“Oh.” Her alacrity surprised him. He’d expected more reluctance on her part to his plans for her, and it was a relief to learn she did not hold objections. The sooner they wrapped up the whole business, the better.
Following the meal, they retreated to the drawing room, where Sophie and Miss Foster leafed through fashion magazines, their heads close together, whispering and giggling. Val endeavored not to look as bored as he felt.
He felt like a great weight had been lifted from his shoulders this evening at seeing how well Miss Foster could behave. Sophie’s optimism was in no way misplaced, and he would gladly take Miss Foster to London right now if it was not for the matter of her—and Sophie’s—wardrobe.
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At least he could leave for town in the morning. And as a reward, he’d leave Miss Foster a token of his appreciation for her decorous behavior.
“This dress would look lovely on you.” Sophie held out a picture to Miss Foster.
The girl laughed. “I would look like a French pastry in that gown.”
“Val?” Sophie called to him. “Come look at this dress. Don’t you think it would be lovely on Kat?”
Val reluctantly rose and walked over to where the two women sat, and looked at the picture.
His ward was right. She would look ridiculous in that frilled concoction dripping with lace.
“I am afraid I must agree with Miss Foster,” he said. “She might look like a particularly delightful pastry, but a pastry nonetheless.”
He saw a hint of a smile tugging at the comers of Miss Foster’s lips, and he resisted the temptation to respond with a wink. He did not think she had a dueling pistol hidden in the folds of her gown, but he did not wish to test her volatility. They had reached an uneasy truce of sorts during dinner, but he did not think it would take much to provoke an outburst from her. He preferred to retain the pleasant illusion that she was truly a modest, well-behaved young lady.
Instead, he took the fashion journal from Sophie and flipped through the pages, looking for another dress that would suit his ward. If his military comrades could see him now . . . But he suspected that being guardian to Miss Foster would put him in any number of unusual situations before he was through.
Chapter Seven
In the morning, Kat awoke early, as was her custom, but she lingered beneath the covers. If she’d been at home, she would have leapt from bed, quickly dressed, and gone to the stables for a morning ride. But Sophie’s gentle mare offered no temptation to rise.
She thought about last night. Her performance for Newkirk had gone well. He seemed convinced she could behave as a lady ought. And she had seen an unexpectedly, pleasant side of him. Kat saw why Sophie was so fond of her brother. He was an amiable host, a good storyteller full of amusing tales of his military experiences and adventures on the Continent.
And you could have knocked her over with a feather when he’d sat down beside them and offered opinions on her wardrobe.
Why, there had been times when she’d completely forgotten that he was the same cruel man who’d dispersed her family. Until her thoughts flashed on Eddie, or Sam, or Thomas, and she remembered that this man held all their fates in his hands.
Her task was to persuade him that she knew what was best for her brothers. Quickly. Last night had gone well. She must continue her campaign and pray that she could keep her temper in check while he was here.
Kat stretched and threw off the blankets. If she could not ride, at least she could walk before breakfast. She’d be more eager to charm Newkirk on a full stomach. She pulled on her breeches, a shirt, and coat, and hurried down the rear stairs and entered the kitchen, intending to grab a bite to eat before she went out.
She pulled up suddenly when she entered the room.
Newkirk sat at the cook’s table, the remains of his breakfast spread out before him.
He looked up and Kat stared back in surprise. Sitting there, dressed casually in shirt and well-worn jacket, he looked younger, more friendly. Almost approachable.
Newkirk gave Kat a quizzical look. “I thought you were an early riser, Miss Foster. I’ve been up for ages.”
Kat shrugged. “There is little reason to rise early here,” she said.
He raised a brow. “Not even for a morning gallop?”
She snorted derisively. “On what? That mare of Sophie’s does not know how to gallop.”
“No, but I imagine your horse does.”
“My horse?” She stared at him for a moment until the meaning of his words sank in. “My horse? My horse is here?”
He nodded.
Without another word, she dashed out the door and raced across the yard to the stable.
There he was, in the third stall. Blaze raised his head when he heard her fumble with the latch, and nickered a greeting as she pulled the door open and flung her arms around the tall chestnut’s neck.
“I am so glad to see you!” She stepped back and eyed the horse with a critical eye. “Has someone been taking proper care of you?” She bent and lifted a front hoof for inspection, but it was quite clean.
“I assure you, Miss Foster, all your animals have been well cared for.”
She swung around to see Newkirk leaning against the stable door, arms crossed over his chest.
Kat swallowed hard. It pained her to be beholden to him for anything—but he could not even guess how much this meant to her. “Th—thank you.”
“I thought you might like to have your own mount while you are here,” he said.
“Did you bring the tack as well?” Kat asked. He nodded. “Then I’m going riding.”
Kat quickly saddled and bridled her horse then led him out into the yard. Newkirk was still there, and for a moment, she feared he was going to insist on riding with her, but she saw no other horse.
Then she remembered that riding was probably still not comfortable for him yet. She opened her mouth to remark on that fact, then closed it again. He had brought her horse, after all.
Was it his manner of apologizing for the turmoil he’d caused in her life? A peace offering of sorts? If so, it was not enough. As much as she welcomed the chance to ride her own horse, it meant nothing in the absence of her brothers. If Newkirk thought this would mollify her, he was sadly mistaken. She would not be at peace with him until her brothers were back with her.
But she was not going to deny herself the chance for the first decent ride she’d had since leaving home.
If she apologized for shooting him, no doubt Newkirk would regard her with more favor. As much as it irked Kat to swallow her pride, she realized it would be the best way to establish herself on a new, more friendly footing with Newkirk. And that was what she needed if she intended to persuade him to bring her brothers back. When she returned from her ride, she would summon up the courage to speak with him.
He had made a thoughtful gesture by bringing her horse to Sophie’s; it was her turn to respond in kind. Sighing, she thought about the words she should say.
Val watched as horse and rider trotted out of the yard. She’d leaped into the saddle like a trooper, and he was certain she’d have her horse at a full gallop within minutes. The girl had spirit—whether on a horse or trading barbs with him. He almost wished he could join her, but knew the only way he’d be comfortable riding would be with a pillow strapped to his saddle.
He’d have to wait until Miss Foster had her feet firmly planted on the ground again before they could talk again. Which would have to be in London, since he intended to leave within the hour. Perhaps by then her anger would have cooled further, and he could make her realize that his actions were best for her family.
Her concern for her younger siblings was admirable, but she no longer needed to bear the weight of responsibility for them. Val knew what it felt like to feel responsible for everyone and everything around you. He intended to relieve her of that burden, and if she did not appreciate his efforts now, eventually she would.
Val firmly believed that once she arriv
ed in London, Miss Foster would be far too busy with shopping, balls and fetes to even think about her younger brothers. Sophie would see to that. And once a young gentleman caught her eye, her brothers would be the farthest thing from her mind.
No, he had her best interests at heart, even if she did not yet realize it.
It was also clear that despite her unorthodox behavior, Katherine Foster was not ignorant of the social niceties. Sophie had assured him that the girl would do quite well in London, and from what he’d seen last night, he had to agree. She was not out of place in a fine dining room, could maintain the type of light conversation so admired in society, and was pleasingly attractive when she was properly dressed. She would do fine as long as he kept her away from horses and pistols.
Reassured that his plans would succeed, Val made his final preparations before leaving for London. He still had Nicholas Foster to deal with, after all.
Knowing Sophie would not be out of bed for hours, he penned her a note, called for the carriage to be brought around, and was on the road within the hour.
Kat dallied in the stable after her ride, feeding, watering, and grooming her horse until he grew indifferent to her attentions. Finally she tore herself away and returned to the house. She had put off talking with Newkirk long enough. It was time to face him and offer her apology.
He was no longer in the kitchen, so she slipped up the rear stairs and peeked into the blue parlor to see if Sophie was up yet. Kat was eager to tell her the good news about her horse—and perhaps delay her encounter with the baron for a few more minutes.
Sophie greeted Kat with a look of amusement tinged with exasperation. “Can you believe this? Val has left already. You must have really impressed him.”
Kat regarded her with dismay. “Your brother is gone?”
Sophie nodded.
Kat sank down onto a chair, feeling strangely disappointed. She’d steeled herself for the apology she intended to give, and now she was deprived of the opportunity. Newkirk seemed bent on exasperating her.
She reached over and helped herself to a muffin from Sophie’s breakfast tray. “Did he say why?”
“Only that he thought you and I were making excellent progress and we are free to come to London whenever we wish.”
The confirmation of Newkirk’s approval should have gladdened Kat, but she felt a twinge of anxiety to know that she would soon be going to London. Everything would be so much more complicated there. Newkirk and Sophie would both be focused on finding Kat a husband, while all Kat wished to do was change Newkirk’s mind, retrieve her brothers, and go home. But since Newkirk was in London, to London she must go.
“Why so downcast?” Sophie asked. “This means we can leave for town next week.”
“I am not certain I am ready,” Kat replied. “All these social rules are so confusing. And I don’t know the first thing about dealing with men.”
Sophie’s eyes filled with mock seriousness. “The first thing you must learn about men is that they are as biddable as can be—if you go about it in the right way.”
“Horses are biddable, too, if they’re trained properly,” Kat said, munching on a piece of muffin. “But I haven’t seen too many men wearing curb bits.”
“That is because you have to train them differently,” Sophie explained. “Unlike a horse, they can’t be aware that you are training them.”
“How do you manage that?”
“The most important rule with men is to always let them think they are in charge.”
Kat snorted. “They already think that. Look at your brother.”
Sophie pointedly ignored her comment and continued. “The second thing is to make them think that you always listen to and consider their advice.”
“What good does that accomplish?” Kat asked.
“And the third rule is to make certain that whenever a decision is made, the man thinks that his opinion has been the deciding one.”
“That’s no help at all.” Kat felt disappointed. She’d
thought Sophie was going to hand her some magic formula for managing men—particularly Newkirk; instead she was just telling her what Kat already knew—that men were arrogant dictators who expected everyone else to do their bidding. “What use is it to always follow their ideas?”
“You don’t,” Sophie said simply. “It is your job to make them believe that you are following their wishes, when actually they are doing what you want.”
“That does not sound at all easy.”
“Take the matter of which rout party to attend.” Sophie held out her right hand. “You wish to go to Lady Drumheller’s.” She extended her left. “He wants to go to Lady Bascombe’s for the card play. You must cleverly convince him that he really wants to go to Lady Drumheller’s.”
“How do I do that?”
“There are several different tactics you may employ.” Sophie smiled. “First, you can try the devious approach, by telling him that someone he wishes to see will be at your party. Or mention that a person he wishes to avoid will be at the other. This is not the best plan, for it only works once or twice.”
Sophie gave her a conspiratorial smile. “The better tact is to make him want to keep you away from his party. Explain how Lady Bascombe has redecorated her saloon, and you can’t wait to get ideas for your own drawing room. He will fear this will cost him money, and won’t want you to go there.” Kat nodded. “I can see the logic in that. Like putting the horse over the hedge because he doesn’t like the brook, even if the hedge is a bigger jump.”
Sophie gave her an approving glance. “Just so.”
“But it’s a great difference between convincing someone to attend a party and agreeing to take on three young boys,” Kat said. Or to let their sister manage them.
“You merely have to keep emphasizing the advantages of your option,” Sophie said. “No squalling infants to disturb his sleep; eager minds waiting to soak up his pearls of wisdom; companions for hours of fishing.”
Kat laughed. “The poor man ... he will be so shocked when he meets them. They won’t accept words of wisdom from anyone.”
“Which he is not to know until it is too late,” Sophie said.
“Still, you make it sound so easy, when I know it can’t be.”
Sophie gave her a pointed look. “How do you get your older brother to do what you want him to?”
“Oh, that’s easy,” Kat said. “I just dare him.”
Sophie made a face. “That may not be the best technique for dealing with a husband.”
Kat shrugged. “It works with Nick. And even with the boys—it’s the only way I can get them to clean up their messes. If I tell Sam that Thomas will get something done faster, they both race to finish first.”
“You have the right idea,” Sophie said. “We just have to alter it a bit to fit the situation. Let’s say your beau wishes to take you for a drive in the park, while you wish to attend a Venetian breakfast . . .”
“What’s a Venetian breakfast?” Kat asked.
“An excuse to eat a lot of food before noon.”
“I’d rather go driving,” Kat said.
“Pretend!” Sophie said, her exasperation showing.
Kat thought for a moment. “I could say, ‘It is kind of you to invite me for a drive, but I know you would much prefer to have a filling meal.’ Men always like to eat.” Sophie nodded with encouragement. “Good, good. Now, what if he wishes to attend a boxing match on the day you wish him to escort you to the new exhibit of painting at the Royal Gallery?”
“Why, we’d both go to the mill, of course,” Kat said.
“Ladies do not attend boxing matches, as a rule.”
“I’d rather do that than look at a bunch of paintings,” Kat said.
Sophie gave her a stem look. “You want to see those paintings.”
“I’d tell him I’ll go look at those silly paintings with someone else if he doesn’t care to escort me,” Kat said.
“Perfect!” Sophie clapped her
hands. “Although you wish to phrase it most carefully. ‘I should not like to keep you from your sporting events. I will ask—and then name his strongest rival—to escort me to the exhibit.’ No serious suitor would permit that!”
Kat thought for a moment. “One thing I do with the boys is ask who would like to have a treat—then set out the task they must perform first. They dare not refuse, for
if they do, they know one of the others will do it instead to get the reward.”
“See? You understand how the game is played. Only the situation is slightly different.”
“This might not be so difficult after all.” Kat’s spirits brightened. “I cannot wait to try your advice on your brother.”
“I wish you luck—he can be a stubborn fellow.” Sophie shook her head ruefully. “But there are plenty of other men who are malleable—we just have to find you the right one.”
“Did you practice these sorts of tricks with your husband?” Kat asked.
“On occasion,” Sophie replied. “I remember, once, before he had asked for my hand, I did so want him to be part of our party at the theater. But he was otherwise engaged, so I made a particular effort to ask a certain other man to join us instead. Richard asked for my hand the very next day.”
“I’m ready to go to London now and start looking,” Kat said. “Can we leave this week?”
Sophie laughed. “Dear Kat! There is still so much to do. Our clothes will not be ready. And there is still so much I have to tell you. And dancing—we must practice your dancing.”
Kat frowned. Just when she thought she had everything figured out, Sophie tossed another task at her. It was a very complicated thing, going about in society.
But worth all the effort if it brought her brothers back to her.
The Defiant Miss Foster & A Highly Respectable Widow Page 8