“Oh?” She regarded him with a look of pure innocence.
“Your friend, Mr. Mortimer.” He noticed a trace of relief cross her eyes.
“Morty paid you a visit?” She laughed lightly. “How interesting. What did you two find to talk about?”
Val shook his head at her attempted charade. “Oh, cut line, Kat. You know exactly why he was here.”
“I do?”
“He came to ask my permission for your hand in marriage.”
“Morty?”
Val’s eyes narrowed. She looked surprised. But if matters were as he suspected, it was feigned.
He made a dismissive gesture. “I turned him down, of course.”
She half rose out of her seat. “You what?”
“Indeed.” Val was pleased to see he’d finally gained a reaction from her. “As your guardian, it is my duty to make the most advantageous match I can. And I fear he is not it.” “But . . . but . . .” she sputtered. “What’s wrong with Morty?”
“Oh, nothing that about ten years won’t fix. Right now, he is far too young to be considering marriage.”
“He is the same age I am, and you want me to get married.”
“Women are far more ready for marriage at that age,” Val said.
“How can you make a pronouncement like this without even consulting me?” she demanded. “Don’t my wishes have any part in this?”
“You thanked me for rejecting Parker for you,” he said. “That was different.”
“If I thought you truly desired to marry this fellow, I would have consulted you,” Val continued. “But I think you have no more wish to marry him than he wishes to marry you.”
“How can you say such a thing?”
Her look of righteous indignation almost made Val laugh.
“The relieved expression on his face when I told him ‘no’ said it all,” Val replied. “Tell me, Kat, was this your idea? Did you put him up to it?”
She swallowed, guilt written all over her face. “We . . . discussed the matter. He was willing.”
“Did you offer threats? Or bribes?”
“Neither,” she replied. “Morty likes me. He didn’t object.”
“But the idea was yours?” He wanted her confirmation, to make him easy in his mind that he had done the right thing, that she did not have tender feelings for this fellow.
“I might have mentioned that you were encouraging me to wed another . . .”
“And Mortimer jumped up and volunteered himself?”
“Um—yes.”
“Kat, if I for one minute thought that the lad had any deep affection for you, and you for him, I might be willing to reconsider the matter. But I fear this is just a scheme on your part to free yourself from my guardianship.” “How could you even suggest such a thing?” She managed to look indignant and guilty at the same time.
“Matters would be different if Mr. Mortimer was the type of man who would guide you properly through life.” Val clasped his hands behind his back. “But as I know you would wrap him around your little finger and induce him to allow you to do each and every thing you pleased, I cannot in good faith, as your guardian, allow such a thing.” “What does it matter what I do once I’m married?” she demanded. “You won’t have to worry about me anymore.” “I want what is best for you, Kat,” he said. “And having a young man who will bow to your every wish and command is not my idea of a good husband for you.”
“No doubt you want someone like Parker, who will keep me in my proper place?”
“No, I told you I do not think Parker is a suitable candidate, either,” he admitted. “I think that you have not yet met the right man.”
“Morty cares for me,” she said. “He writes me poetry.” “I know,” Val said. “He showed me. That alone should convince you that he is not the man for you.”
She stood abruptly. “I think you are a horrible person, and you do not care one whit for what will make me happy.” She strode toward the door, then turned. “And, in the future, if you receive any more offers for my hand, I would appreciate it if you would consult with me before summarily dismissing them.”
“I am willing to do that,” he said.
“Hmmph.” She gave a derisive sniff and exited into the corridor, shutting the door none too gently behind her.
Val let out a deep breath of relief. She at least had confirmed his belief that she had put Mortimer up to this scheme. She was upset with him right now, but she would soon see the wisdom of his actions on her behalf. In her heart of hearts, she knew Mortimer was a bad choice.
Val must redouble his efforts to find a suitable match for her. No more young lads or widowed squires. Someone with the experience to handle a high-spirited girl without dampening the very nature that made her so delightful. Someone who would appreciate the same qualities he did in her, who would see past the country upbringing and to the budding woman who lay beneath.
Somewhere in London there had to be such a man.
Fury filled Kat as she fled up the stairs. She thought she’d concocted the perfect plan to reunite her family—and with a word, Newkirk had dismissed it. Now what was she to do?
It had been a mistake to put so much trust in Morty. The fellow was not the brightest, and she should have prepared him better for his interview with Newkirk. But how could she have known that her guardian would suddenly become particular, when all his efforts had been directed at getting her married? She’d thought he would have jumped at Morty’s offer.
She would just have to find someone more suitable—and sensible. A man with some years on him. One who would not be cowed by Newkirk’s scowling visage, but not a bore like Parker. Someone more dashing, who would be fun to live with. Someone like . . . Wareham.
Kat clapped her hands in delight. He was perfect! Newkirk could not cavil about his age or maturity. And Ware- ham would certainly not wilt under any of Newkirk’s paltry arguments. He’d stand firm in the face of any opposition.
But how was she going to persuade Wareham to help her? Convincing Morty was one thing, Wareham quite another. He was a man of the world, and if Newkirk was to be believed, had plenty of experience with women. Why would he even consider marrying an innocent young girl like her when he could have any woman he wanted?
She would have to make him an offer he’d find irresistible. But what? What incentive could she offer to lure him into marriage? From a male perspective, Wareham already had everything he needed—the freedom to do as he pleased, a bevy of women vying for his attentions. His rakish reputation did little to diminish his appeal. Countless women would beg to be his wife.
That was it! The one thing Kat could offer that another woman would not—the promise that he would not have to give up his rakish ways. The complete freedom to live his life as he pleased. She had no desire to play doting wife to him; all she wanted was to live quietly in the country with her brothers. Wareham could remain in London and do as he wished. As a married man, he would be safe from matchmaking schemers, and he could carry on as many dalliances as he wished.
All she had to do was convince him that this was in his best interest.
Kat hastily scribbled a note to Wareham, telling him she had changed her mind about riding, and asking if they could go tomorrow. If he was agreeable, he needed to provide her with a mount; not a “lady’s horse” but an animal with spirit. She would meet him at the end of the street in the morning at a time he chose.
Sealing the note, she rang for the maid and told her to send it immediately with a footman to Wareham’s lodgings, and to wait for a reply.
Newkirk might have won the first battle, but the war was not over. Wareham would make a far more formidable candidate for her hand.
If she could persuade him to cooperate. It would be nothing like persuading Morty—that had been simple as could be. Wareham would present more of a challenge. But nothing ventured, nothing gained. And if he did agree to help her, she’d have her brothers back.
Chapter Sixteen
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br /> Wareham agreed to meet her the following morning, so Kat made a pact with one of the kitchen girls, for a shilling and a pair of stockings, to wake her at the appointed time. In the dim, predawn light, Kat quickly scrambled into her riding clothes—which she’d hidden at the back of her wardrobe the day she’d arrived in London—and crept down the back stairs. She slipped into the garden and through the narrow passageway to the mews, then hurried away from the stables toward the street.
She rounded the corner and there was Wareham, waiting as promised on the corner. He was astride a powerful bay that filled her with envy, but then she caught sight of the well-muscled roan prancing beside him and smiled broadly.
Wareham quickly dismounted and strode forward to welcome her. He took her hand and brought it to his lips.
“A woman who is early,” he exclaimed. “I did not think there was such a creature.”
“We are not all ninnies,” she said, flashing him a smile before patting the roan on the nose. She took a good look at the mount he’d brought for her. He was nearly as big as her own horse, and looked trim and fit.
“Will he do?” Wareham asked, a smile on his face.
“I can’t be sure until I’ve put him through his paces,” Kat said with a deliberately saucy grin. “Shall we start out?”
Before Wareham could step in and give her a boost, Kat put one booted foot in the stirrup and hoisted herself into the saddle.
“Oh, it has been so long since I rode!” she exclaimed. “I cannot wait until we can gallop.”
They guided their horses through the nearly deserted avenues; even the street sellers and merchants were not yet about. Normally bustling Oxford Street was empty of traffic. Up Portland Place they rode until they reached the edge of Regent’s Park. An empty expanse of parkland stretched out before them.
“Ready to gallop?” Wareham asked.
Kat nodded. She felt confident she could handle the mount he’d brought; the horse had spirit, yet was well trained and responsive.
With a flick of the reins, she brought the horse to a sprightly trot, then with a tap of her heels urged it into a full gallop. The wind streamed past her face, causing her eyes to tear, but Kat did not mind. Oh, it was glorious to ride again!
They flew across the wide field. Kat’s mount easily kept pace with Wareham’s horse. She glanced over at her escort, who flashed her a mock salute. Kat grinned back at him. Of course Wareham was a good judge of horses and a bruising rider—he’d been a cavalryman.
Like Newkirk. Kat wondered if he was as skilled a rider. She might never know, if her plans went as she hoped. The thought filled her with a surprising pang, which she quickly pushed aside. Newkirk was not going to help her save Eddie, so she did not care if he could do tricks like the riders at Astley’s.
All too soon they reached the end of the formal parkland. Reining in their horses, they crossed the road at a gentle trot, then slowed to walk the horses along the lane.
“That’s Primrose Hill,” Wareham said, pointing to the rise beside them. “One of London’s favorite dueling spots.”
Kat glanced at him sharply. Did he know about her duel with Newkirk? No, he couldn’t; Newkirk would never have told him. His mention of the topic was pure coincidence. Still, she wondered what Wareham would think if he knew. Would he be appalled—or amused? The latter, she thought. She feared she would be the one cringing with embarrassment if he learned the tale. That had been an unfortunate incident.
She glanced sideways at Wareham. He was handsome, in a more rugged and dashing way than Newkirk. Of course, a rake should be handsome; it was part of his appeal.
169
Kat pondered how to broach the subject that had been on her mind all morning. Was she naive to think that Ware- ham would even consider marrying her, when he could have his choice of women? Kat told herself that her willingness to not demand husbandly behavior from him was the thing that would win him over.
“I have a proposition for you,” she said.
“Oh?”
“I need a husband,” she said bluntly, “and I hope that you might be willing to consider the position.”
“Me?” Wareham laughed. “There must be scores of young men beating down your doors. Why am I being granted such a singular honor?”
“Because I think you are the one man Newkirk would permit me to marry,” she said. “He’s already turned down two offers, with the excuse that one gentleman was too young and the other too old. He certainly cannot say either about you.”
Wareham laughed. “No, he cannot. I am flattered, Miss Foster, but I do not think that I am ready for such a serious step.”
“You must consider the benefits of the situation,” Kat continued. “As a single man, you are in the sights of every unmarried woman in the country. Your reputation as a rake only enhances your attraction. A wife—one who would be willing to let you go your own way—would keep you safe from entrapment by an unscrupulous female.”
“I think you overestimate my appeal to the fairer sex,” Wareham said. “What would you gain from such a marriage?”
“I want to get my brothers away from Newkirk’s control,” she said flatly. “And I need a husband to do that.”
“So you are proposing a marriage in name only,” he said.
“Exactly. Once we are wed, and you have custody of my brothers, you are free to do as you please. I’m content to stay in the country and will not bother you.”
Wareham regarded her with an expression that made her decidedly uneasy. “And what if I say that I would have no intention of ignoring a wife as delectable as you, Miss Foster?”
She gulped in surprise. That was something she had not considered.
He laughed again. “Do not fret. I have no intention of ravishing you here on the grass. I merely wish to point out that there may be more to this ‘marriage’ than you bargained for.”
“I want my brothers back,” Kat said. “I will do whatever I must to achieve that.”
“That does not say much for your opinion of me,” Ware- ham said with a wry grin. “Any man would suit your need.” Kat flushed. She’d forgotten that men, even hardened rakes like Wareham, needed to hear flattering pleasantries.
“Of course I like you,” she said. “You are handsome and charming, dress stylishly, sit a horse well, and—” Wareham held up a hand. “Enough, enough.”
“I feel that honesty is best,” Kat said. “I do not think you are the kind of man to dictate my behavior, and I have no desire to restrict yours. You shall be free to do what you wish without any complaint from me.”
“An attractive offer.” Wareham looked thoughtful. “I shall have the cachet of being a married man, with none of the restrictions. Who could refuse such a convenient arrangement?”
Kat looked at him eagerly. “You will do it?”
“I will consider it,” he said. “I do not think you have any idea of what you are getting yourself into, Miss Foster. But if regaining custody of your brothers is so important, I am eager to help you.”
“The only way you can help is by marrying me,” Kat said. “I promise we shall be no trouble at all.”
“If I do decide to go along with your plan, I have to speak to your guardian, and he will not be pleased to see you riding like this. We should get you back to the house before you are missed,” he said.
Kat laughed as they turned their horses back toward the city. If Wareham agreed to her plan, it would no longer matter when and where she rode.
She could barely contain her enthusiasm as they returned to town. The ride had been glorious, and she felt certain Wareham was going to help her. Everything looked to be working according to plan.
“I hope you enjoyed yourself,” Wareham said as they neared the corner of Newkirk’s street.
“Oh, I did! It was so wonderful to have a good gallop. You must promise to take me again, soon.”
He executed a mock bow. “It would be my pleasure to take you riding whenever you wish.”
&nbs
p; “We could do this every day if you married me,” Kat said. She gave her horse’s neck a pat. “Is he yours?”
Wareham nodded.
“You have the most exquisite horses,” she said. “I think I would marry you for that reason alone.”
Wareham laughed. “Put in my place again. Miss Foster, you have a great talent for reducing a man’s opinion of himself.”
Kat smiled at him. “Well, I see no purpose in congratulating you on how handsome you are. You had nothing to do with that. But as for being a good judge of horseflesh— now that is a skill I can admire.”
Wareham shook his head. “I am beginning to think a future with you would be more amusing than I had first thought.”
She smiled back at him, surprised at the sudden look of dismay that crossed his face as he looked past her.
“We are caught out, I am afraid,” he said in a low tone. Kat looked and, to her horror, saw Newkirk, standing in front of his house, hands on hips, glaring at them.
“What is he doing here?” she moaned.
“Good morning,” Newkirk said icily as they rode toward him.
“Good morning.” Kat tried to sound cheerful and unconcerned. “Are you on your way already? It’s rather early to be paying calls, isn’t it?”
“Get into the house,” he ordered.
The tone of his voice was so ominous that Kat did not dare argue. She slid from the saddle, handed the reins to Wareham and dashed past Newkirk, ran up the stairs and into the house.
It was cowardly, she knew, to flee the field of battle. But she preferred that Wareham deflect some of her guardian’s wrath before she had to face him.
She told herself it was all Newkirk’s fault. If he hadn’t refused to let her rescue Eddie, hadn’t turned down Morty’s proposal, she wouldn’t have gone riding with Wareham.
The Defiant Miss Foster & A Highly Respectable Widow Page 19
