The Defiant Miss Foster & A Highly Respectable Widow

by Melinda McRae

  “Yes,” she said, and wrinkled her nose. “I rather thought it would be more interesting. Vauxhall is almost like the park, except no one has any horses. I think the park is even better.”

  “It is much the same,” he admitted. “But once the show starts, you will think otherwise. We can go over to the bandstand and listen to music, if you like.”

  “Let’s get some more strawberries,” Kat suggested.

  Suddenly, overhead, there was a bright burst of light and

  Val fought against the urge to duck. He reminded himself it was fireworks, not incoming artillery fire.

  “Oh!” Kat squealed with delight.

  Val stepped back against the hedge and pulled her in front of him, laying his hands gently on her shoulders. “Watch carefully,” he whispered in her ear. “You don’t want to miss a thing.”

  More rockets exploded in the sky.

  Pinwheels of light blazed from tall poles; spinning and hissing, they spewed a halo of sparks. Their fire had barely died when a new series of lights exploded down a length of wire, creating the illusion of a stream of fire racing across the sky.

  Kat clapped, shrieked, and jumped up and down at each new display. Val cheered with her, caught up in her infectious enthusiasm.

  A final huge burst of flame lit the sky, then suddenly it was dark and quiet.

  “Is it over?” Kat asked, her disappointment audible.

  “I’m afraid so,” he replied.

  “Oh, promise me we can come again!”

  “Once it opens in June, I shall bring you every night if you wish.”

  She turned toward him. “Oh, Newkirk, please do.”

  The pleading tone in her voice tugged at his heart and Val could not help himself. He bent his head and touched his lips to hers. He intended it to be a light, chaste kiss; he did not wish to frighten her. But the moment their bps met, he knew it could never be that for him. He’d warned her of the dangers of the dark walk, not thinking he would be the one she needed protection from. It took every bit of willpower he commanded to rein in his desire for this delightful girl.

  He lifted his head and tried to see the expression on her face, but in the dim fight, he could not.

  “We can sit down for supper,” he said awkwardly.

  “Yes,” she said, in a perfectly calm voice. “I should like that.”

  Val took her hand and led her back to the bright fights and crowds of the colonnades.

  The rest of the evening passed more quickly than he could have believed. Val talked, laughed, and joked with

  Kat, but all the time he was acutely conscious of every word she said, every nuance of expression that passed over her face. He saw nothing to alarm him, yet nothing to give him hope, either. It was as if that kiss had never taken place—or that she imparted no special significance to it.

  He was shocked when he caught her yawning, and he looked at his watch—half past one! Where had the time gone? He ushered her out the gate to the waiting carriage for the drive back to Bruton Street.

  They sat in companionable quiet as the carriage jounced over the cobbles, back across the bridge and then north. Val feared to say anything, not wanting to break the mood. Kat was tired; he could tell by the yawns she tried to stifle. He put his arm around her shoulder and urged her to lean against him. He would not mind in the least if she fell asleep like this.

  She managed to stay awake during the drive. He was tempted to carry her into the house, but she took his hand and stepped down from the carriage, then allowed him to lead her into the house.

  “I had a wonderful time,” she said, standing at the bottom of the stairs.

  “So did I.” Val bent down and gently kissed her forehead.

  She smiled and headed up the stairs.

  Val retreated to his lair at the back of the house, deep in thought.

  What was he going to do about Kat?

  Oh, he had made great progress. She was now as easy and comfortable with him as she was with Sophie, but friendship was not what he wanted from Kat. And while she had not recoiled from his kiss, neither had she responded.

  He feared friendship was all he would have from her.

  That would not be so bad, would it? Most marriages were built on far less, arranged by parents or relatives among offspring deemed to be compatible—or of like fortunes. At least he and Kat would get along, even if their relationship would be lacking in passion.

  But that was not what he wanted—for himself, or for her. For her, most of all. He wanted her to be head over

  heels in love with the man she married. She deserved that kind of happiness.

  And if she could not have it with him, he was going to have to let her find it with another fellow.

  But certainly not someone like Mortimer—or Wareham. Val knew she’d only approached those two men because she’d hoped they would aid her to gain her deepest desire—her brothers. Unfortunately, there was only one man who could give her that.

  Himself.

  Val knew what he had to do, as much for his peace of mind as hers.

  He smothered a bitter laugh. He’d sacrificed a great deal in his life for his family, for Sophie, really, sheltering her from the disaster of their parents’ marriage. Now he was going to make an even bigger sacrifice for Kat. Where did this streak of martyrdom come from? Surely not from his father, who’d never denied himself anything in his life. Perhaps Val was a throwback to some older, more honorable ancestor.

  No matter. Best to get it over with quickly. If they left in the morning, they’d reach St. Giles by midday next. He’d deal with the two boys at Portsmouth later; he knew it was Eddie who most concerned Kat, Eddie whom she wanted back in her arms the most of all.

  That was what Kat desired, and that was what he was going to give her. He’d give her the choice to go back to Kingsford with her brothers, give her the choice to never see him again. No matter what it cost him. The chance to be her husband. The chance to show her that she could care for him.

  He always thought one was supposed to feel good about doing the proper thing, but it merely left him with a sour feeling in his stomach—and a painful lump in his chest. Giving up Kat was going to be the most painful act of his life.

  But he wanted to see her happy.

  Kat lay on her bed, staring up at the dark ceiling.

  Newkirk had kissed her.

  And she had enjoyed it. Had been disappointed when he released her, placed her hand on his arm and led her back to the bright lights and people, and spent the rest of the evening acting as if nothing had happened.

  Hadn’t he liked kissing her?

  Her growing sense of disappointment was disturbing— disturbing because there was no reason for it. Unless . . .

  She could not—would not—dare not—be falling in love with him.

  But what else could it be? Over the last week, she’d spent nearly all her waking hours with him while he strove to demonstrate that he could be the kind of man she would marry. And despite all her doubts and reservations, he was succeeding.

  She’d started looking at him with new eyes, realizing that what she had first labeled stodginess was really a deep concern for her, and Sophie’s, well-being. His emphasis on social propriety was for her sake, not his. He really did not care for society that much, and Kat doubted he would even be in London if he hadn’t felt the need to find her a husband.

  Deep down, they were very much alike. Oh, the strict military manner was still in him, but what could one expect after all those years of war? In truth, it was a miracle that he was still so genial after such an experience.

  Everything he had done, from the day he arrived at Kingsford Manor until now, was done for the sole purpose of helping her and her brothers. She had not recognized it at the time, but it was certainly clear to her now.

  And how had she repaid his concern? By shooting him, arguing against his attempts to turn her into a lady, and then trying to get away from him by marrying the first candidate who came along.<
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  What he should have done was toss her over his knee and given her a good spanking.

  Instead, he’d put up with her petty rebellions and disastrous schemes until he’d decided, with no lack of exasperation, that the only way he could keep an eye on her was to marry her himself. And she’d had the audacity to laugh at the very idea.

  She was not laughing now. If the truth were told, she was rather frightened.

  Frightened of the warm feelings she was starting to feel for him, the understanding, the enjoyment of his company. She had not asked for that—had not wanted it. The very thought left her feeling almost queasy.

  Marriage to Newkirk. Spending the rest of her life with him. Being as close as two people could be. Sharing everything—including the marriage bed.

  Was that what she wanted?

  Kat felt as if she did not know anything right now; all her thoughts were jumbled together like a tangled fishing line, with no hope of being unraveled.

  Why did Newkirk have to confuse her so?

  Chapter Nineteen

  After tossing and turning all night, Kat awoke to the sound of persistent knocking on her door.

  “Yes?” she said groggily.

  “Wake up, sleepyhead,” Sophie called. “You need to dress and be off.”

  “Dress and be off where?” Kat stumbled from bed and pulled open the door. Sophie stood in the corridor, still in her dressing gown.

  “What time is it?” Kat asked.

  “Nine,” Sophie replied. “And you can thank me for keeping my brother from pulling you from bed two hours ago. I insisted he permit you to sleep.”

  “What is going on?” Kat asked.

  Sophie held out her hands in a gesture of ignorance. “I do not know. All he said was to dress for travel and prepare to be gone for two nights.”

  “Go where? And why?”

  The maid slipped in behind Sophie and began helping Kat dress while Sophie sat on the edge of the bed.

  “Didn’t he say anything to you last night?” Sophie asked. Kat shook her head. “We came home from Vauxhall, he said good night, and that was all.”

  “A mystery!” Sophie’s eyes danced with excitement. “Are you coming with us?” Kat asked.

  “With Lady Ballinger’s soiree tomorrow night? I should say not.”

  Kat quickly finished dressing and raced down the stairs. She followed the corridor to Newkirk’s office, where she hoped to learn what was going on.

  He was sorting some papers on his desk.

  “Ah, there you are,” he said. “Awake at last. You are becoming as bad as Sophie.”

  “I am not,” Kat said. “We were up quite late last night— this morning.”

  He arched a brow. “Yes, we were. But I thought you’d prefer to get an early start to St. Giles.”

  “St. Giles?” Kat gasped. “You are taking me to see Eddie?”

  Val nodded.

  Kat flung herself at him, mashing his papers as she enveloped him in a hug. “Oh, Newkirk, thank you! Are you ready to depart? When can we leave?”

  “As soon as you have eaten some breakfast,” he said with a grin.

  “Oh, who cares about food? Let’s leave now.”

  “We will not arrive until tomorrow no matter what,” he said. “I don’t want to have to listen to you complain about being hungry all morning. Go eat your fill of breakfast, and we can leave when you are done.”

  “I will hurry,” she said, and dashed out of the room. Eddie. He was taking her to Eddie.

  Kat skidded to a sudden halt. Why, she wondered? Why now?

  While he knew the time dragged for Kat, the hours they spent in the carriage passed far too quickly for Val. He preciously measured each minute spent in her company, fearing they were numbered. After tomorrow, she would have no reason to return to London; once he delivered her and Eddie to Kingsford Manor, she might even order him out of her sight.

  And he would obey, without protest, because he desired her happiness above all things.

  So he relished every moment they were still together. Val taught her to play piquet, surprised to learn she did not already know how. When that activity paled, he regaled her with severely edited accounts of some of his exploits in Spain.

  Not once did either of them broach the subject of Eddie, or the future. Val did not want to ask her plans, for he did not want to hear the answer.

  When they finally exhausted all safe topics of conversation, they sat in companionable silence. But Val sensed a new awkwardness between them that had not been there yesterday.

  His heart ached with regret for what might have been, but he did not know how he could have acted differently toward her and her family. Unless it was to have ignored his responsibilities as guardian from the start and left the Foster clan to their own devices. And that ran counter to everything he believed.

  He could have ignored Kat’s outrageous behavior, given in to her pleas to leave her brothers at home. But how could he have known that he’d fall in love with the hoyden to the extent that he’d do anything to please her? Now, while he could undo his actions, he could not undo her memories of them.

  Taking her to Eddie was his act of atonement. And if she wanted to take her brother straight home, Val would not object; he’d drive them there himself. And if she asked him to leave the moment they arrived, he would. And if she asked that he fall on his cavalryman’s saber, he’d probably do that as well.

  He would deal with the pain later.

  For Kat, the carriage ride to St. Giles seemed to go on forever. Newkirk made valiant attempts to entertain her, but time still dragged.

  At last they stopped for the night at a pleasant country inn. After eating, they strolled through the village, talking of totally inconsequential matters.

  Kat was afraid to ask him the most important question— did he intend to take Eddie out of school and bring him home to London? Or would they go back to Kingsford Manor? He’d said prepare for two days of travel; that could cover either option. But in case he merely intended to fulfill his promise to check on Eddie’s welfare, she was afraid to ask exactly what he had planned.

  Kat spent another restless night, her dreams filled with images of Eddie and Newkirk. In the morning, before they left, she had the innkeeper pack a gigantic hamper with all sorts of sweets and pastries; Eddie would be sick if he ate half of it, but Kat did not care. She was going to see him at last.

  At least today they had only an hour in the carriage; Kat did not think she could have stood it much longer.

  Newkirk touched her arm when the carriage turned down a gravel drive.

  “This is the school,” he said.

  Kat summoned up her courage to ask Newkirk the question that had been tormenting her all night. “Can he come home?”

  Newkirk nodded. “If that is what he wishes.”

  Kat shut her eyes, tears welling behind her fids. He was going to let Eddie come home.

  “Thank you,” she whispered.

  Newkirk had given in at last to her pleas. Then why did she feel this vague sense of dissatisfaction?

  The carriage stopped in front of a well-kept building, a Georgian-style structure of brick and stone. Newkirk helped her from the carriage and led her up the broad walk and stairs. Inside, he directed her to wait in the salon while he sought out the headmaster.

  Kat paced the room, too anxious to sit still. It had been so long since she’d seen her youngest brother: days, weeks, months filled with apprehension and longing. And in a few short minutes, he was going to be with her again at last.

  She heard the door open, and she whirled about. There he stood, his hair askew as always, a patch of dirt on the knees of his pants.

  He was the most beautiful thing she’d seen in ages.

  “Eddie!” Kat raced toward him, arms held wide.

  She grabbed him up and spun him around. “I cannot believe it is you. Look how you’ve grown!”

  “Are you here to take me away?” he asked.

  Kat
set him down and gave him a close examination. He did not look to be in ill health or starving; his face was almost clean and his clothing, except for that smudge, recently laundered.

  Newkirk came up behind him. “That is what we are here to discuss,” he said. “Why don’t you join your sister and me for a walk, and we can talk about it.”

  Eddie regarded him with suspicion.

  “I’ve pastries in the carriage,” Kat said.

  His expression brightened.

  They went back outside, and Newkirk retrieved the heavy hamper.

  “Eat quickly,” he said, handing a fruit pie to Eddie. “This is far too heavy to carry. Your sister must have forgotten there is only one of you.”

  “What have you learned in class this week?” Kat asked. “Did you know that Henry VIII chopped off a bunch of his wives’ heads?”

  “I did,” Kat replied.

  “Your sister and I saw the very spot where it was done,” Newkirk added. “On Tower Green.”

  “Really?” Eddie regarded both of them with awe. “Did they have the ax and everything?”

  “I don’t believe it was the same ax,” Kat said. “But they had several of them. And suits of armor! You shall have to see them.”

  “When you come to London,” Newkirk added.

  “When may I?” Eddie demanded.

  Newkirk glanced quickly at her, then turned back to Eddie.

  “Did you ever catch any rabbits with the snare I sent you?” Newkirk asked.

  Kat stared at him. “You sent him a snare? When?”

  He looked embarrassed. “Nick suggested it.”

  “I caught two, but then Smack took it away,” Eddie said. “Who is Smack?” Kat asked.