From the comer of her eye, Kat saw Newkirk watching her with open curiosity.
“Probably from Nick.” Kat shrugged, and tore open the small envelope. “As if he could buy his way back into my good graces with mere flowers.”
But to her surprise, they were from that sapscull in the park—the one with no sense about horses. He thanked her profusely for her assistance and begged to visit tomorrow.
“Well?” Sophie tapped her foot with impatience. “Who sent them?”
“The Honorable Harold Mortimer,” Kat replied.
“Who is that?” Sophie asked.
“The young man from the park,” Kat said.
“Oh! What does he say?”
“He wishes to call tomorrow.”
“No callers until after we go to the dressmakers,” Sophie said firmly.
“Now, do not be so hasty,” Newkirk said. “If a young man wishes to call on Miss Foster, you should not deny him.”
“Send round a note saying we will be receiving tomorrow afternoon,” Sophie said, giving her brother a sharp look. “After we visit the modiste in the morning.”
Kat ignored their debate. She did not care if she had to greet Mr. Mortimer in her country clothes. He was her first guest, and she intended to see him no matter what. Admittedly, he did not know much about horses, but it would please Newkirk to see her entertaining a young gentleman. And right now, pleasing Newkirk was her main ambition. She intended to make sure that when she heard from Eddie again, Newkirk was in the frame of mind that
would cause him to say yes when she begged for her brother to come home.
She leaned down and took a deep breath of the flowers. Their sweet smell reminded her of the country, the overgrown tangle of garden behind her house, and a wave of homesickness washed over her. How long before she would see it again?
How long before she had her family together with her at last?
Chapter Eleven
Kat was dressed and pacing the drawing room a full half hour before her caller was due to arrive. At Sophie’s insistence, she wore one of her newly acquired gowns, a long-sleeved dress of pale yellow that was plain enough in styling to suit her.
But clothing was not the thing on her mind today. A gentleman was coming to call, and she had the opportunity to show Newkirk that she was falling in with his plans for her. Ordinarily, she wouldn’t give someone like Mr. Mortimer a second thought. Anyone with so little sense about horses would not elicit much interest from her, but these were not normal times.
Sophie beamed with delight when she entered the drawing room and saw Kat.
“You look lovely,” she said. “I told you that dress was perfect.”
“I do rather like it,” Kat confessed, running her hand over the silky fabric.
“Aren’t you excited?” Sophie gracefully sank onto the settee. “Your first conquest in London! And we’ve barely been here a week.”
“I don’t consider Mr. Mortimer a conquest.” Kat grinned. “He is only coming by to pay his respects because I saved him from a thrashing by his brother. I do not think he will arrive with a marriage proposal.”
“Goodness, I don’t think he’s intending that quite yet,” Sophie said. “Think of him as a useful subject on whom to practice your feminine charms.”
“I do need to practice my social conversation,” Kat said. “I suppose I should not talk with him as I do Nick.”
The footman threw open the door and announced, “There are several young men asking to pay their respects, Miss Sophie.”
“Do send them in,” Sophie said, giving Kat an encouraging smile.
Mr. Mortimer and two companions entered the room. Mortimer was dressed in what could only be described as an ensemble of yellow pleated cossack trousers, a rose-pink waistcoat, and a bottle-green coat. The effect was . . . overwhelming. Kat felt quite put in the shade, despite her new gown.
“Oh, gracious lady.” He flung himself on his knees before her, clasping her hands. “I cannot thank you enough for your help yesterday. You saved me from a fate worse than death.”
“How is the horse today?” Kat asked.
“Right as rain—thank goodness.” He scrambled to his feet and bowed with an awkward air. “I realize that in all the fuss, I failed to properly introduce myself yesterday. I am Harold Mortimer.”
“So I surmised from your card,” Kat said. She nodded at Sophie. “This is Sophie, Mrs. Bellshaw. My guardian’s sister.”
“A pleasure to meet you, Mrs. Bellshaw,” Mortimer said. “These fashionable gents are Lionel Tipton—‘Tippy’—and Michael Lawrence.”
The other men bowed low.
“We heard what you did for Morty here,” Tippy, the taller, dark-haired one, said. “Got him out of a right fix.”
“Dashedly clever for a female to think of a stone,” Lawrence said. Bushy red curls sprang from his head in tousled confusion. Kat suspected he was trying for a Byronic effect, but the result merely made it appallingly apparent he needed a haircut.
“Do all three of you live in London?” Kat asked. They all shook their heads in unison.
“Somerset,” Mortimer replied.
Sophie cleared her throat and looked pointedly at Kat. “Perhaps our guests would like to sit.”
“Oh.” Kat reddened. Another silly rule. She realized an absentminded hostess could be decidedly unpleasant to visit. “Please, be seated.”
The three men each took a chair facing the ladies.
“What brings you gentlemen to town?” Sophie inquired.
“Well, Tippy was looking to buy a commission and—”
“My brother just joined the army,” Kat announced.
“He’s in the Blues.”
Tippy’s eyes grew wide with admiration. “The Blues? I’d give anything to have a commission there.”
Mortimer leaned forward eagerly. “I thought you might like to go for a ride in the park tomorrow, Miss . . . Miss Foster.”
“Are you planning on filching your brother’s horse again?” Kat asked suspiciously.
He gulped and reddened. “I do have a mount of my own.”
Kat was torn. She would love to ride again. But with a sidesaddle . . . She swallowed hard. “I fear my guardian does not wish me to ride while I am in town.”
“Why ever not?” Mortimer asked, his face falling.
“He does not believe it to be a ladylike activity.” It was not a complete lie. He certainly did not want her riding astride. She shot a glance at Sophie, who cast her a warning look. Kat turned back to Mortimer. “But he does allow me to do most other things.”
Mortimer brightened. “Perhaps I can take you for a drive, instead.”
“That would be nice,” Kat replied.
“Have you been in London long?” he asked.
“Barely a week,” Kat said. “Which has been spent shopping, as Sophie does not believe one can go out in public before being decked out in the latest fashion.”
“Then you have not had the chance to see the wonders of London yet,” Tippy said eagerly. “I would be honored if I could escort you to—uh—somewhere.”
“Yesterday I viewed the exhibit of paintings sponsored by the Royal Society,” Kat announced.
None of the men looked impressed by that information, which Kat vowed to mention to Newkirk the next time he proposed another “educational” outing. No need to bother herself with such things in the future if the young men she met did not care.
“You should visit the Tower,” Mortimer suggested.
“Too bad Vauxhall isn’t open yet, or we could take you to see the fireworks,” Lawrence added.
“Fireworks! Oh, I would like that,” Kat said eagerly. “When does it open?”
“Not for weeks and weeks,” Mortimer said, casting a frown.
“I know where I should like to go.” Kat leaned forward, guessing they would go along with her plan. “Tattersall’s.”
All three men stared at her.
Kat felt a twinge of disappoint
ment. Perhaps Mortimer and his friends would not be as enjoyable companions as she had hoped. “Is that wrong? Am I not permitted to go there?”
“Oh no, nothing like that,” Tippy said. “I have never met a girl who wanted to go there before.”
“I heard Blakeney’s putting up his stable for bid next week,” Lawrence said. “Might be worth taking a look at the horses ahead of time.”
“We could go tomorrow,” Mortimer suggested.
Tippy looked over at Sophie. “Would you care to join us, Mrs. Bellshaw?”
Sophie laughed. “Of course I would. I’ve never been there, either.”
“What sort of horses does this Blakeney fellow have?” Kat asked, but before anyone could answer, a footman appeared in the doorway.
“Lieutenant Foster,” the man announced.
Kat wrinkled her nose. What was Nick doing back here, after she’d shown him the door? Had he undergone a change of heart about Eddie’s fate? Or had he come in a futile attempt to convince her that Newkirk was right?
“Looks like we were not quick enough, lads,” Nick said
as he entered, accompanied by two other soldiers. “Forces have already stormed the walls.”
Mortimer and his friends gaped openmouthed at Nick and his fellow soldiers, who were resplendent in their new, expertly tailored blue uniforms.
“You are not the only person I know in town,” Kat said archly, while eyeing his companions with curiosity. She wondered if they had any more sense than her brother.
“So I see.” Nick gave Mortimer’s sartorial splendor a disdainful glance.
“You might introduce your companions,” Kat said, a hint of reproach in her voice, delighted at the chance to chastise her brother. “It is the polite thing to do.”
“Indeed,” Nick said. “This fellow here”—he pointed to a mustachioed young man—“is Lieutenant Boone and this other”—a short blond man—“is Lieutenant Weatherell.”
“Are you all in Lieutenant Foster’s regiment?” Sophie asked.
“Yes, ma’am,” Boone replied.
“I am Mrs. Bellshaw,” Sophie replied. “My brother is guardian to the Fosters.”
“And this is Mortimer, Tippy, and Lawrence,” Kat said, introducing the others. “They’re taking me to Tatt’s tomorrow.”
“/ was there last week,” Nick replied.
“Buy anything?” she demanded.
“There weren’t any mounts up to my standards,” he said. “Although I daresay you might have found one or two that would appeal to you.”
“If you rejected them, no doubt they were superior animals,” Kat said with a grin. “Perhaps I shall find myself a horse after all.”
“I shall have another pot of tea brought round,” Sophie said, and rang the bell for the maid.
The six young men sat down, eyeing each other warily.
Kat realized this was rather fun, having six—well five, as she could not count Nick—young men paying attention to her. She wished Newkirk was here to view her success.
“I’m hoping for a commission in the Blues, myself,” Tippy said, giving Nick an ingratiating smile. “We might be comrades-in-arms soon.”
Val could barely contain his curiosity as his sister and Miss Foster entertained their visitors in the drawing room. Was his ward acting like a proper young lady? Were these gentlemen potential suitors for her hand? Were they even suitable candidates? He was desperate to learn more.
He paced the study, trying to dampen his apprehensions. A single visit would not do much to ruin—or make—Miss Foster’s reputation no matter what happened. He was more interested in these young men who were holding court in his drawing room. Where had she met them? What sort of fellows were they?
As her guardian, it was his responsibility to make sure that she did not strike up an acquaintanceship with the wrong sort of person. Perhaps he should wander into the drawing room and reassure himself that all was proper—in the guise of having a word with his sister.
He hurried up the stairs. From the hall he heard the sound of male laughter. Val found that encouraging.
Val pushed open the door and smiled with relief at the scene that met his eyes. Sophie and Miss Foster were holding court amid six young gentlemen. It took him a moment to recognize Nick Foster, togged out in his parade uniform. He’d obviously brought two fellow soldiers with him. The other three men were civilians, one of whom had a very strange notion of color and style. Val almost winced at the brightness of the lad’s coat.
His ward, he noted with approval, was dressed in a simple frock of springtime yellow. She looked young, fresh, and demure. Amazing how simple clothing could create such an illusion.
Nick Foster jumped to his feet and strode across the room to greet him.
“Good day, my lord.” He struck a pose obviously designed to show off his braid-bedecked uniform.
Val smothered a smile.
“How nice of you to join us, Val,” Sophie said. She patted the sofa next to her. “Let me pour you a cup of tea.” She gave Miss Foster a pointed look.
“This is my guardian, Baron Newkirk,” Miss Foster announced. “Lieutenants Boone and Weatherell, and Mr. Mortimer, Lawrence, and Tippy.”
“Tippy?” Val raised a brow.
Tippy sprang to his feet and held out his hand. “Lionel Tipton, my lord. Of the Westerbome Tiptons, from Somerset.”
“He wants to join a regiment,” Miss Foster explained. “I told him how kind you were and how you had helped Nick, so surely you would be willing to help Tippy as well.”
Val gave her a suspicious glance, but she regarded him with wide-eyed innocence. He sighed and gave Tipton an assessing look. At least this fellow dressed in subdued colors, unlike his more flamboyant companion. “Come round on Friday at eleven and lay out your qualifications,” he said at last.
“Have you two been in the army long?” Sophie asked the men who’d accompanied Nick.
“Only since last fall,” Lieutenant Boone replied.
“It must be dashedly exciting,” Tippy said.
“Oh, it has its moments,” Lieutenant Weatherell said with a self-satisfied look.
Val smothered a smile. The lads had no idea what military life was really like, but he hoped they would never see anything more challenging than the parade ground.
Lieutenant Boone turned to Miss Foster. “How are you finding London? Your brother says this is your first visit here.”
“So far I have managed to see the inside of nearly every shop, the park, and an art gallery,” Kat said.
“That sounds rather dull,” Boone replied. “We shall have to devise something more adventuresome for your entertainment.”
Miss Foster flashed her visitor a grateful smile, and Val realized that she had led a rather tame existence since she had arrived in town. He would be well advised to remedy that situation before boredom led her into folly.
“There’s the lions at the ’Change,” Tippy suggested. “One of them has a cub, and they’ve got a little spaniel acting as nursemaid.”
“I was thinking of something rather more cultivated,” Boone said.
“What about the new bridge construction?” Miss Foster suggested.
“That’s it!” Weatherell shot to his feet. “A boat ride on the Thames would be just the thing.” “That sounds like great fun.” Miss Foster glanced to Sophie for guidance. “Would that be acceptable?”
Sophie nodded. Val felt slightly piqued that no one had bothered to consult him.
“Wednesdays are our light duty days,” Weatherell said. “We shall go next week if the weather is decent.”
“I’ll take you to see the lions next week, also,” Tippy said.
“And we’ll go to Tatt’s tomorrow,” Mortimer chimed in.
Val felt he should be beaming like a proud papa. His ward was getting along so amiably with her guests that she made all his worries seem unfounded. He tried to see her through the eyes of these young men: short boyish curls framed an elfin face; her mis
chievous blue eyes danced with animation as she chatted. No one would ever mistake her for a boy once they saw her in a dress. Slim and leggy as she was, she still had feminine curves. The more he looked at her, the prettier he realized she was. Some astute fellow would soon recognize the prize she presented, and snap her up in an instant.
It was his job to make certain that it was the proper sort of fellow. If Miss Foster thought that this sprig of fashion was the type of man he’d approve as a husband for her, she was sadly mistaken. Even her brother’s military comrades would not likely gain his approval. They were too young, still too wet behind the ears to make a suitable husband for such a volatile young lady. She needed someone who could keep her exuberance in check.
Mortimer rose to his feet. “We have stayed long enough, I am afraid.” He signaled to Tippy and Lawrence. They made their bows and took their leave.
“We must go, too,” Nick said. “We better make haste if we are going to make our next check.”
Boone and Weatherell scrambled to their feet, made their good-byes, and followed Nick out of the room.
“Well.” Miss Foster looked perturbed. “They deserted us rather quickly.”
“Afternoon calls are meant to be short,” Sophie explained.
“And you handled yourself exceptionally well, Miss Foster,” Val said. “I predict you will have all of London at your feet within the fortnight.”
She rolled her eyes at his flummery, then shook her head. “Could you believe Morty’s clothing? He looked like he fell into three different paint jars.”
“His costume was rather . . . colorful,” Sophie admitted.
“Wherever did you meet such a fellow?” Val asked.
His sister and his ward exchanged conspiratorial glances, and his suspicions were confirmed. There was something irregular about the whole thing.
“In the park,” Miss Foster replied.
Val regarded her with a stern expression. “You mean to tell me the fellow is some stranger you met in the park?” He shot a baleful glance at his sister. “I thought you were possessed of more sense.”
The Defiant Miss Foster & A Highly Respectable Widow Page 13