The Defiant Miss Foster & A Highly Respectable Widow

by Melinda McRae

  Kat wore her plain green traveling dress and pelisse, since there was little else she could wear. Not that she minded in the least—Kat suspected she was going to feel uncomfortable in all her elegant new clothing. But if they helped Newkirk to consider her a proper lady . . .

  “Wait until you see the park at the height of the Season,” Sophie told her. “Carriages so thick you can barely squeeze past, and every handsome man in London riding alongside.”

  “I think I prefer it like this.” Kat looked with interest as they passed the Serpentine. A flock of ducks clustered along the shore, snapping at the crusts of bread tossed in their direction by two small children. The sight instantly brought her brothers to mind.

  Eddie was older than these children, but even when he was younger, Kat couldn’t picture him contentedly throwing bits of bread to the birds. More likely he’d be trying to catch one in a leg snare.

  That was something she could send him. She wondered if they permitted hunting on the grounds of his school—or if his school even had grounds.

  That she could find out when she went to investigate the true state of his situation. She’d written him promptly two days ago and awaited his reply with a mixture of trepidation and eagerness. She did not want her brother to be unhappy, but if Eddie repeated his complaints, she would have a strong case to present to Newkirk. He’d have to allow her to take Eddie out of school then.

  Sophie nudged her shoulder. “See those two soldiers? They’re looking at us.”

  “Where?”

  Kat leaned forward to stare past Sophie at the two mounted men in red uniforms. One of them tipped his shako to her, and Kat waved back with enthusiasm. Sophie collapsed into giggles.

  “You’re not supposed to do that,” she said, pulling Kat back into her seat.

  “Then why did you tell me they were looking at us?” Kat asked.

  Sophie shook her head in amusement.

  “You do not want the men to think you are interested,” she explained. “That is part of the secret of controlling them.”

  “Ignoring them seems rather foolish,” Kat said. “I am here trying to attract suitors, after all.”

  “Nevertheless, that is the way it is done.” Sophie pulled the carriage rug closer around her. “It is chilly today—I do not wish to stay much longer.”

  Kat, who was already finding driving through the park to be a rather dull prospect, did not offer an objection.

  They drove along the path paralleling Park Lane, then turned and started back toward the Serpentine. Coming toward them on foot was a young man in a grass-green coat, leading a limping horse.

  “Oh, look at that poor animal,” Kat said. “I wonder what is wrong.”

  “I suppose you wish to stop and find out,” Sophie said. Kat nodded, and Sophie directed the coachman to halt.

  “What has happened?” Kat inquired of the young man.

  “I don’t know,” he said, looking frantic. “I think he’s

  strained a tendon. I was trotting along quite nicely when he suddenly pulled up lame.”

  “Let me see.” Kat jumped down from the carriage and walked over to the horse. She stroked his neck and uttered a few gentle words before she knelt and ran her hand down his leg.

  “Nothing feels swollen,” she said. She lifted his hoof and inspected it. “Here’s the problem—he’s got a stone. Didn’t you think to check?”

  The man flushed and shook his head. Kat gave him a disgusted glare and then called to Sophie. “Hand me my reticule.”

  Without a word, Sophie handed the bag to the man, who in turn handed it to Kat. She fished around inside, pulled out her folding penknife, then rested the afflicted hoof against her bent knee.

  “This should only take a moment,” she said, and pried the stone loose. It fell onto the path, and she stood and kicked it toward the grass.

  “I can’t believe I didn’t think of that,” the man said, brushing sandy hair out of his eyes. “I was so worried it was something horrible ... I was afraid he’d really hurt himself and my brother would’ve . . .”

  “Swiped your brother’s horse, did you?” Kat asked with a grin. The young man looked sheepish and nodded.

  “Then consider yourself lucky,” she said, and walked back to the carriage.

  “But what is your name—and your direction?” he asked. “I would like to thank you properly.”

  “Kat Foster,” she said, then broke into a smile. He was a gentleman, and looked to be respectable, if one ignored that coat and his garish plum-and-gold-striped waistcoat. “You can find me on Bruton Street, at Baron Newkirk’s.”

  “I shall present myself promptly, once I have been assured that this fellow is all right.”

  “I look forward to that.” Kat climbed back into the carriage and took her seat beside Sophie again. The driver started the horses, and she gave a little wave to the young man as they drove off.

  Sophie held a gloved hand to her forehead. “What am I going to do with you?” she whispered.

  “That poor horse.” Kat shook her head. “The silly fool didn’t have sense to realize it was a simple stone. I’ve half a mind to tell his brother what happened when I discover his name.”

  “Please don’t,” Sophie said. “I’m sure the poor fellow has suffered enough.”

  Kat looked down at the dirty smudge on her dress. “I guess one is not supposed to pick hooves in the park—in a dress.”

  “No,” Sophie replied. “And young ladies do not go about introducing themselves to total strangers.”

  “He asked me for my name,” Kat protested. “I did not wish to be rude. And he has promised to call. See, I have made an acquaintance already! At this rate, I shall find a husband in no time.”

  “But you do not know anything about him! He could be a gambler or a—well, something worse.”

  “Oh, pooh.” Kat dismissed her concerns. “He is a silly young man with horrid taste in clothing who knows nothing about horses. Perfectly harmless.”

  Sophie shook her head. “I only fear the tale of this exploit will probably be all over London by evening.”

  “Is that so dreadful?” Kat asked, suddenly worried that Newkirk would be angry if he learned of this.

  “I do not know,” Sophie replied with a frown. “You may gamer favor with the horsing set.”

  “I think you are worried over nothing.” Kat waved a dismissive hand. “That fellow won’t dare say a word—after all, he admitted he had taken his brother’s horse without permission. To talk about me is to confess his sin.”

  “You can hope that is true.”

  “Was what I did really so bad?” Kat asked.

  “No,” Sophie admitted. “Merely rather out of the ordinary.”

  “I would rather be thought of as unusual than commonplace,” Kat said.

  “I do not think you ever have to worry about that,” Sophie replied.

  Kat gave her a rueful look.

  Val waited impatiently in the study for Sophie and Miss Foster to return from their drive. Not that he was worried about them—they were only going to the park, after all.

  Yet every time Miss Foster left the house, he did not feel easy until she returned.

  He should not worry so. Her behavior since she arrived in London had been thoroughly unexceptionable. He knew she was trying hard to act the young lady. Ever since that confrontation over Eddie, he’d sought ways to distract her from her brother’s plight, which Val knew was nothing more than a slight case of homesickness. Sophie was keeping her busy shopping, but he suspected that would occupy his ward’s attention for only so long. Perhaps an educational outing was called for—museum visits and the like. He quickly scanned the Times and found exactly what he was looking for—an exhibit of paintings at the Royal Gallery. He would escort the both of them.

  Val walked into the hall when he heard the two women’s voices.

  “I have a surprise for you two,” Val announced. “We are going to visit the Royal Gallery this afternoon.�
�

  “That sounds like a lovely plan,” Sophie said, setting her bonnet on the hall table.

  “And how was your drive?” he asked, glancing at Miss Foster. With her tousled short hair, and her cheeks pink from the air, she looked every bit the country miss. Youthful, healthy, innocent.

  “The park was quite lean of people,” Sophie complained. “No one else is in town.”

  “That must have been a great relief to you, since I see you were forced to go out in public in that ancient gown.”

  “Believe me, I kept it covered under the rug,” Sophie said.

  Val looked more closely at Miss Foster, whose dress was decidedly muddy. “And how did you find the park?”

  “Oh, rather dull,” she said with an airy wave of her hand. “No one of importance was there.”

  He saw Sophie smother a giggle. He knew then that something had transpired on their outing, but whatever it was, they were not going to tell him. Probably best that he did not know. Where Katherine Foster was concerned, blissful ignorance had its advantages.

  “The gallery opens at three. I thought we should arrive about half past.”

  “That will be fine,” Sophie said. “Come along, Kat, let’s

  go upstairs and change. I shall have to find something that is fit to wear in public.”

  Val was decidedly glad that the two of them would be going to the dressmakers tomorrow so Sophie would stop complaining. He knew she was only half serious, but he wanted her mind to be focused on finding a husband for Miss Foster, not her wardrobe.

  “What do you think of Kat’s new bonnet?” Sophie asked Val as the three drove toward the exhibit in Piccadilly.

  He gave his ward’s hat a careful examination. The chip- straw bonnet, with only a simple ribbon for decoration, framed her face. The plain style suited her far better than the feathered creation that sat on his sister’s head. He was relieved that all the shopping with Sophie had not altered Miss Foster’s taste in clothing. For a girl from the country, she had a good sense of what looked good on her.

  “Quite stylish,” he said.

  His ward smiled at his praise, and Val dared to hope that her anger toward him had cooled.

  Sophie laughed and turned to Miss Foster. “That is a high compliment, coming from Val. He has little eye for fashion.”

  “If you mean can I discern the subtle nuances between this year’s style of hem trimming and last’s, you are correct,” Val said. “But I do have a sense of what looks attractive.”

  To his annoyance, Sophie barely smothered her laugh. He gave her a sharp look, and turned back to his ward.

  “Do you enjoy art, Miss Foster?” Val asked.

  She shrugged. “I’ve never really thought much about it.”

  “Our grandfather was a collector—as you may have guessed from all the paintings in the house,” Val said.

  “It really does not matter whether or not you like art,” Sophie said. “The gallery is much like the park—you are going there to be seen.”

  “Which is not all bad,” Newkirk said. “It forces philis- tines like Sophie to be exposed to some cultural influences.”

  “As if you spent all your time in Spain and France visiting museums and galleries,” Sophie retorted.

  “Oh, I didn’t,” Val admitted cheerfully.

  “If no one really likes art, or music, or the opera, why does anyone bother with them?” Miss Foster asked.

  Val and Sophie burst into laughter.

  “Heaven forbid if we only did what we liked to do.” Sophie rolled her eyes. “We would all be sitting at home, staring at bare walls and listening to ourselves talk.”

  “I find it foolish to waste time on something you do not enjoy,” Miss Foster said.

  “I agree,” Val said. “But because that is the way society works, we must go along with their dictates for now. When you are married, Miss Foster, you can ignore art for the remainder of your life, if you wish.”

  “I don’t mind paintings of horses,” she said. “And hunting scenes.”

  “Then let us hope there are some at this exhibit,” he said.

  At the entrance, Val paid their admission fees and guided both ladies into the first room of the gallery. He was about as interested in art as Miss Foster professed to be, but it would be good for her to see something more than the inside of a shop, and would give her a topic of conversation at future social events.

  And fortunately, since all the artists in this exhibition were dead, there was not going to be anything controversial displayed on the walls.

  He dutifully followed the two women as they strolled, arm in arm, past the paintings, whispering comments to one another. For an instant, Val felt a bit put out that he was not included in their confidences. Then he realized this only demonstrated that Sophie and Miss Foster were becoming close friends, and his regret was replaced by relief.

  Val also noticed the admiring glances cast the two ladies’ way by the men in the room, and felt a surge of optimism that his plans for both of them would come to fruition soon.

  He watched as they entered the next gallery, and he let them wander freely, deciding he would catch up with them later. Val glanced at the landscape hanging on the wall before him but found its bucolic setting hopelessly dull. Surely, there had to be something more interesting in this exhibit.

  He wandered about, not seeing any paintings that appealed to him, finally entering the gallery where the women had gone. He glanced about, saw Sophie standing on the far side of the room, talking animatedly with a lady in a hideously feathered bonnet, and walked over.

  “There you are, Val.” Sophie linked her arm in his. “I should like to present Miss Sarah Edgecombe. Her sister and I were at Miss Dunlop’s together.”

  Val bowed low in greeting. The girl giggled and gave him a simpering smile.

  “Are you in London for the Season, Miss Edgecombe?”

  She nodded and Val wondered if the girl could speak.

  “She says Emmeline—that is her sister—is coming to town later in the month,” Sophie explained. “I do so look forward to seeing her again.”

  “How nice,” Val muttered absently. His attention was now focused on the room, which he was scanning with growing apprehension. There was no sign of Miss Foster. “Where is she?” he demanded.

  “Emmeline? Why, she is in—”

  “I meant Miss Foster,” Val said.

  Sophie looked around, puzzled. “She was here a moment ago.”

  Val sighed. If he could not rely on Sophie to keep an eye on his ward, it was going to be a very, very long stay in London. Perhaps he should tie a rope around the chit’s waist and lash the other end to his wrist. At least then she could not wander off.

  He walked into the adjoining room, but a quick survey of the people showed him that Miss Foster was not there. She had better be in the next room, for it was the last one of the exhibit. His steps quickened as he moved toward the doorway.

  Val’s anxiety dissipated as his eyes spotted the plain straw bonnet with a blue ribbon. Thank goodness, she was here. He walked toward her, curious as to why she was staring so intently at the picture before her.

  He drew up beside her and glanced at the small print hanging on the wall—a young boy reluctantly being presented to an elegantly dressed woman. He glanced sideways at Miss Foster and noticed with dismay the tracks of tears on her cheeks. He looked back at the small etching and saw the title: A Visit to the Boarding School.

  Damn. She was obviously thinking about her brother.

  “The child looks healthy and well fed,” he said, hoping to reassure her.

  “You would say that.” She sniffed loudly.

  He pulled a handkerchief from his pocket and silently handed it to her. She took it without a word and wiped at her face and eyes, then blew her nose.

  He sighed, knowing he had to do something. It would not do to have her moping about. She’d never attract male attention if she looked miserable all the time. “Give the lad a fo
rtnight. If he still claims to be miserable, I shall drive you down to St. Giles myself and you can inspect the situation yourself.”

  She stared at him. “Really?”

  He nodded. “Really.”

  The look of sheer joy on her face told Val that for once, in her eyes, he’d done the right thing.

  Well, if it kept her from cutting up the peace of the house for the next two weeks, it was well worth it. And no doubt, by the time his deadline arrived, the lad would be immersed in his new school and totally indifferent to his sister’s concerns.

  Then he would have to devise other ways to make Miss Foster smile.

  “Sophie!” Miss Foster cried out as his sister came up beside him. “Guess what your brother has agreed to? He will take me to see Eddie in a fortnight.”

  “Why, Val, how decidedly . . . sweet of you,” Sophie said.

  “This is only if young Mr. Foster still professes to be unhappy in his new situation,” Val added hastily.

  “And if he is, can I bring him back to London?” Miss Foster asked.

  Val winced. So confident had he been that the lad would be happy that he had not considered the alternative.

  “Yes, Val, can we bring the poor child back to London?” Sophie asked. “It will be so amusing to have a young boy around the house.”

  He knew that Sophie was perfectly aware of the role Eddie had played in his humiliation at Kingsford Manor. He would move to France before he would allow that brat in his house.

  “I daresay that he will be so firmly attached to his new schoolmates that he will wish to remain where he is,” Val said.

  At least he prayed it would be so.

  The first thing Kat noticed when she entered the house after returning from the exhibit was the enormous floral arrangement on the table outside the drawing room.

  “Oh, who are these for?” Sophie cried. She pushed past Kat and searched for a card. She found it, took one glance at the inscription, and held it out to Kat with a look of smug satisfaction. “They’re for you.”