bit her lip suddenly, wondering if that could possibly be true. What could she do?

  She heard a noise on the terrace and turned to see the children and Mrs. Franklin settling down to resume their lessons. While Archer and Jane were not smiling, the younger two were delighted with being out of doors.

  Well, she could certainly start with some lessons, and see where that got her. And then, perhaps, a few games.

  Laughter was not a sound that Lord Montgomery had heard in some time. He recognized that he was partially to blame, as he rarely felt the inclination to laugh or be playful these days. One could hardly expect the children to feel the same exuberance they felt when their mother was alive. Once upon a time, he had been a cheerful and teasing father, the sort to run around with them and make mischief and have his wife scold him as much as the children. Now, he had to be both mother and father to them, and the weight of that burden was too much to bear for play.

  He knew it was not the sort of life children should lead. They ought to see their father smile and laugh, and ought to feel permitted to smile and laugh themselves. He’d seen the changes in Jane and Archer, and the guilt he felt for their change unmanned him every time he looked into their somber faces. If it weren’t for his youngest two children, who had yet to adopt the more serious mannerisms of their older siblings, they might have been completely without joy or light.

  But he heard laughter this morning, and it drew him out of the private refuge of his study to investigate.

  Out on the terrace, Mrs. Franklin sat with the children, all of whom were fixed with rapt attention on something he could not see off to one side.

  He frowned a little. It was odd to have them outside this time of day, but he didn’t mind it. With the weather in England being what it was, one must take advantage of the fine days to properly appreciate them.

  He did wonder at Mrs. Franklin sitting with the children instead of instructing them. She was not a governess, merely a nanny, but he hadn’t had the patience for attempting to hire a governess. Their last one had departed shortly after Caroline’s death when the children had been unruly and uncooperative for a time. The governess had been sympathetic, but she’d refused to continue her work under those conditions.

  Malcolm could not blame her for that, but he had not known what to do about it, either, so he had left well enough alone and charged Mrs. Franklin, who had the patience of a saint, with the care and education of his children until a better situation could be found.

  He moved to the other side of the room to see what they all stared at, and he stopped when it came into view.

  Beth was in the middle of a recitation of some kind, looking like the countess she was by appearances, but not at all by her composure. She was fully engaged in what she was saying, using her expressive hands to great effect and gazing at each of the children in turn.

  He watched her for a long moment, as captivated as the others. He’d been a poor excuse for a husband since their marriage, albeit a rather typical one by Society’s standards. He’d left her to her own devices while going about his own business, choosing to spend as little time with her as possible for his own sake.

  Ever since bringing her to Knightsgate, he felt as though he had made a gross error in judgment by marrying her. Not because of her or her situation, but because he might not have been prepared for it. He still considered Beth to be a remarkable woman and an excellent choice for a wife, but he was not ready for a wife. Not yet. It was too soon; it had all happened too fast.

  Admiring Beth made him feel guilty, as she was a beautiful woman, and the effects of her appearance seemed like infidelity to him. Thinking constantly about Caroline also made him feel guilty, as he was married to Beth but still yearned for Caroline.

  There was nothing but guilt for him here, and it was a suffocating feeling.

  He couldn’t think of duties or responsibilities regarding his new wife; in fact, he could barely manage to think of Beth as his wife. He had spent the last three days revisiting matters of his estate and seeing the tenants about whom his estate manager had informed him. It was good to see to the details that defined his life at Knightsbridge. The reminder of life as he had once known it gave him focus and purpose, though it did not take his mind away from what he could be doing in London.

  He could not be distracted from thoughts of the work they had to do, the dangers they needed to mind, the investigations that were underway to prevent disaster… There, he never felt guilt. There, he could accomplish much without feeling something was lacking.

  There, he was truly himself.

  Everywhere else, he hadn’t the faintest clue who he was.

  Malcolm looked at Beth again, noticed how the sun seemed to highlight every pleasurable aspect of her from her golden hair to her perfectly sculpted cheekbones, and caught himself in a sigh, the sound jerking him from his reverie.

  He didn’t dare interpret that sigh, or what had prompted it. The answer might have been far too dangerous. He moved out to the terrace, setting his features and grinding his teeth, making up his mind on the spot about his situation.

  Beth’s eyes danced with a magical light as she continued with her recitation, more of an actress than he would have expected, and not yet noticing him.

  “ ‘We few, we happy few, we band of brothers;’ ” she said, her voice taking on an emotional quality that stirred him. “ ‘For he to-day that sheds his blood with me shall be my brother; be he ne’er so vile, this day shall gentle his condition: and gentlemen in England now a-bed shall think themselves accursed they were not here…’ ”

  Her voice rose, and she suddenly looked powerful, regal, and he could easily imagine her actually leading King Henry’s men into battle like this.

  “ ‘And hold their manhoods cheap,’ ” she continued, her right hand forming a fist, “ ‘whiles any speaks that fought with us upon Saint Crispin’s day.’ ”

  No one spoke as her words hung in the air, and even Malcolm couldn’t find it within himself to break the silence. He’d read the words so many times, listened to the speech given numerous ways by talented actors, and it never failed to stir him. But hearing the powerful words from Beth’s lips… that had been something different entirely.

  “What happened then?” Archer asked, breaking the still of the moment. “Did they charge off into battle?”

  Malcolm looked at his oldest, now wide-eyed and staring at his stepmother without any of the shadows that had so recently troubled his young face.

  If Beth were surprised by the sudden outburst, she gave no indication. She merely
smiled rather slyly at him and transformed back into herself in an instant. “That is a revelation for another day, my Lord Talbot.”

  The other children laughed at the playful usage of Archer’s title, which was rarely heard, given the formality of it all, and Archer scowled a little. “But I want to know what happened!”

  Beth caught sight of Malcolm then, leaning against the wall where he was, and smiled. “Well, if you complete your lessons for the rest of the week and behave very well, I will tell you the rest at the end of it.”

  Samuel and Archer cheered while the girls clapped. Mrs. Franklin beamed at Beth as though she were a godsend and shooed the children up. “Shall we go for a walk, children?”

  “Not too far,” Malcolm broke in, stepping forward. “There is some flooding near the stream, so keep near the house.”

  They all nodded and started to move in that direction. Suddenly, six-year-old Jane darted over to him. “Papa,” she whispered as best as she could, which was still rather audible for anyone in the vicinity.

  He crouched down to her level and met her cornflower blue eyes seriously. “Yes, Jane?”

  She glanced over her shoulder at Beth, who watched the interchange with interest but kept her distance. Jane looked back at him, confusion evident on her features.

  “How do we address her?”

  Malcolm reared back a little, ashamed that she’d had to ask the question, as it spoke to the poor manner in which he had handled the entire situation. Worst of all, he did not have an answer for her.

  He could hardly tell his daughter to call her ‘Mother’, as Beth was not her mother, and ‘Mama’ was out of the question, as that title belonged to Caroline.

  How had he never thought of this before?

  Bewildered and lost, he looked to Beth, still watching them. She smiled and mouthed “Beth” with a nod.

  He returned her nod and looked back to his daughter, rubbing her arms gently. “For now, you may call her Beth.”

  “Miss Beth?” she asked, tilting her head in question, her dark hair swishing against his hand.

  “Just… Beth,” he told her with what he hoped was a convincing smile.

  Jane nodded and whirled out of his hold, looking up at Beth as she passed. “Thank you for the lesson, Beth.”

  Beth smiled and ran a hand along his daughter’s hair. “You are most welcome, Jane. Hurry on with the others now, we can talk more later.”

  Off skipped his daughter to find her siblings and nanny, leaving the adults alone on the terrace.

  Malcolm rose, clearing his throat awkwardly. “I am so sorry about that,” he told her, edging hesitantly over to her. “I didn’t think…”

  “It’s all right,” Beth said with a shake of her head. “This is not an easy situation, and there is much to consider. The children may call me Beth for as long as they like, and we’ll see if anything else sticks.”

  He gave her an assessing look, impressed despite his intention to keep his distance. “That is very good of you. Why are you so understanding?”

  She quirked a brow at him and leaned against the balustrade near her. “Should I be difficult?”

  He frowned a little. “Elizabeth, are you in the habit of being biddable and self-sacrificing?”

  “Of course, I am,” she scoffed, not taking any hint of offense at his words or his tone. “I am the youngest in a large family, and I learned from everyone else’s mistakes. Do you know how much relief it brought my parents to have a child that did exactly as she was told without argument?”

  He didn’t doubt it and would be lying if he said he had not wished his own children would do exactly as she had said, but he didn’t want her to be biddable and self-sacrificing.

  What he did want was much less clear.

  “Hmm.” He shook his head, unwilling to further that conversation, fearing where it might go. He glanced around at the terrace. “They moved their lessons outside?”

  Beth stood straight and nodded, smiling again. “It was such a fine day, I didn’t have the heart to refuse them when they asked.” Her tone was apologetic, even if her expression was not.

  “I don’t mind,” he told her with a quick wave of his hand. “But… Shakespeare?”

  She shrugged, tilting her head back and closing her eyes as the sun hit her face more fully. “Mrs. Franklin was trying to have a history lesson, and I thought I might help.”

  “But Shakespeare?” he asked again, looking away to avoid looking at her for far too long.

  Beth gave a low chuckle which plucked a string deep within his tightly closed chest. “I couldn’t think of another way to make history come alive, could you?”

  No, he couldn’t, but Shakespeare on the terrace for his children seemed… quite something.

  “And this terrace was a perfect stage,” she continued, lifting her head to look around. “I may have to do more lessons out here.”

  Malcolm turned to face her, setting his features firmly in his practiced careful consideration. “Well, you don’t need to concern yourself with lessons, you know. A governess would do very well for them. You can take care of hiring one while I am gone.”

  Startled, Beth looked at him in surprise, her brow furrowing slightly. “Gone? Where are you going?”

  “Back to London,” he said stiffly, keeping his gaze fixed over her head. “I have duties to see to there. I really am gone quite a lot. Didn’t I explain that?”

  “Yes,” Beth answered, the single word slow and drawn out. “But I didn’t think… That is, it is rather…”

  Malcolm let his gaze flick down to hers and waited, not sure if he wanted her to protest or not. All he knew was that her reaction would be important for some reason.

  She stared back at him, her expression unreadable. Then she dipped her chin in a nod and swallowed hard. “I understand. Of course, you must go.”

  To his utter amazement, he felt disappointed by her answer, though it should have delighted him. A wife who let him have his way and would expect nothing of him? It was perfect for a man who wished to keep his distance.

  But somehow, it wasn’t.

  “How long will you be gone?” Beth asked, smiling again, though the smile was different, forced.

  He attempted a careless shrug. “A couple of weeks, probably. Perhaps a month.”

  Beth’s dark eyes widened, and she clamped down on her lips.

  Say it, he prodded in his mind. Say anything.

  But Beth only nodded, her jaw relaxed, and she smiled again serenely. “Very well. When will you go?”

  “Directly,” he heard himself say.

  Again, Beth nodded absently, as if unaware of it. “Well, the children will certainly miss you.”

  “They are used to it.”

  He would have given a great amount of money to know what thoughts were swirling in Beth’s mind as she stared back at him, her eyes almost vacant, her smile fixed, and whatever had made Beth special was gone.

  “Is there anything I need to do in your absence?” she asked, her tone bright but false.

  The sooner Malcolm could end this conversation, the better. It was getting more awkward by the second, and the only escape for him would be to leave Knightsgate entirely. Now. As quickly as he could.

  He shook his head and stepped back, speaking in clipped tones. “No, I don’t think so. Mr. Russell will inform you if there is anything to do, but he will write me directly if he needs anything.”

  “And if I need anything?” she asked in a sharper tone than he’d ever heard from her, though it was still far too sweet.

  Malcolm bowed carefully. “I am at your service, as always.”

  Beth looked amused and nodded slowly. “And I at yours, husband,” she replied, sounding more natural, though the words did not settle well on him. She looked in the window towards her salon, then back to him. “If you will excuse me, Monty, I have some notes to finish for our wedding guests.” She curtseyed, and then swept away without any hint of airs or superiority, leaving him rath
er speechless on the terrace.

  Well, he supposed he could leave now, as no one seemed to need him here. And he would leave, just as he’d planned.

  Just as soon as he figured out why he was upset.

  Chapter Seven

  What the hell are you doing here, Cap?”

  Malcolm looked up from his desk to see all three of his comrades staring at him with varying degrees of horror. It would have been comical, except that he noticed the severity in their gazes.

  It was for this reason that he had avoided seeing any of them since his arrival last week. Given his seniority, he had more freedom to work where he pleased, and he had spent most of his time at his second house in London. It seemed excessive if he thought about it for too long, but when he was in London as Cap, not as Lord Montgomery, it proved quite useful. Fritz had been a frequent visitor, with orders from Tailor and Eagle on various topics, and his reports from the others in the League had been delivered as usual, having informed his regular contact of his presence.

  Only having to alert one person that he was in London was rather convenient… until everyone else found out, and then things got messy.

  He kept his expression composed as ever and raised a brow. “I’m doing what I come here to do, of course. Which is more than I can say for the three of you, if my reports are to be believed.”

  His words had almost no effect on them, and they continued to stare.

  Malcolm sighed and sat back in his chair. “Rogue, what’s this I hear about one of ours following you to monitor your activities? Are you questioning your own judgment now?”

  Rogue’s brow furrowed a little, but he did not react, which was surprising, as Rogue’s temper was usually shorter than his hair.

  “Fine representatives of the Crown’s covert operatives you are,” Malcolm muttered, going back to his work.