The Defiant Miss Foster & A Highly Respectable Widow

by Melinda McRae

  Nick regarded him thoughtfully for a moment, then rose from his chair. “Untie him, Eddie. I think we need to listen to his story.”

  With obvious reluctance, the little brat began working at the knots that held Val prisoner. Once his hands were free, he rubbed his cramped wrists, seeking to restore feeling to his numbed fingers.

  When he felt his legs would once again support him, Val rose, took two steps across the floor and grabbed Eddie by the collar.

  “I intend to have a word with you,” he growled.

  “Tom told me to do it!” Eddie cried. “I wouldn’t have touched you otherwise, honest!”

  “The mark of a true man is taking his punishment and not making excuses,” Val said.

  “Then you’ll have to punish me, too, sir.” The slight lad who’d accompanied Nick stepped forward.

  “And me.” The lad who’d first pointed the gun at him came in from the hall and hastened to his brother’s side. “I helped guard you.”

  “Well, I did not have a damn thing to do with this escapade, and I am not going to take any blame whatsoever,” Nick drawled. “Do what you will with them. Bed without supper. Scullery duty. Mucking out the stables.”

  “We have to do that already,” Eddie mumbled.

  Reason soon tempered Val’s anger, and he released his hold on the squirming boy. The lad scurried over to the others and hid himself behind Nick. Val clasped his hands behind his back and stared back at them.

  During his years in the military, he’d dealt with all kinds of men—scared young boys, cynical battle-veterans, and even hardened criminals. Men who came from backgrounds

  as diverse as their appearances. But the military had given them one thing in common—discipline and order.

  It was the one thing every member of this household appeared to lack. And it was his duty as guardian to provide it.

  “Why don’t you all introduce yourselves,” he said. “It’s time we got to know one another.”

  “I’m Eddie,” the smallest announced, peering cautiously from behind his brother. “But you knew that already.”

  “I’m Sam,” confessed the one who’d first held him at bay with the shotgun.

  “Thomas.” Another boy, identical in size and appearance to Sam, stepped forward. Twins, Val realized.

  “Would you like to try that again?” Nick demanded, glaring at the two.

  “Thomas,” said the shotgun-toting one—or had that been the other one? Val’s head was starting to swim in confusion.

  Nick grabbed each twin by a shoulder. “This is Sam,” he said, shaking the one on his left. “And the one who captured you is Thomas.”

  “Identical?” Val asked with dismay.

  The slight brother nodded. “No one outside the family can tell them apart.”

  Val looked to the older siblings. “And you two are?”

  “Nicholas Foster.” The taller young man executed an elegant bow and turned to the last, remaining brother.

  “I’m Kat.”

  Val looked at him in puzzlement. “Kat?”

  “It’s short for Katherine,” Eddie announced.

  Katherine? Val stared in disbelief, but as he peered closer, he noticed the soft fine of the jaw, the delicate earlobes peeking out from beneath the short cropped curls, the saucy tilt to the nose and realized, to his horror, that the booted, breeched, and jacketed person who stood before him, smelling strongly of horse, was a female.

  Chapter Two

  Kat felt herself reddening under the tall, dark-haired baron’s intense scrutiny. His brown eyes assessed her with arrogant disdain. She lifted her chin and glared back at him with growing dislike.

  “Please tell me that you only wear those clothes around the estate,” he said, his displeasure evident.

  “These are my riding clothes,” Kat replied. “I was riding.”

  “I expect you to dress appropriately for dinner,” he said, and his gaze spanned the group. “That goes for all of you. You do dine together in this house, don’t you?”

  Nick laughed. “Of course we do.”

  “Good.” The baron regarded them each in turn. “I intend to take the time between now and dinner to speak with each one of you, individually, to discuss my plans for your future.”

  His plans? Kat opened her mouth to protest, but Nick delivered a well-placed elbow in her side that kept her silent.

  Well, she would not remain silent for long. Thomas and Eddie may have gone a bit far tying the man to a chair, but she was not going to allow this stranger to suddenly appear and make plans for her family. They had survived just fine without anyone’s help for years, and they had no need of it now.

  Newkirk turned his stem gaze on Eddie. “Since you’re the youngest, I shall start with you.”

  Eddie tossed a pleading glance at his older siblings. “Don’t leave me alone with him, Nicky. He doesn’t like me.”

  “Can you blame him, brat?” Nicky playfully tousled Eddie’s mop of dirty blond hair, then winked at the baron. “Don’t be too hard on him.”

  “I won’t,” Newkirk promised.

  Nick pulled Kat into the hall before she could offer up a protest. Sam and Thomas came trooping behind them. The moment they were in the hall, with the drawing room door closed behind them, Nick grabbed them both by their collars.

  “You two run along to the kitchen and tell Cookie that there will be one more for dinner. And stay out of trouble until then!”

  “Race you!” Sam cried and dashed across the floor, Thomas at his heels.

  “Do you think it wise to leave Eddie alone with that man?” Kat asked, glancing toward the drawing room. “I don’t trust him.”

  “Eddie’s old enough to take responsibility for his actions,” Nicky replied. “You can’t mother him forever, you know.”

  “He’s only eight!” Kat protested.

  “And high time he learned to fight his own battles.” Kat looped her arm in Nick’s and pulled him out the front door.

  “What are we going to do about the baron?” Kat sat down on the top step, resting her chin on one palm.

  “I don’t know that there’s much that we can do.”

  Nick’s indifferent shrug only increased Kat’s irritation. “How can he suddenly decide to interfere in our lives?” she demanded. “It’s simply not fair.”

  “Well, I, for one, am not so certain that this is a bad thing. He may only be a baron, but he can offer an entree into society that we never had before.”

  “Society—poo! What do you or I care for that?”

  “We’ll have access to a better pool of horseflesh, for one,” he reminded her.

  “I doubt he’s much of a horseman,” she sniffed.

  “He may have friends who are. Just think of it, Kat, we could go to Tattersalls, watch the races at Newmarket and Ascot. Maybe even hunt with the Quorn.”

  “You could hunt with the Quorn. Even I know they would not permit me to ride.” “There are other big hunts—surely some of them allow women.” He looked thoughtful. “I wonder if he has a house in London.”

  “The baron?” She snorted derisively. “He probably lives in the country and grows prize mangel-wurzels.”

  Nick laughed. “If mangel-wurzels are his passion, then I don’t think you have much to worry about. He can plant the whole back field in them; it won’t bother us.”

  Despite Nick’s optimism, Kat felt her spirits sinking. “I have a bad feeling about him.”

  “Nonsense. You’re worrying over nothing. Now that he knows we’re alive and well, he’ll go back to his own affairs. He’ll send us a Christmas letter every year, and that will be the end of it.”

  Kat did not find Nick’s words at all reassuring. There was something about this man—those dark, perceptive eyes that had assessed her with such dismay, his arrogant assurance that they would fall in with his plans for them. She knew he was going to disrupt their lives.

  Well, if it came to that, he’d soon find out that the Foster family was made
of sterner stuff. Once he realized that they had no need of him in their lives, he’d go away and leave them in peace again.

  “Dress appropriately for dinner,” indeed!

  Val shook his head in amazement as the last of the three younger boys scampered off. That had been far easier than he had feared. He’d expected some opposition from the brats, but they seemed delighted with his plans for them.

  Well, Samuel and Thomas had been excited. Eddie was a mite displeased at learning he was not going to be joining his brothers. But at eight, he was too young to start life in the Royal Navy. St. Giles School would suit him far better. And he was young enough that the discipline there would eventually overcome the lapses of his haphazard upbringing.

  Val felt a twinge of dismay that the two older ones had not picked his first choice for them—the military. But even Val had to admit that to a young lad, sailing the open seas sounded far more exciting than banging the drum on a drilling field. The navy in peacetime looked far more enticing than the army.

  He thought they would do well, the both of them, once they subjected themselves to the discipline of the naval training school. And discipline they would have; he’d made no bones about it. But it had not dampened their enthusiasm in the least. For them, the navy spelled adventure and they were willing to put up with any discomfort to achieve that.

  Val tilted back in his chair before remembering the worn state of everything in the house. The thing would probably collapse under him. Planting all four legs firmly on the floor again, he awaited the arrival of the eldest Foster, Nicholas.

  His situation would be more difficult. There was the outside chance that the lad would want to go to university, but Val doubted it would be possible. The poor fellow probably had little Latin or Greek, and without those languages, it was pointless to send him to school. That eliminated the clergy as well, although Val felt it an unlikely choice.

  Without a university education, medicine was not possible, either, although there was surgery. Val did not hold the prejudices of many of his class, who regarded surgeons as lesser beings than doctors. He had seen them save too many lives on the Peninsula to doubt their medical skills. But most surgeons learned thorough apprenticeships, and Nick was rather old for that.

  Well, Val thought as the door opened, he’d try the easy option first.

  “You wanted to see me?” Nick asked.

  “Indeed,” Val replied. “Please, sit.”

  Nick sank into the faded-green upholstered chair facing Val, regarding him with a look that held not a trace of apprehension, only rapt curiosity.

  “I have dealt satisfactorily with your brothers,” Val announced.

  “So I hear,” Nick drawled. “I warn you, my sister is not going to be pleased with you for sending them away.”

  “I am doing what I think is best for all of you,” Val said.

  “So what do you propose to do with me?” Nick asked bluntly.

  “Unless you are hiding the soul of a scholar under that devil-may-care exterior—” Nick grinned—“I intended to propose something a little more active. How would you like a commission in a military unit?”

  Nick sat up a little straighter. “What regiment do you suggest, sir?”

  Val sighed. He knew he was going to have to call in some favors for this one. But it was the least he could do to make up for the years of neglect.

  “I think one of the Guards regiments might be possible.” “The Guards?” Nick shot out of seat. “You can get me a commission in the Guards?”

  “It is highly likely,” Val said, motioning for him to sit down again. “I take it my suggestion meets with your approval?”

  “Approval?” Nick exhaled. “I can’t think of anything I want more.”

  “Good. I cannot promise that it will happen immediately—it depends on the state of openings right now—but it shouldn’t take too long to find you a spot.”

  Nick was on his feet again, pumping Val’s hand. “Oh, thank you, sir. You cannot know what this means to me.” “Show your gratitude by behaving yourself properly,” Val said gruffly, embarrassed by the lad’s enthusiasm. The Guards, after all, were not real soldiers. Peacocks who strutted their stuff in London. Just the thing to appeal to a naive boy from the country.

  “I will make you proud,” Nick promised.

  “Good. Now, there is one more matter with which I need to consult you.”

  Nick regarded him impatiently, his mind clearly more focused on the gilt and braid of a Guard’s uniform than the fate of his family. “Yes?”

  “It concerns your sister,” Val said. “I was not told there was a young lady in the family. Obviously, I need to make arrangements for her future as well. Are there any suitable young men in the area whom she—”

  Nick laughed aloud. “Kat? Married to one of those louts?”

  “Then we shall have to cast a wider net,” Val sighed. “I suppose I must take her to London and find her a husband. I wonder if my sister will . . .”

  He stopped and stared at Nick, who was making strangled noises.

  “You have a comment?” Val asked.

  “Don't you think you should discuss your plans with Kat first?” Nick asked.

  “What is there to discuss? She shall have a wide range of suitors to chose from in London. With a decent dowry . .

  “You don’t know Kat very well and . . .”

  “I will have a chat with her after dinner,” Val said. “I’m sure she will be thrilled at the chance to go to town. Now— we had both best hurry, or we will not have time to dress for dinner.”

  Nick’s smile faded. “I wish you the best of luck, sir.” He ducked out of the room.

  Val shook his head, dismissing Nicholas Foster’s misgivings. The girl might be a bit surprised when he first announced his plan, but she would soon warm to the news. After all, what young lady would not wish for a Season in London? Even one as unusual as this one. With his sister Sophie’s help, he’d soon have her married off.

  He beamed with self-congratulation. He had done a masterful job of sorting out this mess; his job was nearly complete. Being a guardian was not such a difficult task after all.

  Kat stood before her wardrobe, her eyes roving over the dresses hanging there. The sprigged muslin would be suitable for dinner en famille. But she had no intention of letting that tyrant of a baron dictate to her.

  She grabbed a linen shirt and the pegged trousers she’d pilfered from Nick. She intended to follow the man’s instructions to the letter and dress “appropriately” for dinner. Appropriate for a man, that is.

  After searching up and down for a clean cravat, she finally found one that only had a small spot. Clever knotting would easily disguise that defect. With deft hands, she manipulated the length of cloth into an artful design, and with a last look in the pier glass, felt she made a dashing picture. Kat slipped on what had once been Nick’s best jacket, with only a few frayed threads on the cuff, stepped into the hall, and headed for her brother’s room.

  He came out the door before she reached it. He stopped suddenly and gave her a skeptical look.

  “Is that what you’re wearing to dinner?” he asked.

  “Yes,” she replied.

  “I don’t think that’s what Newkirk had in mind,” Nick mumbled.

  “It’s too late to change now.” She started toward the stairs. “Besides, they say trousers are all the thing and perfectly acceptable these days, even for dinner.”

  Nick shook his head.

  “Well?” She looked at him anxiously. “What did the ogre have to say? What dastardly fate has he planned out for you?”

  Nick’s eyes brightened. “You won’t believe it, Kat! He’s going to get me a commission in the Guards.”

  She frowned. “You’re right, I don’t believe it. Why would he do something like that? He doesn’t even know us.”

  “He is our guardian,” Nick reminded her. “And a right bang-up one, too.”

  “He didn’t waste any time winning y
ou over,” she said, feeling a surge of irritation at her brother’s enthusiasm. “We shall see how matters stand a few months from now, when you’re still waiting for that commission.”

  “I don’t think Newkirk is the type to promise anything he can’t deliver,” Nick said.

  “I would not rely on anything that man said.”

  Kat pulled open the door and stepped into the drawing room. Sam and Thomas were already there and ran toward her.

  “Kat! Kat! Guess what? We’re going to be sailors!” The two beamed with equal delight.

  “Sailors, hmm?” She grinned at the idea of their latest mad plan. “And how do you hope to accomplish that without any body of water within miles of here?”

  “It’s Newkirk. He’s going to send us to the naval school in Portsmouth.”

  Kat stared at them, disbelieving what she’d heard. “He is going to what?”

  “The naval academy at Portsmouth,” a deep voice behind her repeated. “Just the place to straighten out those two scalawags.”

  Kat whirled about to face Newkirk. “You can’t send them away!”

  His eyes widened as he took in the sight of her, slowly perusing her from head to toe. Then his gaze narrowed in growing anger. “I thought I asked you to dress for dinner.”

  “I did,” she retorted.

  ‘‘I hardly find trousers and jacket appropriate garb for a young lady of your station. Go upstairs and change immediately.”

  “I will do no such thing,” Kat replied. “This is what I am accustomed to wearing. My brothers have no objections to these clothes.”

  “I do.” Newkirk’s voice was icy. “It may come as an unfortunate shock to you, young lady, but outside of what must be the very small circle of your local acquaintances, women who dress in men’s clothing are regarded as trollops.”