Lily gave a soft laugh and rubbed Beth’s arm gently. “Oh, Beth. Nobody knows what they are doing at the beginning. Not a single one of us. You must learn as you go, as we all do.”
“But this is different, Lily!” Beth protested. “You know it is.”
“Tell me why,” Lily insisted, turning them to walk again. “Explain it to me.”
“He’s my husband in name only.” Beth shook her head, looking away. “I am Lady Montgomery, and the only thing that means is that I am married to Lord Montgomery, and I’m not even sure who he is. The man who met me in London and proposed to me is not the same man I married, nor the man who brought me to Knightsgate, nor the man who left me here. I have been given all the responsibilities of this position with no direction on how to properly execute them. Four young children have been left in my care who are in desperate need of a parent, and I am all they have.”
“Don’t sell yourself short, Elizabeth,” Lily scolded in an uncharacteristically firm tone. “You are exactly who those children need right now. You are as warm as sunshine and as sweet as honey.”
“As was my grandmother, Lily,” Beth retorted, “and she was not thrown into my situation. Also, her husband actually liked her.”
Her friend steered her towards the gardens of the house. “I am certain Monty likes you.”
“Monty doesn’t know anything about me, nor has he given me any indication of his preferences, for me or anything else.”
“Well, then he can’t really complain about how you do things, can he?” Lily shot back, raising her brows knowingly.
Beth stopped and folded her arms, incredulous. “Am I to understand that I must chart my own course?”
Lily shook her head slowly. “That is not exactly what I meant.”
“Then what are you saying, Lily Granger?” she asked, curious despite her frustrations.
“I am telling you to be yourself. In every way. In everything.” Lily stepped closer, her smile spreading. “Manage the household as you would like to do it. Those children need a parent, and they have you. Monty needed a wife, and he chose you. The tenants needed a countess, and they now have you. So instead of bewildering yourself trying to decide what you should be, or what Monty thinks you should be, or even what Caroline would think you should do or be, I think that you should be Elizabeth Colerain, Lady Montgomery. Whomever that happens to be.”
Beth felt a mischievous grin form on her face. “So, I should stop waiting to be told what to do, and take charge of my life, as it were?”
“Yes.”
“How very unladylike,” Beth reminded her. “We are expected to do as we are told and to thank someone for the opportunity.”
“Not so,” Lily corrected. “As a countess, you have many responsibilities and do not need to wait for instructions on how to accomplish them.”
Beth mused, “As I recall, Monty charged me with only one task.”
“And that was?”
“He instructed me to hire a governess, and that Mr. Russell would tell me if there was anything else I was to do.”
Lily nodded slowly. “There you are, then. With no directives, you may do as you choose. If he married you for his children, as he said, then you should do what you think is best for them.”
“And my husband?” Beth queried, unable to stop smiling.
Lily shrugged, returning her smile. “Do what you think is best for him as well.”
“Bitsy!” Archer called, suddenly, waving to her and running over with Samuel in tow. “I finished my lessons. May we play Agincourt now?”
Beth turned to him, still smiling. “Is there any chance I could win this time?”
Archer folded his arms and gave her a superior look that he no doubt learned from his father. “Did the French win that battle, Bitsy?”
Lily laughed outright, and Beth tried to stifle hers. “No,” she admitted.
“Then neither will you.”
Beth heaved a pained sigh and gestured towards the open grounds. “Very well, King Henry. Say your line and commence the battle.”
Archer grinned up at her, then clasped a small hand over his chest. “ ‘Now, soldiers, march away: And how thou pleasest, God, dispose the day!’ ”
Chapter Nine
Despite his assertion to Beth that his absence would only last a month, Malcolm was away for close to six weeks. Ignoring the opinions of both his operatives and his superiors, he remained in London for the entirety of it. There had been much to do and more developments, and he felt no trace of guilt for his actions.
At least, that’s what he told himself. If he were truthful, he actually did feel an annoying sense of guilt undoubtedly eating away at various internal organs, if not his soul.
He could not deny that his home was a welcome sight, and he fervently wished to see his children again. He hadn’t responded to their letters, however. He’d received a letter from each child every week, and in return, he’d sent a missive to Beth with comments for the children, as well as instructions for her based on Russell’s remarks to him.
There was no saying how his arrival would be received by his wife and children. He imagined the children should at least be a bit pleased.
Beth, however…
He wished he had a better idea what she would think, how she would respond, what she felt… He wished he actually knew his wife a little, so he wouldn’t live in this ignorance. If she were as maddeningly biddable as before, he knew he would be calmly and politely received. If she had somehow broken out of that shell, it could be very different.
Why that made him afraid, he couldn’t say. He had faced far more dangerous situations in his lifetime as a spy, and certainly in battle years before, but the notion that his wife might act in a matter differently than he anticipated gave him the same uneasy crawling sensation in his stomach that he had before embarking in any battle or on any mission.
“Welcome home, my lord,” Hudson, the stout butler, intoned as the footman took his things.
Malcolm nodded in greeting. “Thank you, Hudson. Did you receive word of my arrival?”
“We did, sir, and her ladyship had us prepare accordingly.” He cleared his throat and stepped forward, his eyes fixed somewhere over Malcolm’s shoulder. “She has directed that we prepare for a family dinner, the children included, and for the finer china to be set out.”
Malcolm paused in the act of rolling back his cuffs, processing. “Did she seem happy when she gave these instructions?”
Hudson’s high brow furrowed. “Happy, my lord?”
Malcolm shook his head quickly. “Never mind.”
Hudson nodded once and followed Malcolm as he moved to his study. “Lady Montgomery also asked for a change of menu. We will now have pheasant, lamb cutlets, roasted potatoes, white soup, Yorkshire pudding…”
Malcolm eyed his butler as he rattled off the extensive menu, which included a selection of some of his favorite dishes. “Hudson.”
“My lord?” Hudson replied, halting his recitation at once.
“What has prompted this excessive and particular choice of delicacies? Are we having guests?” He folded his arms and leaned against his desk.
Hudson smiled a little, which was a rare sight. “Lady Montgomery felt that, as you had been gone for some time, a celebration to greet you was in order. Mrs. Lyman was consulted as to the menu, my lord. She knows your preferences. I do believe the children, however, were consulted as to dessert.”
Malcolm almost laughed at the thought of that. “Oh dear, I wonder what that means,” he muttered with a smile.
“Indeed, my lord.”
Malcolm exhaled slowly, giving his butler an assessing look. “Hudson, will you answer me something?”
“Yes, my lord.”
“How has Lady Montgomery been handling her duties in my absence?” he asked, shifting his weight a little against the mahogany desk. “What have you seen?”
Hudson stared past him for a long moment, his discomfort growing.
&n
bsp; “Speak candidly,” Malcolm encouraged, gesturing a little.
The butler stood straighter and seemed a bit proud. “Her ladyship has been impressive, my lord. Everything has been handled with precision and efficiency, and her interest in the tenants rivals that of the late Lady Montgomery, if I might be so bold. Mr. Russell has expressed a similar sentiment and has commended her as well.”
Malcolm could do nothing but blink and gape at his butler, who had known him for many years. For the first time, he wondered if the man might have gone a bit mad. There was no possible way that the woman he married, the one who had run about Lily’s garden with several children, could be a capable and engaging countess so soon.
“Beth?” he managed to say, sounding just as stupefied as he felt. “Beth did that well?”
“Yes, my lord,” Hudson said with a bow.
The confirmation of his words did not give Malcolm the satisfaction he had hoped. Nor did he feel a sense of pride that she had thrived, though he should have felt that. He was completely stunned by the words, and there was nothing he hated more than surprise.
She was doing it, by Jove! She was doing the job he’d wanted her to do. Had she even needed the instructions he had given her? Or had she laughed off the notion that she would need his help at all?
He didn’t know his wife… He knew his first impressions, and those suddenly seemed far less certain. He shook his head and pushed off from his desk, heading for the door.
“Where might I find Lady Montgomery, Hudson?”
“I believe she is outside with the children, my lord.”
Malcolm turned to face him quickly. “At this time of day?” He glanced at the clock on the mantel. “They ought to be in lessons with the governess.”
Hudson’s expression was perfectly blank. “There is no governess, my lord.”
Malcolm blinked, then blinked again. Then he turned from the room without another word, moving to the back of the house.
No governess? What in the world had she been doing the entire time he had been gone?
Surely, she hadn’t been teaching them herself! She’d admitted to being a dismal prospect for the position, or something of the sort, and he was already feeling odd enough for marrying too soon and to someone so different from himself. He couldn’t bear the added eccentricity of his lady wife also acting as governess to her stepchildren.
He stepped out onto the terrace and shaded his eyes, searching his view of the grounds. He more than half-expected to see frantically running children and hear squeals of delight. Nothing was drawing his attention, and he frowned, moving to the stairs and descending quietly. He was half-tempted to call for them, but that would disrupt whatever they were doing. Besides, his tone might have come out too aggressively, and then he would have to explain or apologize, and he wasn’t willing to do either of those things.
Well, if they weren’t roughhousing, what were they doing outside that could not be done inside?
“It’s too hard!” he heard a child’s voice whine.
He turned towards the sound, grunting in satisfaction. The garden, then. Why in the world would the children be in the garden? And what, precisely, was too hard?
Malcolm moved briskly past the ancient stone wall bordering the garden and turned down the path. He stopped when he saw all four of his children sitting on the ground, drawing on sheets of paper. Mrs. Franklin had Greer on her lap and was helping her, and Greer wore an expression of deep concentration on her very young face as she drew.
Beth crouched down between Samuel and Jane, speaking softly to both children, gesturing to the flowers before them. They each nodded, then returned their charcoal pencils to the paper, bringing a smile to Beth’s face with whatever they had managed.
Archer was scowling at the rose in front of him as if it had personally insulted him, but he, too, was drawing without comment.
Malcolm watched the unusual sight before him with piqued interest, and then his gaze moved to his wife.
She was even more striking than he had remembered. Her hair was pulled back in a loose chignon, but several free strands curled gently against her cheeks. Her color was rosy and healthy, and she smiled with all the warmth he had seen in her that first day in London. She wore a simple blue-striped day dress and grey spencer, which only heightened her fair coloring, and the natural elegance of her figure seemed too perfect to be real.
Beth seemed completely at home here, and as she turned to speak with Mrs. Franklin, he noticed a measure of respect and deference from the older woman towards his wife. Whatever uncertainty he had seen in Beth before he’d left was gone now, and she moved with confidence and grace, a countess in more than name only.
Where had his wife gone, and who was this woman before him?
She was a mystery, but he suddenly very much wanted to know her.
Beth looked up and caught his eye, smiling a little. She glanced down at the children, still absorbed in their drawing, and stepped around them, moving in his direction.
Malcolm watched her approach, suddenly finding the thought of speaking with her a difficult one. She didn’t look particularly pleased to see him, though he could not detect any disapproval either. For a man whose expertise lay in part with the interpretation of expression and discovering concealed truths, he was dumbfounded by his inability to accomplish either with his wife.
“Welcome back, Monty,” Beth said with a curtsey when she reached him, her voice lower than he remembered.
Confused, he bowed, then reached for her hand and kissed it automatically. “Thank you, Beth.”
She nodded and turned to face the children again, stepping back to stand beside him. “I trust your business in London went well?”
He stared at her unabashedly, wondering what exactly was different about her. “It did, yes.”
She made no response, the same slight smile on her face as before, her gaze on the children.
“And how have things been here?” he prodded, clasping his hands behind his back. He was suddenly very tempted to reach out and touch his wife, just to see if she were real.
Her lips, somehow fuller than he recalled, quirked a little. “Very well, thank you. Mr. Russell and I have made great strides with some of the tenants, but you will have to see to the final details, as I am sure he has informed you. I’ve received two invitations from some neighbors, and Lily says I may accept.”
“Which neighbors?” he asked absently, still studying her as if she were some exotic creature.
Her brow furrowed delicately in thought. “The Harrises and the Gardiners. I understand that Lord Kirkwood is still out of the country but may return soon. His wife doesn’t like to invite callers while he is away.”
Malcolm knew that. He knew all of that, and he knew that the Harrises and Gardiners were the sorts of people to invite his wife without a proper introduction. But many others ought to know his wife, and the thought occurred to him to do something about that, though the specific details were unclear.
He cleared his throat softly. “And the children?”
Beth gestured faintly. “They are as you see them. Archer has been struggling to complete his Latin lessons, but he is trying hard. Jane never speaks unless she plays, but her cold has resolved itself at last. Samuel scraped his knee when he tumbled down the stairs, which I told him was the consequence of trying to slide the banister improperly, and Greer has taken up the notion that bonjour sounds like a sneeze, so she combines the two for amusement.”
It was as if he didn’t know his own children, either. He had no idea that Jane had been unwell, or that Archer was learning Latin, let alone that Greer knew any French words or that Samuel…
Well, all right, he knew what sort of child Samuel was, so that was not a difficult thing to comprehend.
“Who is teaching Archer Latin?” Malcolm managed to ask once he had got over his shock.
Beth looked up at him with a hint of puzzlement, though her expression was still very much polite and composed. “Why,
I am, of course.”
He scowled without thinking. “I told you to hire a governess.”
Beth shrugged, meeting his eyes steadily. “They aren’t yet ready for a governess, my lord.”
“What makes you…?” he started, his indignation rising.
“They’ve only just received a stepmother,” she overrode, her eyes flashing slightly while her tone remained perfectly calm. “Let them adjust to one stranger at a time, or you will throw everything into upheaval.”
Before he could say anything else, she turned towards the children. “Look who is here, children.”
They turned and saw him, and each smiled in varying degrees. Greer shimmied down from Mrs. Franklin’s lap and dashed over to him, clinging to his leg.
“Bonjour,” she mock-sneezed, grinning up at him. The sound was even more adorable than he’d thought it would be, and twice as amusing.
He lifted her up and kissed her nose. “Bonjour, ma petit,” he laughed.
Greer looked at Beth with a triumphant smile, and Beth shook her head. “It’s not nearly as amusing the twelfth time, Greer.”
“Papa thinks it’s funny, Bitsy.” Greer sniffed and turned to her father. “I need to finish drawing now.”
Malcolm nodded and set her down, and she scampered to her nanny.
“Papa, I drew a bee!” Samuel called, waving the paper excitedly, though Malcolm couldn’t see anything but scribbles.
“Make sure it doesn’t sting your sister,” he replied, wishing the words had sounded as light as he’d meant them.
Still, Samuel giggled and went back to it.
Jane waved at him but said nothing.
Malcolm found a little difficulty swallowing at that. “What are you drawing, Archer?”
A Tip of the Cap (London League, Book 3) Page 11
