The Defiant Miss Foster & A Highly Respectable Widow

by Melinda McRae

  For the first time in one volume, Signet Regency Romance is proud to present a brand-new romance sure to become an instant classic with a title that already is one.

  Praise for Melinda McRae’s

  Regency Romances

  The Defiant Miss Foster

  “Melinda McRae’s The Defiant Miss Foster is delightful from beginning to end, and the unconventional heroine and caring hero are sure to warm any Regency fan’s heart.” —Karen Harbaugh

  A Highly Respectable Widow

  “Ms. McRae delves into her complex hero with the delicacy of a butterfly and the impeccable strength of a master storyteller. These vibrantly alive lovers will linger in your minds and hearts for a long time to come.” —Romantic Times

  The Defiant Miss Foster

  and

  A Highly Respectable Widow

  by

  Melinda McRae

  To all my wonderful coworkers at FCN and SON.

  And, of course, Liz, Jena, Megan, Sharon,

  Elizabeth, and Jen,

  without whom writing would be impossible.

  The Defiant Miss Foster

  Chapter One

  London, 1817

  “What do you mean, no one has seen to the welfare of these children for the past seven years?” Valentine Debenham, late of His Majesty’s 20th Light Dragoons, and fifth Baron Newkirk, stared aghast at his man of business.

  The thin law clerk cleared his throat. “Apparently it slipped your father’s mind before his death ...”

  “Along with a hundred other matters,” Val mumbled under his breath. The estate had been in a shambles when Val returned from the Continent after Napoleon had finally been vanquished. But this gross neglect on the part of his father was beyond understanding.

  “Has there been any contact whatsoever with these children?” he asked. “Do you even know if they are still alive?”

  “The quarterly allowances have been paid out regularly,” the clerk replied.

  “To whom?” Val demanded. “Did no one ever think to ask?”

  “As long as there were no irregularities with the funds . . .” The man fell silent under Val’s baleful glance. “I will assign someone to make inquiries. . . .”

  Val rose to his considerable height, all the better to intimidate the man. “I shall investigate the matter myself. And you can tell Mr. Jenkins that if this is how he intends to manage the rest of my affairs, I shall transfer my business to another firm.”

  “Oh, I am certain that won’t be necessary.” The clerk smiled uneasily as he sidled out of the room.

  Val walked to the window and stared out, oblivious to the bustling London street below.

  Damn his father. Of all the irresponsible, mismanaged actions that had marked his sorry existence, this was by far the worst. Neglecting the welfare of a family of innocent children. It was beyond all belief. But then, his father had never taken any responsibility seriously while he lived. Why should it be any different after his death?

  And now, instead of finally having the freedom to lead a carefree existence, Val found himself obligated to journey to Gloucester to investigate the fate of his unknown wards. And to try to rectify the ill effects of years of neglect.

  If it were even possible.

  Val shook his head. What did he know about raising children? Soldiers he could deal with. But children? He didn’t even know their ages or sex. How could he make provisions for them when he knew so little?

  Yet he had led soldiers through the mud, rain and heat of Spain, the fields of France, and the hedgerows of Belgium. Managing the affairs of a group of children could not possibly be that difficult.

  Three days later, Val left his well-sprung coach, driver, and valet at the inn in Wickworth, and rode on alone to Kingsford Manor, to make the first acquaintance of his wards. If the situation was an unmitigated disaster, the fewer who knew of it, the better.

  After twice riding down the wrong lane, Val finally guided his horse along the drive of what he hoped was his destination. Judging from the appearance of the neglected grounds, he was in the right place. Large ruts that would endanger the wheels of the sturdiest carriage pocked the drive, overgrown shrubbery warred with unmowed lawn, and as he neared the house, he saw several boarded-up windows in the old Jacobean structure.

  Pray that all the children were alive and well. The eldest boy, he’d learned, was twenty and no doubt had cared for his siblings all these years. Val must beg his forgiveness. Even if their dismal situation was not Val’s fault, he was legally their guardian—had been for seven long years, even

  if he had not known of it—and the blame for their unfortunate condition would be laid at his feet. He vowed to rectify the situation as soon as humanly possible.

  Fearing the lack of stabling suitable even for a hired horse, Val looped the reins through a bush and left his mount chomping contentedly at the knee-high grass. Brushing the fine road dust from his coat, Val crossed the weed- strewn drive and started up the stairs.

  “Halt!” A childish voice hailed from behind him. “Who goes there?”

  Val turned and looked around, but he did not see anyone.

  “I am seeking the children of Gerald Foster,” he announced.

  “Why do you want them?” the unseen child demanded.

  “Is this the Foster house?”

  Val thought he heard a whispered exchange, coming from his left. There, by that overgrown forest of rhododendrons. Their untrimmed branches were tall enough and thick enough to conceal an entire regiment.

  “Is this the Foster residence?” he asked again.

  “Maybe,” came the reply. “Who are you?”

  “I am Valentine Debenham. Guardian to the Foster children.”

  “Guardian? We—I mean—they don’t have a guardian.”

  Val smiled with relief. He had arrived at his proper destination. “Oh, I assure you that they do. And unless I am mistaken, I am speaking with one of my wards at this moment. Come out and show yourself.”

  He heard whispered consultations—there were clearly two of them hiding in the bushes.

  “Come out,” he said. “I will not hurt you.”

  A loud rustling sounded and the branches bent and swayed, then a young boy of about eight or nine crawled out from under the boughs and gingerly edged toward him. His grimy face and tattered, mud-splattered breeches spoke of the neglect Val feared.

  “How do I know you’re who you say you are?” the towheaded boy demanded with wary eyes.

  “Why would anyone pretend to be who they are not?” Val asked, feeling a growing exasperation at the young man’s doubts. He was here to help them, after all, and they

  should be welcoming him with open arms. “Now, let’s go inside and find the rest of your family.”

  He turned back toward the house and found himself staring into the barrel of a shotgun.

  Gingerly, Val lifted his hands, palms up, without taking his eyes from the young boy who held him at gunpoint. The lad couldn’t be more than a few years older than the other boy, and although his hair was darker, the resemblance between the two was obvious. Brothers.

  “I mean no one any harm,” Val said.

  “We will have to see about that,” the older lad said, gesturing toward the house with the gun. “You can answer our questions inside.”

  “Really, there is no need for this.” Val forced a smile. “There has been a bit of confusion, and I did not know that I was your guardian, but I assure you that all has changed. You will have an adult to look after you from now on.”

  “Inside,” the lad with the gun repeated.

  V
al shrugged. Once he sat down with the older brother and explained the situation to him, there’d be no more of this nonsense. He started up the stairs, the two boys following closely behind.

  “Is your eldest brother here?” Val asked. Surely, he’d be more reasonable than these children. But they did not answer.

  The entry hall was dim and empty of any furnishings. A sharp odor of wet dog assailed his nostrils. They escorted him into what he supposed was the drawing room. Dust covered every surface, the window hangings were torn and faded, the furniture old and patched. Val felt a stab of guilt at these obvious signs of neglect.

  “Sit down,” the armed boy ordered, pointing to a chair by the window.

  Val complied. He did not truly feel he was in danger, but it would not do to antagonize his captors, either. Not while they were armed.

  “What is your name?” he asked, hoping to assuage the youngster’s apprehensions.

  The boy continued to eye him with suspicion, but did not answer.

  “Really, this is growing absurd,” Val said. “Run along like a good lad and get your older brother. I will explain matters to him.”

  “Now, Eddie,” the armed boy said.

  A rope dropped over Val’s chest, trapping his arms and pinning him against the chair.

  “What the devil!” Val pulled and strained at his bonds, but the surprise attack had given his captor enough time to secure the knots and Val was truly a prisoner. He’d eluded the best soldiers France had to offer, yet here he was, imprisoned by two grubby urchins.

  “Tie him good,” the gun-wielding boy urged his brother. “We don’t want him to escape.”

  From the comer of his eye, Val caught a glimpse of the first boy he’d encountered.

  “Eddie? Is that your name? Untie me now, and we can both forget about this unfortunate episode.”

  Eddie glanced at his brother, then shook his head.

  Val glared at the older boy. “Tell him to release me at once!”

  “We’ll leave that decision up to Nicky,” he said. “He should be back in a few hours.”

  A few hours? They planned to keep him here trussed up like a goose for that long? Val’s gaze narrowed with his growing anger. “If you do not free me this minute, I assure you, I will—”

  “We’ll take turns standing guard outside,” the armed lad said to his brother as they headed for the door. “I’ll take the first watch. Go find Sam and have him keep a lookout for Nicky.”

  “Stop!” Val yelled. “Both of you come back here right now!”

  The door shut behind them, leaving Val alone.

  He struggled against his bonds, but the knots were expertly tied and did not give an inch. Trapped!

  The situation would have been laughable if it were not so emblematic of his own failure—however inadvertent— to provide the family with proper guidance. Well-raised children would never have done such a thing.

  There was nothing to do but wait until “Nicky” came back and straightened this mess out. Once he was free,

  however, Val vowed to take steps to make certain that those hellions never practiced their crimes on unsuspecting visitors again.

  “Really, Kat, how can you think that Jacobson’s animal is anything more than a knock-kneed plow horse?”

  Katherine Foster glared at her older brother, astride the bay horse beside her. “How many times have I told you, Nick, you have to look them in the eye. That is where you can see their true nature. He might not be pretty, but I wager he’ll sail over a fence like a bird.”

  “Hmpph.” Nicholas Foster shook his head. “I think you’ve got it wrong this time.”

  She flashed him a smug smile. “We shall see. I intend to buy him.”

  “You’re making a mistake,” he warned.

  “Tell me that again after the first hunt next fall.” She dug in her heels, and her mount took off down the road. The element of surprise would allow her to beat Nicky this time.

  Still, it was nearly a dead heat when they pulled up in front of the stables.

  “I nearly had you,” Nick shouted.

  “Nearly is not close enough.” Kat gave her mount a congratulatory pat on the neck before they started walking their heated horses toward the front of the house.

  “Nicky! Kat! Come quick!”

  She swiveled about to see Sam, one of the ten-year-old twins, come running out from behind the house.

  “What new disaster have you tumbled into now?” Nick grumbled as he quickly dismounted. “Can’t leave you alone for even an hour without—”

  “We’ve captured a prisoner,” Sam gasped. “He’s in the drawing room now. Tom and Eddie are guarding him.”

  Nick arched a brow. “A prisoner? Don’t tell me you’ve tied up the vicar again.”

  “He says he’s our guardian,” Sam announced. “But we don’t have one, do we? So we know he’s lying. That’s why we tied him up.”

  Kat exchanged a surprised glance with Nick. “Guardian?” she whispered uneasily and swung a leg over her horse and slid to the ground.

  Nick tossed his reins to Sam. “Walk the horses while we go investigate,” he said. “And don’t you dare put them into their stalls until they’re completely cooled down.”

  “But I want to see what you do with the fellow!”

  “Then you shall have to wait until we finish walking the horses,” Kat said.

  She watched as Sam’s transparent emotions flitted across his face. He wasn’t often allowed to take charge of their horses, but the lure of a mysterious visitor was compelling.

  “Don’t decide anything until I’m done,” he said at last with a warning look as he took the reins from her.

  “Wouldn’t think of it,” Nick replied briskly and made a sweeping gesture toward the house. “Lead on, sister, dear. Let’s find out why this poor, unfortunate man has crossed our path.”

  Thomas, Sam’s twin, stood sentry outside the drawing room, looking fiercely vigilant with his shouldered shotgun.

  “The prisoner is inside,” he reported.

  “Dare I ask why he was taken prisoner?” Nick asked.

  “He was nosing around outside,” Thomas replied. “Gave us this cock-and-bull story about being our guardian. We thought it best that he be detained until you could question him.”

  “Good thinking, soldier.” Nick ruffled his hair.

  “He’s been a most unruly prisoner, sir.”

  “We’ll soon see to that,” Nicky said. “Now, run outside and help Sam with the horses.”

  “But . . .” Thomas’s enthusiasm faded.

  “Are you protesting an order, soldier?” Nick demanded with feigned sternness.

  “No, sir.” Thomas swallowed hard, then handed Kat the shotgun and dashed down the hall.

  “Why would anyone come here and claim to be our guardian?” Kat asked as she reached for the door latch.

  “Mark my words,” Nicky said. “He’s a troublemaker, up to no good. We’ll soon send him on his way.”

  It seemed an interminable time until Val finally heard new voices in the hall. Had “Nicky” arrived at last? He hoped so; it was damned uncomfortable being tied up.

  The drawing room door swung inward, and his spirits lifted as two young bucks sauntered into the room.

  “So you’re the bothersome prisoner.” The taller man stepped forward and carefully scrutinized Val. “My brothers tell me you’ve been feeding them some taradiddle about being our guardian. What kind of a low-life beast are you, to scare small children like that?”

  “I—am—your—guardian.” Val spat out the words. “Now, get me out of this damned chair.”

  The other, slighter man stepped closer. “I don’t know, Nick,” he said. “He doesn’t look very trustworthy to me.”

  “I am completely trustworthy,” Val protested. “I am the Baron Newkirk.”

  “Do you have any documentation to prove your tale?” the one named Nick demanded.

  “Well, no,” Val said. He’d expected to be welc
omed with open arms by the hapless children. Who would have thought he needed to justify himself to them?

  “I see.” The two men exchanged looks.

  “What do you think we should do?” the shorter one asked.

  “Untie me,” Val said in the voice that had successfully urged countless soldiers into the heart of the maelstrom.

  “I want some proof that you are who you say you are,” the slight man insisted.

  “How can I prove anything when I’m fastened to this blasted chair?” Val demanded, his temper growing shorter. “Let me go and I shall prove who I am.”

  That blasted brat Eddie ran back into the room. “Don’t listen to him, Nicky, it’s a trick! He already said he doesn’t have any papers.”

  “Well?” Nick demanded. “Explain yourself!”

  “My carriage, my coachman, and my valet are waiting at the Crimson Goose in Wickworth,” Val said. “I rode here alone so as not to cause undue alarm.” He looked at them grimly. “Obviously an error on my part. My men will vouch for me—and the purpose of my mission.”

  “I could ride to Wickworth and investigate,” the slighter brother suggested.

  Nicky pulled up a chair facing Val. “Tell me your story— the whole of it.”

  Val took a deep breath. “My father—the late Baron Newkirk—was apparently appointed your guardian many years ago. And while this is no defense of his actions, I can

  only say that he neglected all his affairs as industriously as he neglected yours.”

  He glanced at the two older brothers, whose expressions remained impassive.

  “Upon my father’s demise, the guardianship came to me, but I had no idea of this, as he left no indication that such an obligation ever existed. My man of business only revealed the matter three days ago. I am here to apologize for what has transpired over the years, and to set about making matters right as quickly as I can.”