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

by Rebecca Connolly

  Beth watched the scene with a soft smile, her heart full, and realizing just how much she had missed seeing the faces of those she loved most during her time of blindness.

  She watched Greer run, then looked back at her husband, who had straightened up and was laughing to himself. He turned to look at her, his smile warm and open, and their eyes met.

  His expression seemed to freeze, and then slowly the smile faded, and a furrow formed between his brows.

  Her breath vanished in a swift motion, and her heart leapt to her throat.

  He knew.

  As if on cue, he marched towards her, stopping only two paces from. “You can see,” he said in a cold, biting tone.

  Beth averted her eyes, fixing them on Malcolm’s boots, and she nodded once.

  The children called for Malcolm again, and he exhaled in irritation. “You have five minutes to prepare a statement on the matter, and then you and I will go into the house where you will tell me absolutely everything. Am I understood?”

  He had never spoken to her in such a manner, and it terrified her to hear it. “Yes, Malcolm,” she responded meekly, wishing very faintly that he would just get it over with. Anticipation made the unknown so much worse.

  Malcolm went back to the children, doing a passable job of hiding his fury and pretending that all was well. The children laughed as they had before, finding the same joy in their father they had only moments ago.

  Beth sat as still as she could, though the temptation to writhe in her discomfort was gnawing at her. Her skin seemed to crawl, while deep inside, her bones seemed almost numb. She had never seen Malcolm truly angry, as he had always been perfectly controlled and composed, and she feared she was soon to discover what her husband was truly capable of.

  Faintly, she heard Malcolm call a halt to the games and instruct the children to return to the nursery for lessons, still with no hint of distress in his tone. They complained a little but did as they were bid, each bidding her farewell as they returned to the house.

  His hand was suddenly before her, and she let him tug her to her feet. “Come.”

  Beth nodded weakly and let him lead her along, noticing he no longer took any care to ensure her footing.

  He no longer needed to treat her with such delicacy.

  Malcolm marched her to his study and released her hand the moment they were in the room. He turned without a word and closed the door behind, pausing with his back still turned to her.

  “Your sight has returned,” he announced clearly, the words clipped.

  Beth swallowed with difficulty. “Y-yes,” she managed.

  “How long have you been able to see?” he asked, his words deliberate.

  “Not long.”

  His hands became fists at his side. “How… long?” he asked again, this time his words as clenched as his fists.

  “Several days,” Beth answered hesitantly. “Possibly more.”

  He dropped his head, and a faint tremor raced across his back. “Perfectly?”

  “No.” She shook her head even though he couldn’t see it. “Never perfectly. Still not. Each day is slightly better than the one before.”

  “When did you know it was improving?” Malcolm’s voice seemed far away, and she had the sense that he was drifting just as far from her.

  Beth closed her eyes, wishing she might sink into the floor and escape. “I first noticed that day we played with the children. When you took the blindfold from my eyes, I could see a difference in the light. I didn’t know for certain until two days following, and since then it has only been improving.” She opened her eyes and reached for the desk behind her for balance. “Colors began to appear, and shapes took form, but it was blurry and disorienting, almost more than the darkness had been. I could still see almost nothing in the evening unless the fire or candles were bright.”

  “But you could see.”

  The short phrase might well have been a lash against her skin, and she gripped the desk. “Yes.”

  Malcolm slowly turned on the spot and folded his arms tightly. “Does Dr. Durham know?”

  She shook her head quickly. “He has not been by since it’s come back, and I haven’t written for fear it would be temporary.”

  “And now?”

  Beth bit her lip. “I don’t believe it is.”

  “And how long have you had that conclusion?”

  Her eyes burned, and her lashes fluttered at the sensation. “A week or so. Since after the ball.”

  Malcolm swore suddenly, a curse of a somewhat shocking nature, and he whirled back around, his hands flying to his head. “A week?” he cried hoarsely. “Why didn’t you tell me? Why didn’t you say anything?”

  “I’m sorry,” she whispered.

  He turned back, hands still at his head. “Can you see my face?”

  She nodded hastily. “But not well.”

  His hands dropped, and he came to her at once, his strides hard and purposeful. He took her chin in hand, gripping a little. “Can you see it well now?”

  She clamped down on her lips as tears welled and fell, and barely managed a nod.

  “Why didn’t you tell me?” he rasped, his voice almost breaking, his eyes almost wild. “I have places I should be, important and critical things to do, people who need… I only stayed because I thought you needed me!” He shook her ever so slightly, his throat working. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

  Beth whimpered a little, her tears falling onto Malcolm’s hand. “I was afraid,” she admitted weakly. “I knew you felt bound to stay while I was in need…”

  “So, you took advantage of that?” His voice rose with his indignation, and Beth felt her shame reach unmatched levels.

  “You asked me to be vulnerable for you, and when I was blind, you were vulnerable as well!” Her voice cracked, and she shook her head. “I was afraid of the walls you would put up if I could see…”

  Malcolm was also shaking his head but in disbelief. “If I was vulnerable, it was because you couldn’t see!”

  “You took advantage of my blindness to let your guard down?” Beth demanded, feeling outrage mingle with the guilt she felt pressing in on her.

  “Don’t turn this around. I am not the one who has been lying!” Malcolm insisted, holding up an accusatory finger.

  Beth clamped her trembling lips together, then managed, “Lies can be told without words as well.”

  Malcolm stared at her, his eyes as cold as his features now.

  “I didn’t want you to go away again,” she whispered, her indignation fading as the hurt rolled in.

  He wrenched his hand away from her face as if stung, and stepped back a few paces, his expression changing from distress to a cold sort of sneer. “That is not up to you.”

  Unable to help herself, Beth reached for Malcolm’s hand. “I am so sorry.”

  He stepped back even further, now almost perfectly composed. “That, I am afraid, is not enough.” He gave her a clipped nod and turned away, banging open the door and letting it stand open as he stormed from the room.

  “Malcolm!” she pleaded, though it only served to echo through the empty halls and vanish unanswered.

  Beth covered her mouth and closed her cursed eyes, sagging against the desk. Her heart was breaking, crumbling into nothing, only to be blown away as dust with the slightest breeze. There would be no forgiveness for this. No returning to the joys she once had, the pleasures that had stirred her, or the comfort he had provided in her distress. He would be gone, within the hour, if she knew him at all, and Lord only knew when he would return.

  If he returned.

  Oh, he would come for the children. He adored them too much to abandon them, but she would never be held in the same regard after this. Nor should she be.

  The sound of a horse’s pounding hooves met her ears. Her knees gave way, sending her to the floor as though she had been trampled by the same horse who now carried away the man who held her heart.

  He was gone, then. And without a farew
ell or instructions, without so much as a look.

  The silent sobs that shook Beth’s frame suddenly gained voice and volume, and with no one to hear or care, she let them come without restraint, gripping the rug beneath her as her heartbreak played out its bitter conclusion.

  Chapter Twenty-One

  A controlled man would have stayed until his head was clear, no matter what had infuriated him, particularly with regards to a wife he adored as he did. But Beth had done away with his control, and he could not stay.

  She had hidden the truth from him! She, whom he had trusted with his heart and his children and his life, had intentionally kept him ignorant for her own ends! She’d been improving every day while he had worried about how to care for her in the future and how to provide a meaningful life to one in her condition.

  While his men and associates struggled to discover the truth that could save them, and perhaps entire nations, he had been cozy and safe at Knightsgate tending a wife that did not need to be tended!

  The fury that had crashed down on him had been swift and potent when he’d seen the truth, and it had been all he could do to remain playful for the children. They could not know how his darker feelings festered in the meantime, or ever suspect that he was at odds with his wife. When he had reached his limits, he’d sent them away, and only then did he feel able to deal with his wife’s betrayal.

  But he had been unable. He had been almost cruel, rather as if she had been a criminal he had discovered. His wife was no criminal, she was anything but. Yet in these uncertain times, with so much at stake, he could not differentiate enough to alter his treatment.

  Malcolm did feel guilt at his behavior with Beth, and that only grew the further away from home he rode. There was nothing for it now, his course was set, and there was much to do. Until he could find the appropriate control over himself once more, he would not let guilt, shame, or remorse over his wife sway him.

  He would apologize properly, probably by letter, as he could not guarantee he would be leaving London for some time. And they really ought to celebrate the return of her sight, so he would need to offer congratulations at some point, when he could feel the relief in it. And she would need to see the doctor to have it confirmed and to make sure all was well. He would remind her of that when he managed the sense and calm to write to her at all. All of that should suffice until he could apologize to her in person, should he still feel the need when he saw her again… if he saw her again.

  There was really no way to tell what sort of danger he was riding towards, and his life was not certain in times such as this. He had not behaved at all well, but there was nothing for it now. If he died, he would die with regrets, just as other men did. In the meantime, he would do the one thing he knew he could do well. He would investigate, serve his King and countrymen, and offer his life for the good of all.

  Whatever that might be worth now.

  At this moment, he was filled with fury and guilt in equal measure, and the need to unleash somehow gnawed at him.

  London was in his sights, and he headed directly for his club, knowing that he would really do better to find solitude, but he was disinclined to listen to his better nature at present.

  Once within, he made no effort to be cordial or accommodating. He made his way to the fencing hall, stripping off his greatcoat and gloves as he went, practically throwing them at the astonished valet who trotted beside him.

  Somehow, foils were available for him at a moment’s notice, as well as an opponent. Malcolm looked up to see none other than Mr. Herschel standing at the end of the lane. A snarl curled Malcolm’s lip, and he brought his foil up in a salute, then attacked.

  Herschel was big, beefy, and stupid, and he moved as such, though the gleam in his eye gave Malcolm pause even as he began to strike. Foils clashed and clanged, and despite Herschel’s girth, he was a capable swordsman.

  It was a pity for him that swords had always been Malcolm’s specialty.

  Skill and agility came roaring back in abundance, and Malcolm’s limbs, unused to this activity after so much time away, seemed filled with exhilaration at being now used in such a way. And on a traitor to the kingdom, no less!

  It was too perfect a blend, and Malcolm was never one to let a perfect situation go unappreciated. Again and again, he attacked, lunging and striking with a rapidity that Herschel hadn’t a hope of matching, and most of the blows were barely defendable. It was too fast, too fluid, and parrying properly was becoming less and less possible. It wasn’t gentlemanly to fight with such aggression, nor to take advantage of a clearly weaker opponent, but Malcolm was beyond caring.

  This man was to blame for so much of the strife that had reigned supreme in Malcolm’s life in the last few months! This man had abused trust and created trouble for men that Malcolm cared about deeply! And while this particular man may not actually have been to blame for what had happened between him and Beth, at the moment he bore that sin, too.

  He bore every sin.

  Herschel’s dark eyes were wide and terrified as Malcolm continued to attack, feinting and lunging at the large man without mercy. He could hear the cries of weak outrage from the few men that had gathered to watch, but Malcolm was beyond hearing them.

  There was rage and indignation in every stroke Malcolm laid out, and every blink of Herschel’s eyes only agitated him further. Traitorous, villainous, ridiculous man, whose wife was a constant thorn during Malcolm’s London visits, and to have to endure this blubbering waste of parliament in his professional life as well?

  To be parted from the woman he loved because this man felt that betrayal was a noble cause?

  It was too much, far too much, and Malcolm intended to see him pay.

  “Here!” a voice called. “Here, Monty! En garde!”

  Malcolm turned around and saw Fritz there, eyes fixed and focused. He glanced back to see Herschel scurrying off with a scowl, though he looked more terrified than irritated.

  “En garde, I say!”

  Even Fritz’s voice was too much to bear, and Malcolm growled darkly as he turned back, swinging his foil towards his oldest friend.

  Fritz was a much worthier opponent, and he knew all of Malcolm’s tricks. He matched him stroke for whirling stroke, parrying with ease and counter-attacking with brilliant stratagem.

  “I haven’t seen you like this in years,” Fritz panted when he was close enough.

  “In light of the fact that I have no enemy to run through,” Malcolm gasped in response as perspiration gathered on his brow, “you’ll have to do.”

  He shoved his friend away, and attacked hard, pressing and pressing even as his blade lashed out again and again, his agitation rising with every step he took, every inch of ground gained. Fritz’s eyes narrowed, his foil barely keeping up with Malcolm’s frantic attack.

  Then suddenly, Malcolm roared and slashed his foil across Fritz’s arm, and a sharp hiss and a wince brought him up short.

  Chest heaving, sweat pouring off him, Malcolm watched as a faint red line appeared on Fritz’s upper arm, and then was quickly covered by Fritz’s other hand.

  Fritz met Malcolm’s eyes, and there wasn’t a hint of recrimination or anger in his gaze. “Feel better?” he asked Malcolm with his usual light tone.

  Malcolm grunted and handed his foil off to a terrified attendant. “Not even remotely. But I’m finished.” He cleared his throat awkwardly. “Thank you for stepping in.”

  Fritz shrugged. “Not at all. You were getting carried away, and Herschel was going to cry.” He looked down at his wound and hissed again. “Great. You can bind me up. And buy me a drink.”

  Malcolm nodded obediently and followed Fritz out of the hall, glancing around a little at the gawking spectators. “Think they’ll be talking about that now?”

  “Of course,” Fritz told him with a snort. “That display was completely out of character for you. Probably going to give some credence to Lady Lavinia’s claims about you, given it was her husband you lashed out on.
”

  “Dammit.” Malcolm most certainly did not need that added to his burdens.

  “On the other hand,” Fritz mused, stepping closer, “you should have seen Viskin’s face as he watched. You might get recruited now.”

  Malcolm smiled without humor. “At a time like this, I would love a dangerous undercover mission.”

  “I’ll have a solicitor check over your will and affairs before you leave, just to be safe,” Fritz offered with a sage nod.

  “Shut up.”

  “Gladly. Besides, I believe you’re the one who needs to do the talking.” Fritz hummed a laugh. “And based on what I just saw and the laceration I now bear, it will take a while. Better make it at least two drinks.”

  “I don’t understand. He left?”

  “Straightaway. I would not be surprised if Malcolm went straight from the study to the stables. He did not even have a single bag packed, and nothing has been sent for.”

  “All because you could see again.”

  Beth gave Lily a tight smile, which was the only sort of smile she had managed in the days following Malcolm’s departure. She took a moment to sip her tea, though she barely tasted it, and examined the wallpaper in the front sitting room, which happened to match her pale green muslin nearly perfectly. A poignant thought, for she rather felt as useless and faded as wallpaper these days.

  She’d been scolded by Mrs. Rawlins a number of times for her pallor, and several medicinal draughts had been made up by the kitchen staff, though she had refused to take them. She was not unwell, she’d insisted, only melancholy. There was no cure for that but time, and even that seemed lacking.

  All that time had given her was regrets and remorse. But she couldn’t tell Lily that, it was too great a burden to share. She had been unaware that Malcolm had left the neighborhood, and Beth had done nothing to spread that bit of information. She could barely admit it to herself every night when the bed was cold and empty beside her, and she still listened for his steps in the hall at every opportunity.