The Defiant Miss Foster & A Highly Respectable Widow

by Melinda McRae

  Even Newkirk, seated on her left beside Sophie, appeared to be enjoying himself. He laughed out loud at one amusing line. It was a rich, deep baritone that she instantly decided she liked. Newkirk needed to laugh more often.

  Sophie was fanning herself against the heat when the curtain dropped and the lights flared, signaling the break.

  “Should you ladies wish for refreshments?” Val asked.

  “Please,” Sophie said. “It is as hot as Hades in here.”

  As soon as he was gone, Sophie inched her chair closer to Kat. “Scan the boxes opposite,” she said. “See the woman with the white-feathered turban? That is Lady Moncrieff—she’s a dreadful tyrant and thinks she has great influence in society, but really, everyone heartily dislikes her. Now that woman two boxes over, in the lavender gown—she is one of Almack’s patronesses. Be glad we are not going there, as it is dreadfully dull.”

  “What in London is exciting?” Kat asked. “If Almack’s is dull, musical entertainments boring and the theater- well, tonight’s play is rather amusing, but suppose it was Shakespeare? Something has to be fun.”

  Sophie regarded her with a puzzled expression.

  A knock on the door diverted her attention.

  “Come in,” she called.

  To her delight, Morty, Tippy, and Lawrence entered. Tonight, Morty was almost conservatively dressed in a maroon coat with a gold-brocade waistcoat.

  “We saw everyone glancing toward this box and knew it must contain the two loveliest ladies in London,” Tippy said, bowing so low his forehead nearly touched his knees.

  “I see you have crawled from your sick-bed,” Kat said to Morty, with a touch of asperity. “I went to Tatt’s without you.”

  “You did?” To her satisfaction, he looked grieved.

  “Oh, don’t pull such a long face,” Kat chided him. “I am eager to go again anytime.”

  “Who did you go with?” he demanded.

  “Newkirk. My brother met us there. As usual, I saved him from buying the wrong mount. He simply has no eye for horseflesh.”

  “Perhaps you would be willing to advise me on a horse I am looking at,” Tippy said.

  “Bring him round and I’ll take a look at him,” Kat said.

  “Do you know anything about guns?” Morty asked. “I need a new fowling piece.”

  “What do you have now?” Kat asked.

  “It was my brother’s, and it came from Manton’s, but Lawrence here says Purdey’s is better.”

  “We should look at both places.” Kat turned to Sophie. “This is the perfect opportunity—we can seek out a pistol for you as well.”

  Sophie gave her a puzzled look. “A pistol?”

  Kat “tsked” with exasperation. “Remember how you found Newkirk’s dueling pistols too heavy? You said you’d like a lady’s pistol.”

  “Do you shoot, Mrs. Bellshaw?” Lawrence asked.

  Sophie laughed. “Very badly. Kat was trying to teach me, but I was not a very apt pupil.”

  “You merely need practice,” Kat said.

  From the corridor, as he returned with the lemonade, Val heard loud, excited voices, bursts of male and female laughter, and knew all the racket was coming from his box.

  Val pulled the door open, but over the strong, debating voices, no one heard him enter. As he had feared, it was the same young sprouts from the other day.

  “I say pheasant is the best,” one said.

  “Scottish grouse,” Tippy argued.

  “You’re all wrong,” Kat’s voice was loud and clear. “It’s peacock.”

  Val smothered a laugh.

  “Peacock?” the men chorused.

  “Wherever did you eat a peacock?” Sophie asked.

  Kat grinned. “One wandered into our yard one day. At first we were thrilled, but that lasted for less than a week. Have you ever heard their call?”

  Morty nodded. “Noisy creatures.”

  “Exactly so,” Kat said. “Then the boys kept chasing it, so it took to sitting in the tree and screaming whenever it saw someone. I decided it was far more suited to the dinner table.”

  She glanced up and noticed Val at last. “Newkirk, you are just in time to solve our dilemma. Whose gun do you prefer for pheasant—Manton or Purdey?”

  “Oh, Manton by far,” Newkirk replied.

  “No, it’s Purdey,” Lawrence argued.

  “My father says his guns are all flash,” Tippy said.

  “Oh, I think I’d put Purdey up against Manton any day,” Lawrence said.

  Val knew it was time to step in before Kat arranged a shooting match on Hampstead Heath to prove their claims.

  To Val’s relief, the orchestra struck a note, indicating the end of the interval. The three men made hasty farewells and quickly took their leave. He began to fear he would have to spend his days fending off Kat’s inappropriate suitors instead of finding her decent ones.

  At the next intermission, Kat sent Newkirk out for cool drinks again. He had barely been gone a few minutes before someone knocked on the door.

  Wareham walked in. “I thought I caught a glimpse of two lovely ladies sitting in this box.” He bowed low. “I see I was right.” He glanced about. “Do not tell me you two are here alone?”

  “Val has gone for refreshments, as you can certainly have guessed.” Sophie gestured toward the empty chair. “Do sit down.”

  “Is this your first visit to the theater, Miss Foster?” he asked.

  Kat nodded. “It is a rather silly play, but I prefer it to something lumbering like Henry V or Macbeth.”

  “Oh, even those can be entertaining with the right set of players,” he said. “There is nothing like having Lady Macbeth’s wig fall off during the sleepwalking scene.”

  “Did that really happen?” Kat asked.

  Wareham grinned. “I saw it myself.”

  “You did not call on us today,” Kat chided him.

  “Alas, I fear business affairs kept me away.” Wareham smiled. “However, those matters have been dealt with, and I am now free. Will you be receiving tomorrow?”

  Sophie nodded.

  “Then I shall present myself on your doorstep,” he said.

  “With tales of Newkirk’s foibles,” Kat reminded him.

  “No one is going to be telling any tales about me.” Val stepped into the box, carrying tall glasses of lemonade that he handed to Kat and Sophie. He turned to Wareham. “What are you doing here? Are all the gambling hells closed tonight?”

  “I am seeking to elevate my surroundings,” Wareham replied, then both men laughed.

  “I should love to see a gambling hell,” Kat said. “Would you escort me to one, Wareham?”

  He glanced at Newkirk, who emphatically shook his head.

  “I do not see how I am going to have any fun at all in London,” Kat complained.

  “When you are married . . .” Val intoned.

  “ ‘You can convince your husband to let you do anything you please.’ ” Kat frowned. “Meanwhile, I shall perish of boredom.”

  “It is obvious that Val has not been showing you the right attractions,” Wareham said. “Tell me, what would you most like to see in London?”

  “Well, I have been to Tatt’s. How about Jackson’s boxing parlor? Or a cockpit.”

  Wareham roared with laughter. “You are a rare one,” he said. “But I value my head, and I know that Val would have it if I took you to any such place. Don’t you have any tamer interests?”

  “I should like to see the lion cub and the dog,” Kat admitted. “And Hoby’s and the East India Docks and the new bridge.”

  “To the bridge it shall be,” Wareham said. “I shall arrange an excursion.” He stood. “I shall not take up more of your time. I imagine there are hordes of gentlemen milling about in the hall, waiting for their chance to enter.” He bowed in farewell. “Ladies, until tomorrow.”

  Kat felt rather pleased with herself. She had never had so much attention paid to her in one evening. It was a new—and
rather heady—experience.

  She knew Newkirk would never allow her to go to any of the unsuitable places she’d mentioned to Wareham. But it had given her a thrill of satisfaction to see the look of

  horror on his face when she’d asked about the gambling hell.

  She also had the decided feeling that Wareham would not have objected in the least. Cultivating his friendship might prove interesting, if only to annoy Newkirk. She just might be able to convince Wareham to take her some place he shouldn’t. If she had to be in London, she ought to be able to enjoy herself.

  When they finally returned home in time to enjoy a late supper, Newkirk was not certain whether the trip to the theater had been successful or not.

  Oh, it had been quite a success in the matter of male attention paid to his ward. But it was the source of those attentions that gave him reservations. It was his obligation, after all, to make a favorable match for the girl. He did not want it said that he’d been remiss in his guardianship. But so far, her choices were not encouraging.

  He would have found the antics of Morty and his fellow striplings laughable if they had not been directed at his ward. There was nothing wrong with the lads; in a few more years they would probably grow into respectable country gentry. But as for now ... he wouldn’t want to wish them on his worst enemy’s daughter. They were too young and impetuous.

  Even worse, Miss Foster—Kat—seemed delighted by their attentions. He had only himself to blame for that— he’d kept her under wraps while he gained confidence in her ability to appear in society; as a result, the young men she’d met were not exactly what he had in mind.

  Then there was the problem of Wareham. Val shuddered at the very thought of the man paying his attention to Kat. If Mortimer was an immature youngster, Wareham was the opposite—an experienced man of the world. The kind of man no self-respecting guardian would want dancing attendance on his ward.

  But why would Wareham, whose taste in women ran to seasoned professionals or bored matrons, display interest in an innocent country girl like Kat? Val shook his head. Wareham could not be seriously interested. The man might be a rogue, but he’d never been one for seducing genteel

  young ladies. Perhaps Val was being too suspicious. Ware- ham was merely being polite.

  But politeness would get him nowhere. If Mortimer was a ludicrous candidate for Kat’s hand, Wareham was a downright dangerous one. Completely the wrong sort of man for his ward. And Val intended to make certain that Wareham was aware of that.

  He would consult with Sophie in the morning and see that she accepted every invitation to parties that might present suitable, eligible gentlemen who could be introduced to Kat. Tonight’s crowd at the theater showed that society was rapidly returning to the city. The Season would soon be in full display.

  When he’d first decided to find a spouse for her, it had seemed a simple enough matter. Put the girl on display and see who came calling. But with growing dread, he realized it was going to be a bit more comphcated than that.

  Well, he’d led charges against Napoleon’s cavalry, labored at sieges that brought down mighty fortresses, and kept a regiment of hotheaded cavalrymen together through some of the fiercest battles of the war. This could not be any more difficult.

  He needed to lay out his plans like a military campaign— one that needed quick and decisive action to achieve its goals. By the end of the following week, he intended to see that his house was flooded with eligible suitors interested in pursuing his ward.

  Meanwhile, he would scheme to keep her occupied, to make sure she did not have time to make any more unsuitable acquaintances. Even if it meant he must personally escort her to every sight in London. He vowed to find her the perfect husband.

  Chapter Fourteen

  Val did not want Kat to realize that he was deliberately trying to monopolize her time, so the very next day, remembering that conversation about guns, he took her to Manton’s, ostensibly to advise him on a new bird gun. When he offered to buy her one as well, she’d been delighted—and knowledgeable about what she wanted.

  In the afternoon, he took her to Astley’s. Val knew the famous riding emporium would appeal to his ward.

  “Where do you wish to sit?” Val asked as they stood outside the ticket booth. “There are boxes that look down on the arena, or you can sit on the rail.”

  “Oh, the rail, of course,” Kat said. “I want to be as close as possible.”

  Val smiled at her eagerness, glad he had brought her. He purchased their tickets, took her arm, and led her inside.

  He’d never been to the famous equestrian showplace and was surprised to see that the building was arranged much like a theater, with a curtained stage at one end and three tiers of boxes along the sides. A dirt arena stood in place of the pit. The crowd, however, was not dressed in such elegant finery as those at the theater, and there were many children in the audience.

  “We shall have to bring Sophie next time,” Kat said. “She would like this.”

  “There is to be a next time?” he asked.

  “Only if I enjoy myself,” she answered with a saucy toss of her head.

  The lights dimmed and the show began.

  For the next hour, Kat sat transfixed beside him, alternating between delight, fright, and amazement at the equestrian tricks displayed before her. Val found himself equally fascinated watching her. She demonstrated the delight of a child as she watched a man stand on a horse’s back while it circled the arena at a gallop. She clapped loudly as horses performed tricks and elegant dance steps. A whip-wielding clown directing the action elicited gales of laughter. And she held her breath while a horse circled the ring, the rider holding Union Jacks aloft in each hand while he balanced on one foot. They passed so close to the rail that any member of the audience could have reached out and touched both horse and rider.

  Val could not remember when he had seen anyone display such unfeigned enjoyment as Kat did at this performance. She held such an innocent and untarnished joy in life. It was one of the things he admired about her; the thing he did not want her ever to lose.

  And, perhaps, by sharing experiences like these with her, he could get some of that joy back for himself.

  She turned toward him, her eyes dancing with delight at all she was seeing, and his heart gave a painful lurch.

  What was happening to him? Was he losing his mind? This was the same obstreperous hoyden who had deliberately shot him within hours of making his acquaintance. A girl he’d brought to London with the express purpose of getting her off his hands as quickly as possible.

  Yet why did that prospect seem less and less appealing with each passing day? He found himself wanting to be in her company, thought of her far too often when they were not together.

  And the image of her in another man’s arms made his blood run cold.

  Val told himself it was because he hadn’t found the right suitor for her yet; had not found a man he felt confident about, one who would take proper care of her. His feelings were merely protective. When he found the proper suitor for her, his mind would be at ease again.

  Time. That was all it would take. A little more time to find the perfect man for her.

  She let out a small cry of disappointment, and he started, until he realized the show had ended.

  “Didn’t you like it?” Val asked.

  “It was wonderful,” she whispered, her eyes wide. “I wish it hadn’t ended.”

  Val did not hurry her to the exit, but let her remain in her seat while the rest of the audience traipsed out. He, too, felt no need to leave. He wanted to preserve her pleasure for as long as he could.

  Finally, with a sigh, Kat stood and took his arm.

  “We can go now,” she said.

  “That was an amazing display,” Val said as he helped her into the carriage. “I cannot believe some of those tricks.”

  “I only wish I had seen it years ago,” Kat said. “I would love to be able to do things like that.”

&n
bsp; “You probably would have broken your neck,” Val said.

  She gave him a dampening look.

  “I want my brothers to see this,” she said. “They will love it.”

  He saw how her expression turned wistful at the mention of her brothers. “School term will be over soon,” Val said. “We can take all of them.”

  Val realized that there would be an entirely new complication to his plans if the boys were out of school before her future was settled. Once Kat was distracted by her brothers’ presence, it would be even more difficult to keep her mind firmly focused on finding a husband.

  He had to find one for her. To put his mind at ease.

  Kat sat in the drawing room the next morning, opening the invitations that had arrived in the early mail. The names of the senders meant nothing to her, but it was something to do while she waited for Sophie to begin her day. No matter how late she had stayed out the previous evening, Kat could not sleep away the morning as Sophie did.

  So she amused herself by sorting the invitations into piles according to the planned event—dinners on the end of the table, card parties in the center, and balls on the other end. In the upper corner, the picnic stack was disappointingly small. She thought those sounded the most fun.

  The footman announced a guest, and to Kat’s surprise, Morty walked in—alone. He looked downright funereal in a black jacket and gray waistcoat. His expression appeared equally solemn.

  145

  “Goodness, where are your friends?” Kat asked as she poured him a cup of tea.

  He shrugged. “Didn’t tell them I was coming.”

  “Then we can have a comfortable chat. Have you given any more thought to the gun situation? We could visit Man- ton’s today.”

  He stared at her blankly for a moment. “I’d forgotten all about that,” he confessed while he toyed with a roll of paper.

  “What is that?” Kat asked.

  Morty reddened and held out the roll.