The Defiant Miss Foster & A Highly Respectable Widow

by Melinda McRae

  narrow lane and pulled up in front of a small shed, standing beside a strip of water.

  “You said you wished to go boating,” he said with an eager look. “This isn’t the Thames, but it’s far cleaner and less crowded.”

  Kat jumped out of the carriage and walked over to the shed. Behind it was a small dock with several boats tied alongside.

  “This will be fun,” she said.

  The boat keeper came out. Newkirk paid him his fee, and the man led them to one of the boats.

  She disdained the hand Newkirk offered and climbed in, sitting in the rear seat. He awkwardly clambered into the center seat, fumbling with the oars and oarlocks while the man untied the small craft. He gave the boat a shove, and they drifted out into the channel.

  “Where does this waterway go?” she asked while Newkirk still struggled to get the second oar in the lock.

  “It winds its way through the park,” he said.

  “Have you been rowing here before?” she asked.

  He shook his head.

  She regarded him suspiciously. “Is it your first time rowing altogether?”

  His expression turned sheepish. “I’ll manage.”

  He finally got the oars in place and started pulling them jerkily through the water. Kat rolled her eyes. She could do a much better job of handling the oars.

  “Would you rather I rowed?” she asked, trying to hide her amusement.

  “No.”

  The artificial channel cut across the parkland. Kat saw one house some distance from the water, then another, but that was the only sign of habitation in this newly developed section of town.

  Ahead of them, the channel split around a large island.

  “Shall we go left or right?” Newkirk asked.

  “Right,” Kat promptly replied.

  They crossed under an arched bridge spanning the canal. A Greek-style folly stood on the center of the island, gleaming white in the bright sunlight.

  “Such a silly thing,” Kat observed. “Who could believe

  the ancient Greeks were running around the park building temples?”

  As the channel curved around the end of the island, it split again, with another island looming up ahead. A small footbridge passed between the two.

  Maneuvering the boat through the narrow channel and under the bridge took all of Newkirk’s concentration. Kat fought against the temptation to snatch the oars from him to show him how it was done. The man had to learn to row sometime.

  Newkirk awkwardly swung the boat around the narrow end of the first island and headed straight for a small patch of land rising out of the water before them.

  “How odd,” Kat said. “Why do you suppose they made such a tiny island?”

  “Perhaps the ancient Greeks are going to come and build another temple on it,” Newkirk suggested dryly.

  “Row around it,” she commanded.

  Newkirk had developed some facility for rowing in a straight fine, but rowing in what amounted to a large circle gave him problems.

  “Boats were not meant to go in circles,” he complained as they headed straight for the bank again.

  “Oh, never mind,” Kat said. “It looks to be a perfectly empty island. Perhaps they will build something on it later.”

  With an exasperated sigh, Newkirk bent his back to the oars again, trying to turn the boat in the direction he wished to go. His hand slipped as he swept back for the stroke, and the blade dropped heavily into the water, sending up a large fountain that splashed Kat.

  “Newkirk!” she cried. “I’m all wet.”

  “I beg your pardon,” Newkirk said in a tone that told her he was not in the least bit sorry.

  She leaned over the side, dipped her hand in the water, and flicked a handful of droplets at him.

  “Unfair!” he said. “You did that on purpose.”

  Kat laughed. “Would I do such a thing?” She dipped her hand again and flung more water at him.

  “That’s enough!” Newkirk brought one of the oars down onto the water with a loud “thwack.” It sent up a huge geyser of spray that splashed over the side and thoroughly drenched Kat’s skirt.

  “You wretch!” she said between laughs. She began flinging handfuls of water at him as fast as she could, wishing she had a container of some sort so she could get him good and wet.

  Her shoe! Kat bent down, quickly untied the laces, dipped it in the water, and flung a satisfying amount at Newkirk. The water hit him square in the chest.

  “You brat . . .” He grabbed for the oar again, knocking it loose from the oarlock. It fell into the water and began drifting away from the boat. He lunged toward it, the boat lurched to one side, and before Kat could yell a warning, it tipped both of them into the water.

  “Ah!” Kat screeched. “Look what you’ve done!”

  “Are you all right?” Arms and legs flailing, Newkirk swam toward her, concern on his face.

  “I’m perfectly fine. Grab the boat before its floats away.”

  Newkirk reached for the rope. “Follow me over to the island. We can turn the boat over, drain off the water, and things will be right as rain.”

  He began swimming toward the island, towing the boat behind him. Kat followed, dragging the stray oar with her.

  It was a struggle to make progress with yards of heavy, wet fabric pulling her down. Kat was grateful they were in a narrow channel and not the Thames, where she would never be able to reach shore.

  She saw that Newkirk had reached the shallows, and she fought onward until her own toes felt solid ground. She swam a few more strokes, then tried to walk, but it was a struggle to put one foot in front of the other.

  “This is one more reason why I should be wearing breeches,” she called out to him as she fought to move against the leaden weight of her skirts. Val reached out and pulled her onto the shore.

  “Look at me!” Kat cried in mock dismay. “You made me lose my shoe!”

  “I’ll buy you another pair,” he said.

  She looked at Newkirk, his hair dripping, rivulets of water running off the tails of his jacket. “You look . . .” She burst into laughter at her guardian’s bedraggled appearance.

  “I look no worse than you,” he said with a grin.

  Kat glanced down. Her wet clothes were plastered against her body, and her skirts must have absorbed several stones of water. Her dress felt as heavy as one of those suits of armor at the Tower.

  “Help me get some of the water out,” she said, and started twisting her skirts.

  Newkirk made no move to assist, and Kat glared at him with exasperation, intending to chastise him, but he was looking at her with a confused expression on his face. Their eyes met and the look that she saw in his made her quickly glance away and busy herself with wringing water out of her soaked clothing.

  She’d never thought to see Newkirk looking at her in such a manner—like a man looks at a woman he admires. And with her wet clothing, he was getting a thorough look.

  Kat suddenly wondered if there was more to his offer of marriage than the “mere convenience” he’d admitted.

  Was it possible that he actually cared for her? Desired her?

  Newkirk? The man who’d insulted her the first day they’d met, ripped her family apart and demanded that she behave like a well-bred young lady? But as Kat tried to heap scorn on him in her mind, she realized that he was not the ogre she kept trying to make him. He’d made a great effort in the last weeks to be amiable, entertaining, and kind. She could almost admit that she considered him a friend.

  But a husband?

  She felt something brush against her legs. Kat glanced down to see that Newkirk was twining the fabric she’d just wrung, getting even more water out of it.

  “I think you are right,” he said. “The next time I take you rowing, you can wear your breeches.”

  The disturbing moment passed, and they quickly squeezed as much water as they could out of her skirts. Then he pulled off his jacket, and she helped him
wring it out as well.

  “We need to get back,” he said. “Before you catch your death of cold.”

  “Oh, pooh,” she said. “A slight drenching isn’t going to affect my health.”

  “Then we should return before / get chilled,” he said.

  Carefully, they tipped the boat onto its side, holding it upright while the water ran out, then flipped it back onto the ground. Only an inch or two of water swirled in the bottom.

  Newkirk handed the rope to Kat, then shoved the boat back in the water. She started to wade in after it, but he grabbed her.

  “I’m not going to wring those skirts out again.” Newkirk picked her up, sloshed through the shallows, and set her down inside the boat. Then he carefully put one leg over the side, pushed off with his other foot, and the boat drifted back into the channel.

  If Newkirk really wanted to get back quickly, he should have let her row, Kat thought, but she guessed it was better to salve his wounded pride by not offering. After all, for a first-time boater he had done quite well, except for that minor mishap.

  When they at last reached the small dock, the boatman greeted them with a smile.

  “Had a bit of an accident, did ye?” he asked.

  “The lady grew overexcited,” Newkirk said.

  “Me!” she protested. “You were the one who tipped us over.”

  The two men shared a knowing smile.

  “Hmmph.” Kat flounced toward the carriage.

  Val rummaged in the boot and pulled out a carriage rug, which he threw over Kat’s lap. He handed her his wrinkled jacket.

  “Put this on,” he said as he climbed in beside her.

  “As if it will disguise the fact that I have been swimming,” she said as she shrugged on the damp garment. “My hair is dripping.”

  “But at least this way no one is going to notice the rest of you,” he said. “There have always been tales that some ill-bred ladies dampened their petticoats to appear more alluring, but I think you’ve gone a bit too far in dampening your whole dress.”

  “As if anyone finds drowned rats alluring.” She swiped a wet lock of hair out of her face.

  “Oh, I don’t think you look too terrible,” he said. “For a drowned rat, that is.”

  Kat wished she had a fan with her so she could rap him across the knuckles. Smacking him with the wet sleeve of his jacket did not provide the same satisfaction.

  Val was glad he had chosen to go boating at the park, so they did not have to drive clear across London to reach home. He did not particularly care if anyone saw them, but despite Kat’s protests, he did not want her spending any more time in those damp clothes than she had to. A hot bath was the first thing she needed when they reached the house.

  Although he admitted that he hadn’t minded in the least being able to admire her drenched form. It was even worse than those breeches. Thanks to them, he had seen the shape of her legs before, but today that wet dress had clung to all her curves like a second skin.

  Kat Foster was an enormously attractive young lady. It was all he could do to keep from pulling her into his arms and showering her with kisses. But he did not want to rush her, did not want to frighten her with his desire until she was willing to accept it. And matters had not yet progressed that far.

  Why, he’d yet to steal any kiss from her. Probably because he did not know how she would react and dared not risk incurring her displeasure. But eventually—soon, Val hoped—he wanted to show her how he felt.

  If anyone had told him a few months ago that he would regard a tipped rowboat as a marvelous piece of luck, he would have thought him mad. But now Val realized that nothing in his life had been the same since the moment she had walked into it. And he would be devastated beyond belief if she walked out of it.

  The devil was, he’d fallen in love with her. With a breeches-wearing, hell-bent-on-leather hoyden who wasn’t overly fond of art, music, and the strictures of society.

  Precisely the same things he disliked.

  And she had a sense of humor, a zest for life that he found infectious, and a loyalty to family that he found admirable.

  He wanted her more than anything he’d ever wanted in his life. Somehow, he had to persuade her that she wanted him.

  * * *

  To Kat’s continued amazement and delight, Newkirk proved to be an attentive suitor. No whim of hers was too small for him to gratify, whether it was ices from Gunthers, a trip to the Tower, or a basket of early strawberries sold by a street seller. Newkirk was an enjoyable companion. He’d taken her places she never would have thought to visit on her own—the Iron Works, Massey’s steam engine, and the observatory at Greenwich.

  Yet she refused to allow herself to be swayed by his concerted efforts to convince her that he would make a suitable husband. Of course he was on his best behavior; he was trying to impress her. He really was not such a bad sort. But definitely not the type of man she wanted for a husband. For that man had to make a place for her brothers in their life. And she could never forget that it was Val’s fault that they had all been separated.

  So despite bird guns and cream cakes and the promise of a new pair of riding boots, she remained firm against his enticements. There was nothing he could offer her that would take the place of Eddie, Sam, and Thomas. The sooner he realized that, the sooner she could look for a man who would help her get what she wanted.

  “I have a special surprise for you,” Newkirk announced as he came into the drawing room. Kat was reading the results from the previous day’s race meet at Newmarket.

  “Oh? I hope it does not involve water again.”

  Newkirk rolled his eyes. “I promise there are no boats involved. There is a special benefit gala at Vauxhall—they will be open just for tomorrow evening.”

  She looked at him eagerly. “Will there be fireworks?”

  He nodded. “And food and music. Should you care to go?”

  “Of course I do!”

  Kat could barely contain her anticipation as she dressed the following evening. Vauxhall itself sounded exciting, and the added attraction of seeing the fireworks made her anxious for the night to begin.

  She had to admit she was glad she was making her first visit to Vauxhall with Newkirk. He had a way of not making her feel like a gawking girl from the country when she displayed unfashionable enthusiasm over the things she

  saw. Kat knew she would be amazed by the explosive displays and show delight at all she saw. Newkirk did not mind that. With him, she would feel totally at ease. He’d promised her they would walk all the paths and that she could eat her fill of what he ruefully claimed was the most expensive food in London.

  They took the town carriage for the drive south over the river. Kat peered out the window as they drove over the Thames on Regent’s Bridge. Lights twinkled from the water below.

  “It’s a good thing they finally finished building this bridge,” Newkirk said. “Else we would have been forced to row across the river.”

  Kat gave a mock shudder. “That is a frightening prospect. I intend to keep you off the water in the future— unless I am at the oars.”

  Val gave her a sheepish look.

  Carriages were lined up outside the entrance, much like at the theater, and they had to wait until it was their turn to disembark. At last they were able to get out and walk through the entry.

  “What do you wish to see first?” Newkirk asked. “I believe there is a nice exhibit of paintings in the Rotunda.” Kat knew that he was teasing her. “Let’s explore the grounds,” she said. “Give me the full tour.”

  Newkirk took her arm and led her down the Grand Walk. The pathways were crowded with couples, elderly ladies and gentlemen, parents keeping a close eye on their daughters, and groups of young men eyeing every lady who walked by.

  They walked past the colonnades and the supper boxes, down the long, tree-fined path to the far end of the gardens, then back again.

  “I don’t think Vauxhall looks so dangerous,” Kat said. �
�Why does everyone say so?”

  “That is because it is still light out,” Val said. “Once it grows dark, it becomes a very different place.”

  “But you, of course, will keep me safe.”

  “I will lash you to my side if I have to.”

  “I promise not to wander off,” Kat said. “I should like to sample some of this expensive food you complained of.”

  “I was afraid of that,” Newkirk said with an exaggerated sigh.

  Kat laughed.

  They returned to the Grove, where Newkirk treated her to biscuits and cheese cakes and bowls of strawberries. Her hunger sated, Kat then dragged him down another of the walks.

  “Look, there is Wareham!”

  Val stifled a groan and looked where Kat was pointing. Sure enough, it was his friend, sporting a buxom lady on his arm.

  Kat tugged at his elbow. “Let’s go over and say hello.”

  “Let us not,” Val said.

  “Why not?” she asked. “Are you still mad because he was willing to marry me?”

  “No.” Val turned her about and deftly steered them in the opposite direction. “I do not think that his companion is anyone you should know.”

  Kat immediately whirled about to stare at the now distant couple.

  “Really? Who is she?”

  “I have no idea,” Val said. “But with Wareham, you can never be too careful.”

  “I should like to meet a real lady of ‘ill repute,’ ” Kat said. “I think they’d be far more interesting than some of the ladies Sophie knows.”

  “The key word is ‘lady,’ ” Val said as he led her between two towering hedges. “And while not all of them are fascinating companions, they at least claim that distinction.”

  She sighed. “When are the fireworks going to start?”

  “It is almost dark enough.” He patted her hand. “Be patient. Shall I buy you another ice while you wait?”