The Defiant Miss Foster & A Highly Respectable Widow

by Melinda McRae

  serious.”

  “Whatever do you mean?” she asked.

  “You know exactly what I mean.” He gave her a shrewd look and was rewarded when her gaze finally faltered and she looked away.

  “I would take these offers of marriage more seriously if I could be certain that the gentlemen were speaking on their own behalf, rather than yours,” he said.

  “You think I can simply persuade any man to ask for my hand?” she asked.

  He nodded. “I think you have a genuine talent for it.” “What do you care who I marry?” she asked. “You want me wed. Let me marry whom I will.”

  Val leaned back in his chair. “I am trying to save you from yourself, Kat.”

  She stiffened. “I think I am the better judge of what is best for me.”

  “No, you are not.” He glared at her. “If you think Mortimer or Wareham would make good husbands, you are demonstrating an appalling lack of sense.”

  “What is wrong with either of them?” she demanded. “I could be happy with either one.”

  Val gave a disparaging snort. “I highly doubt that.” “Since when do you care a whit if I am happy?”

  “Oh, I care a very great deal,” he said. “That is why I seek to protect you from your own folly.”

  “No one is ever going to meet your exacting standards.” Her eyes flashed with anger. “You say you want me to marry, but you turn down all the offers I’ve received.”

  “Because the right man has not asked yet.”

  He was standing on the brink and all he had to do was step back. The girl was a nightmare; she would test the patience of the most sainted man, which he certainly was not.

  Yet when he was around her, he felt more alive than he had in years. He’d thought of nothing else but her since she first careened into his life. Thoughts of frustration, exasperation, impatience—but admiration, appreciation, amusement, as well.

  And protection. That was what he wanted to do, after all, protect her. Protect her from a poor marriage. Protect her from the worst of her own follies, while guiding her into maturity. Marrying her would cause less wear and tear on his nerves than worrying about what sort of unsuitable candidate or harebrained plan she would come up with next.

  “Well?” She still glared at him. “I am right, aren’t I? No one is good enough.”

  Val shut his eyes briefly, steeling himself for the storm to come.

  “You are right, as usual, Kat,” he said. “Therefore, I think it is time that you accept the inevitable and marry

  me.”

  To say she was speechless was an understatement. She stared at him as if he’d suddenly grown three extra heads. “Cat got your tongue?” he teased her.

  She jumped to her feet and stormed toward him. “Are you mad?”

  “Oh, most surely,” he said. “No sane man would ever willingly agree to such a thing.”

  Kat glanced at the desk and the decanter of brandy. “Did you drink an entire bottle of brandy this afternoon? Or two?” Her expression turned to one of relief. “That is it; you are drunk. I will send for your valet.”

  Val took her arm to keep her from leaving.

  “I am not drunk, Kat. I almost wish I were. I myself still cannot quite believe what I said.”

  “Then I shall forget you ever said it.”

  “The problem is, you are right.” He frowned. “Oh, there is a remote chance that somewhere in the city, there is a man who would do well enough for you. But I don’t want you to make some horrible mistake before you have a chance to meet him. Marrying you myself is the best for both of us.”

  Kat gave him a look of utter dismay. “You cannot be serious. I would never marry you.”

  “Why not?”

  “I can think of a hundred reasons,” she said.

  “Give me a few.”

  “You won’t let me ride as I like.”

  “In the city, no.” Val shrugged. “In the country, I see nothing wrong with it. You are a grown woman, Kat. You can no longer do just as you please. Part of the task of being an adult is behaving in an adult manner.”

  “You expect me to act like a lady at all times.”

  “Is that so very difficult? You do an admirable job of it . . ”

  She stamped her foot in frustration. “You, you . . ”

  “What about me is so terrible?” he asked gently.

  She fixed him with a baleful stare. “You took my brothers away.”

  Val sighed. The boys. “The summer holidays are almost upon us. You’ll see them again soon.”

  “You are no . . . fun. You won’t let me do the things I like or act the way I wish. You are always hemming me in with rules and ‘shoulds’ and ‘oughts.’ ”

  “Like the day I took you to Tattersall’s,” he reminded her.

  Kat flushed. “Well, that was all right. But you wouldn’t let Wareham take me to a gambling hell.”

  “7 wouldn’t go to the kind of dens he patronizes,” Val replied.

  “Cock pits?”

  “No respectable woman would be caught near one, I am afraid.”

  “You won’t even let me drive your carriage.” She gave him a triumphant look. “I drove Wareham’s team in the park yesterday.”

  “Have you asked me if you could drive them?”

  Her smile faded. “Well, no. But you always send the coachman when Sophie and I go out.”

  “I did not know you wished to drive. Would you like to take the carriage to the park? You can do so this very afternoon if you wish.”

  He saw the desire raging within her and smothered a smile. Kat would never be one to hold a secret; her feelings were too transparent.

  “I should like to drive them to the park,” she said at last. “But that does not mean I am going to marry you.”

  “I promise I shall never write you abominable poetry,” he said.

  That forced a reluctant smile to her lips.

  “As a married lady, you will have a great deal more freedom than you do now as a young unmarried miss,” he reminded her. “Give me time. Time to prove to you that I can be the kind of man you would not mind spending your life with.”

  She regarded him with suspicion. “I do not have to promise anything now?”

  He shook his head. “Trust me, Kat. I will show you that there is nothing to fear from me.”

  She nervously nibbled her lower lip. “This is not a trick? You will not suddenly lay down a new set of rules tomorrow?”

  Val slapped a hand over his heart. “On my honor as a soldier of His Majesty’s army. If, after a time, you do not find the idea agreeable, I will not pressure you. But in the meantime, you are not to drag every man of your acquaintance before me with new marriage proposals.”

  She met his gaze with a steady look. “All right. I agree to consider the matter.”

  “Good. Then get your bonnet and coat, and we will go to the park,” he said.

  She dropped an elegant curtsy. “As you wish, my lord.” Then she dashed out to the hall and tore up the stairs.

  Val almost shook with relief. That had not gone too badly. She’d agreed to consider his proposal. Given time, he knew he could win her over.

  Because he knew for certain that he wanted Kat Foster as his wife. He’d been fighting the idea from the moment it first crept up on him. But today, with the real threat of losing her to Wareham looming before him, he’d been forced to acknowledge it.

  And although she had at first denied him outright, he’d been able to cajole her into agreeing to at least think about the idea. It was a first step, and he felt confident that he’d continue to gain her acceptance at each succeeding step. Until she agreed to become his wife.

  Kat could not quite believe what had just transpired in the study.

  She had gone downstairs expecting to hear that her plan to marry Wareham had been approved, only to discover, to her total and utter shock, that Newkirk wanted to marry her.

  The very idea was ludicrous.

  She did not want
to marry him. Ever. So why had she agreed to even consider the idea?

  185

  Because he’d taken her by such surprise that she’d barely been able to think. If she’d been in her right mind, she would have given him a blistering set-down.

  Particularly after such a backhanded proposal. “Accept the inevitable.”

  “No sane man would willingly agree.” Certainly not the sort of sentiments one expected in a proposal of marriage.

  So why did he even bother? It wasn’t as if he had any feelings for her. He was doing what he always did, looking out for his own convenience. And for some strange reason he’d decided it would be easier to marry her himself than find a suitor for her. And, as usual, he expected her to go along with his plans.

  Kat shook her head at the man’s illogical nature.

  Oh, there were women out there who thought Newkirk a great catch, but Kat was not one of them. He might be handsome, a baron, accepted in society and all, but those things meant nothing to her.

  She could not really say what she would want in a husband—other than helping with her brothers, but she knew that Newkirk was not the man for her.

  He couldn’t be.

  Because she knew that she would not be able to control him, and the thought scared her. She had never put her fife in another’s hands, and she had no intention of doing it now. That was why Morty had been such a good prospect, for she knew he would do anything she asked. She’d even have a measure of control over Wareham simply through her indifference.

  She could never be indifferent to Newkirk. From the moment they’d met, he’d had the infuriating ability to get under her skin. She’d grown better at controlling her temper in his presence, but it still flared when she thought he was being too heavy-handed, overbearing, or protective.

  Like today. He was doing it again. Somehow, she had to show him that he could not order her about.

  She had no intention of ever marrying him.

  Promptly that afternoon, Val began his campaign to convince Kat Foster that he was the kind of man she would like as a husband. One who could be an amiable, cheerful

  companion. One who allowed her freedom, within reason, and encouraged her curiosity about the world around her. A man she wanted to be with.

  Which was why he sat beside her on the carriage seat, mentally clutching the reins with her, while outwardly he strove to appear calm and unruffled as she drove him to the park and around the carriage path. She had a good feel for a team, and while he did not relish the idea of her driving a high-perched phaeton through London’s crowded streets during the busiest time of day, he thought she was perfectly capable of taking Sophie to the park.

  He merely had to impress upon Kat that she could not engage in reckless behavior while at the reins; no racing through the streets or accepting time challenges to Brighton. He would insist that she at least take a groom with her to forestall any rash actions.

  Val nodded at the horses. “What do you think of these fellows?”

  “I like them,” she said simply. “They’re responsive but lively. A pleasure to drive.”

  “Not quite as showy as those bays of Wareham’s,” he admitted. “But I think you’ll find these will stand you better in the long run.”

  “Oh, I think they’re quite comparable,” Kat said.

  “You may drive them whenever you wish,” Val said. “I only ask that you take a groom with you if I am not along.”

  “Isn’t Sophie a suitable companion?”

  “Sophie, I fear, would be of little use if you ran into a problem with the horses,” he said.

  “I doubt anything could happen that I couldn’t handle.”

  “I agree, but this is London after all, not Gloucester. Abide by my wishes on this, Kat.”

  She frowned, but nodded in agreement.

  “What should you like to do tomorrow?” he asked.

  “I want to go to Tatt’s again,” she declared. “And sit in on the Thistlewood trial. And see the fireworks at Vauxhall.”

  “Whoa.” He held up a hand to stop her. “We can only do so many things in a day. Vauxhall will not be open for a time. I will see if I can learn when the trial is in session. And we could certainly go to Tatt’s tomorrow.”

  “I can think of so many things I’d like to see and do!

  I’ve not been on a picnic, or boated on the Thames, or eaten a bun in Chelsea.”

  Val laughed. “We can do all of those things. I see I shall not have a moment’s rest with you directing our schedule.”

  “This was your idea,” she reminded him. “If you grow too exhausted by such activities, you merely need to let me know.”

  “You make it sound as if I am in my dotage,” he said. “I’m not that old.”

  She gave him a dampening look. “But you often act like it.”

  Val clamped his mouth shut. Arguing with her would not further his cause. If she thought him old at his “advanced” age of eight-and-twenty, that had more to do with her perception of him than any reality. It was one more thing she’d misjudged about him; one more thing about which he’d have to convince her she was wrong.

  He was not old.

  Although Val had no intention of proving it by behaving as foolishly as Mortimer and his young friends, either. After all, his plan was to guide and advise Kat, and he could not do that if she thought of him as her equal in age and wisdom. He wanted her to look to him for guidance, not as a potential co-conspirator in some silly exploit.

  Well, persuading Kat to change her mind was the job he’d taken on when he decided to convince her of his suitability as a husband. He couldn’t expect that one simple drive in the park was going to affect a drastic change in her attitude. Although her dislike for him had been almost instantaneous at their first meeting, it was going to take far longer to undo her misconceptions.

  Val must make certain that he concentrated on changing her mind every single minute that they were together.

  It was a task that he would not find unpleasant— merely challenging.

  His main strategy would be to keep her off guard as much as possible. As long as he did the unexpected, she would not have time to think or devise excuses to forestall his plans. It was going to take work, but Val was not going to let himself be routed. Napoleon’s cavalry had developed a respect for him; he was going to make certain that Kat Foster did, too.

  He knew that she had plans already for tonight, one of Sophie’s affairs. But starting tomorrow, he intended to take charge of Kat’s social schedule. Sophie might have to find another escort for the next few weeks while he danced attendance on Kat.

  At least he did not have to worry that his ward would want to attend the sort of affairs he detested, for he knew she disliked most social events as much as he. Something he should pointedly remind her of. Now a card party would do—one that was suitably controlled, of course, so she did not get taken advantage of.

  Although that probably was not a serious worry—no doubt Kat Foster was a cardsharp of the first degree and would be fleecing the entire table before he put a stop to it.

  Dinner parties would be safe enough—she loved to eat and that would keep her from talking more than she ought. The theater would be equally useful as long as he chose an entertaining play.

  That would take care of the evenings. What about the days?

  She’d spoken of having a picnic. He could picnic with the best of them—he’d done a great deal of eating alfresco while in Spain. But boating? He did not think he’d ever been rowing in his fife. Yet surely, there were boats one could hire. Perhaps one could also hire an oarsman to go with the craft. He would have to ask Sophie.

  Since she’d shown herself such a fine hand at the reins, he’d let her drive them down to Chelsea on a nice day. They could stroll along the river and visit the pensioners. And eat buns.

  Val realized he’d thought of enough activities already to keep them busy for the greater part of the week. No doubt other ideas would occur to him, or sh
e would mention a new desire he could gratify.

  No, there would be no difficulty in devising entertainments for her. The challenge would be to make her view him in a different fight. Weaving one within the other was the key to his success.

  And Val was not accustomed to failure.

  Chapter Eighteen

  The morning sun streamed through the drawing room windows as Kat read the racing results in the Morning Chronicle. She must ask Newkirk to take her to Newmarket or Epsom to see the races. Now, while he was intent on pleasing her.

  Just then he walked into the room, a mischievous smile on his face.

  “Kat, get your pelisse—we’re going out,” he announced.

  “Where are we going?” Kat asked.

  “As you requested—it’s a surprise.”

  She set the newspaper aside and stood. She rather liked this new Newkirk, the one whose actions grew more and more unpredictable each day.

  “Hurry,” he said. “Don’t keep me waiting.”

  She looked at him, askance. “I never dally.”

  Kat hastily grabbed her pelisse and met Newkirk on the front stairs. They climbed into the carriage and drove off.

  “Do I get any hints as to our destination?” she asked.

  He shook his head. “You will see when we get there.”

  Kat laughed and sat back against the seat to watch the passing street scene. It was a beautiful May morning, already warm and hinting of the summer to come.

  They crossed Oxford Street, heading north. Kat squirmed in her seat, impatient to discover their destination. A simple drive in the country? Was he taking her to some country inn for a special meal?

  Open fields appeared before them, and Kat realized they were at Regent’s Park, where she’d ridden the other morning with Wareham. Newkirk steered the carriage down a