“I will expect you to take charge of the creature,” Knowlton explained. “Frank here will tend to his feed and watering, but it shall be your job to saddle and bridle him for riding, and to cool him down and groom him after every ride.”
“I will be glad to do that,” Robbie said. “Can I start now?”
At Knowlton’s nod, Frank took the bridle and gave Robbie a quick demonstration on how to put it on the horse. Even if the animal was a pony, he was still tall enough that Robbie needed the mounting block to fasten the strap behind the ears. The same procedure was followed with the saddling, as Knowlton himself checked the tightness of the girth. Robbie beamed with pride when the earl congratulated him for a job well done.
Knowlton remained in the paddock for an hour, gently instructing Robbie in the finer points of horsemanship. With his natural seat, combined with the fearlessness of youth, the lad would soon make up for his lack of earlier training, and be a bruising rider within a year’s time.
As he watched Robbie’s wide grins of delight, Knowlton realized he took genuine pleasure in pleasing the lad. He felt a twinge of guilt, knowing he had first sponsored the connection as a method of ingratiating himself with Mrs. Mayfield, but he found he quite liked Robbie for his own sake. Robbie still carried the wide-eyed wonder of childhood, the fascination with the world that Knowlton had lost so long ago. Maybe Robbie could show him how to see the world through those eyes again, if only briefly.
At last relinquishing Robbie’s tutelage to Frank, Knowlton saddled his own mount and headed out across the estate for his own belated morning ride. The ripe heads of grain were close to bursting with their seeds. Harvest would start in a few short weeks. It was a project involving skilled teamwork, a joy to watch as well as participate in.
And once the last shock was tied, the last load hauled to the granary for threshing, there was the celebration. Knowlton looked forward to it with eager anticipation. It was one of the few times of the year that the aristocrats and gentry rubbed elbows with the laborers, as class barriers tumbled down with foaming mugs of ale and the riotous contests of strength, skill, and speed that made up the annual Warrenton Harvest Home. And perhaps during the evening there would be the opportunity for a dance with the lovely Mrs. Mayfield. He really needed to accelerate his attempts to undermine her resistance. The harvest festival was the perfect setting. He made a mental note to remind the musicians to play lots of waltzes. He intended to dance them all with her.
Katherine fought against her concern at Robbie’s lengthy absences from home. She suspected he and his crony Sam were up to the usual boyish pursuits—fishing or some such activity—and she did not want to smother Robbie with too much mothering. It was a constant effort to fight against her need to keep him close. Robbie had bloomed over the summer, rapidly losing some of the boyishness within him. It momentarily saddened her to see her baby beginning to show signs of the man. he would grow into. But it was the lot of every mother to experience that bittersweet sense of pride and loss.
She reached again for her sewing. There had been time, at least, for her to start making Robbie some new shirts for the winter. With any luck she would have his wardrobe in good order before the rush of sewing for the fall and winter assemblies began. It was peaceful to sit in the sunlit yard in back of the cottage and do her own work, for a change.
Katherine looked up in pleased surprise when she heard the rear gate thud shut. “Hello, Robbie.”
He started guiltily.
“Did you have an entertaining afternoon?” Katherine asked.
“Yes,” was his faint reply.
Katherine patted the bench next to her. “Tell me about your fun,” she said invitingly.
Robbie’s face took on a reluctant expression. “Let me wash up first,” he said.
His response aroused her suspicions. Robbie never liked to wash unless he was reminded.
“Oh, no, come talk now,” she said pleasantly.
Warily he took his place at her side.
Once in the closer confines of the garden bench, it was obvious to both her eyes and nose that Robbie had been up to some amazing mischief.
“You smell decidedly of horse,” she observed.
“Oh, well, we were walking and . . . um ... we stopped and petted this horse that was in the field.”
She frowned. “Do you wish to try again?”
He looked at his toes. “No, ma’am.”
“Robert Mayfield, I want to know where you went and whom you were with.”
Still staring at his feet, he mumbled, “At Warrenton.” “You were at Warrenton?”
“The earl said I could visit there anytime I wanted,” he said defensively. “Remember?”
“I am certain the earl was only being polite when he issued that invitation,” she said. “He has more important concerns than to be pestered by ten-year-old boys.”
“But he does not mind,” Robbie protested. “He says he likes my visits. And when he is busy, Frank is there to help me with my po . . .”
“Your what?”
Robbie clamped his mouth shut.
Katherine closed her eyes, willing herself to retain her temper.
“Robbie, what exactly goes on when you visit War- renton?”
He stood silent, his eyes wary and defiant.
“Robbie, if you do not tell me this instant what is going on, I will forbid you to leave this house again.”
“Lord Knowlton is teaching me to ride,” he admitted.
Katherine bit down on her Up to restrain her anger. “You did not think to ask my permission for embarking on this project?”
“I thought you would say no.”
Katherine sighed. Robbie was right, she probably would have. That was no longer the point. Robbie had been lying to her about his whereabouts for several weeks now.
“I am disappointed that you could not see your way clear to telling me what you have been doing—and that you have lied to me.”
Robbie frowned. “I did not want to he, Mama. But it is so wonderful to ride! Knowlton says I have a natural seat and it will not be long before anyone is unable to tell I have not been riding since I was little.”
As the enthusiastic words tumbled out and his eyes lit with excitement, he reminded Katherine of his father. Robert had always responded with the same animation when he was excited. She knew what he would say if he was standing here beside her now. That she was coddling the boy. That Robbie was ten and needed to spend less time with his mother and more time with boys his own age— and other grown-ups as well. And that he should learn how to ride.
Katherine sighed, knowing that to say no now would cause more harm than good. “You should have spoken to me about this earlier,” she said, attempting to look stern.
“Yes, ma’am.” Robbie looked at her with apprehension. “Will I . . . will you still let me learn?”
Katherine nodded, then found herself nearly knocked off the bench as Robbie flew at her, grabbing her in a grateful hug.
“Oh, thank you,” he gasped. “I promise I will be very, very careful. That is why Knowlton bought the pony—because the other horses were all so big, he said even if I did fall off it would not be such a long way to the ground, and—”
His words finally registered. “Lord Knowlton bought you
a pony?”
Robbie reddened at his untimely revelation.
“Robbie?”
“Just a small one,” he whispered.
Katherine’s control snapped. This was outside of enough. Knowlton must have known that she would not be pleased with Robbie’s riding lessons. But to actually buy him his own horse to ride . . . Tears of anger and humiliation stung at her eyes. She took a deep breath.
“Robbie, I should like you to go and wash up now. Dinner will be ready soon.”
As soon as Robbie entered the house, she gave vent to her anger with an elaborate oath. Damn Knowlton and his charity. She was well aware she could not afford to provide Robbie with the usual posse
ssions of a young boy of his class. But that did not give the earl the right to do it for her. Her cheeks burned with humiliation. Why was it that every time she thought she had reached an accommodation with her current status, something like this came along to remind her of all the things that were no longer possible?
She clenched her hands in an attempt to still her rage. This life had been her choice, she reminded herself. She had known at the outset that there would be times like these, when the poverty she had sentenced them to would grate on her soul. But there were worse things in this life than poverty. She and Robbie were still together, and that was more important than all the ponies in the world.
Robbie would be unhappy with her, she knew, when she informed Lord Knowlton that her son could not accept such a present from him. But she could not allow her love for Robbie to overcome her scruples. Tomorrow she would tell Lord Knowlton exactly what she thought of his gift.
Chapter Five
Virtue, how frail it is!
Friendship how rare!
—Shelley, Mutability
Katherine’s fingers trembled slightly as she struggled to fasten the tiny buttons on the back of her gown. A night’s sleep had not lessened her anger with the earl. He had no right to involve himself so deeply in Robbie’s life, teaching her son how to ride and presenting him with a pony. Such arrogance! She would put an end to it once and for all. Robbie would be disappointed, but this was something she simply could not tolerate.
She was almost grateful to the earl, in a way, for precipitating this crisis. For now she truly had a reason to be angry with him. At every encounter, Katherine had found it more and more difficult to retain her firm barrier against his immeasurable charm, despite the danger he represented. Today, after such a provocation, it would be easier to keep him at arm’s length.
Anxiously, she surveyed her appearance in the cracked glass above her dressing table. In her Sunday best gown of dove-gray silk, a survivor from her days of mourning for Robert, she made a respectable sight. There would be no flour smudges to amuse the earl today. And with her outrageous hair tucked under her bonnet, she would present the very image of a responsible, concerned, and efficient lady. A lady whose words would be heard and heeded.
Hastening down the stairs, she gathered her cloak and bonnet and moved into the dining parlor to use the sideboard mirror to ensure she had tied her ribbons just so.
Satisfied at last with her presentation, she grabbed up her reticule and stepped outside.
Despite the bright sky, there was a fall chill in the air and she was glad to have her cloak about her shoulders. With businesslike strides she set out for Warrenton. The lion would be bearded in his den.
“Excuse me, my lord, but there is a Mrs. Mayfield here to see you.”
Knowlton started with surprise at the butler’s announcement, and he stepped from behind his desk. He could barely believe his good fortune. He had been trying to think of a reasonable excuse to invite her to Warrenton, and now she appeared as if in answer to his wish.
“Please escort the lady in, Hutchins. And have a tea tray sent up.”
From the moment she had stepped over the threshold of Warrenton, Katherine’s courage had begun to desert her. As she followed the butler up the stairs, she suspected there were few country homes that matched the splendor and opulence of this house. Katherine found it odd to have a rakish bachelor in possession of such worldly magnificence. She fleetingly longed to turn tail and run; then she mentally shook herself. It was she who had a grievance, not the earl. It was she who dealt from a position of strength. He was the one who had acted in error.
Knowlton’s lips curved into a welcoming smile as she entered his study.
“Good day, Mrs. Mayfield. How delightful to have you visit me at last.” He nodded to Hutchins to withdraw and bring the tray. “Allow me to take your bonnet and cloak.”
“That will not be necessary—”
He cut her off with a peremptory wave of his hand. “No, I insist. You must stay for tea and whatever else Hutchins brings from the kitchen.” He reached out an imperious hand for her outer clothing.
Katherine ignored his outstretched hand, clutching her reticule tightly in her nervousness. She felt all her confidence draining and she strove to regain control of the situation. She was here with a complaint, and she would not let his honeyed words soothe her into forgetting her purpose.
“I am not here for a social call, Lord Knowlton,” she began, fixing him with a stem look. “I have come because I was very upset to discover that not only have you been teaching my son to ride but also you have purchased a mount for him with all the attendant accoutrements. I simply cannot allow such a thing.”
“And pray tell why not?” Knowlton kept his expression blank.
“You have no right to present my son with expensive gifts.”
Knowlton suppressed the urge to grin at the indignant look on her face. He did not think she would appreciate humor at the moment. “You find it improper? I would agree with you—had I given you a gift. But I hardly think it wrong for me to present Robbie with a token of my friendship.”
“A horse is hardly a ‘token of friendship,’ ” she retorted angrily.
“It is also a gift not worthy of such anger.” He knew his deliberate calmness would ruffle her further.
“Certainly, you are aware that I have no means to maintain a horse for Robbie. Why else do you think a ten-year- old boy raised in the country does not ride?”
“Robbie’s horse may reside in my stable. That was my intention when I purchased it for him.”
“And for how long?” Katherine lifted her chin indignantly. “At some point in time, responsibility for its care will devolve upon me.” Her expression turned bitter as she acknowledged the truth of her situation. “I cannot afford it. It is better that he should never have access to an animal, for he then will not know what he is lacking.”
“He will be a poor cavalry officer if he cannot ride.” Knowlton could not hide his mocking smile.
“I have no intention of allowing Robbie to join the military.”
He watched her stiffen into a prim position, so in contrast to that distracting hair that peeked teasingly from under her outmoded bonnet. His hands itched to free it.
“Oh, come now, Mrs. Mayfield. Your own husband was an officer in the cavalry.” He smiled more benignly now, his head tilted to one side. “It is an honorable career.”
“It is a highly unsuitable one for a young man of little means,” she retorted. “It is an air-castle dream without any foundation in reality. If there is no money to maintain a horse, there is even less to purchase a commission.” Knowlton hesitated, wishing to choose his words carefully. He could easily lose whatever advantage he had gained if he misspoke. “I realize, Mrs. Mayfield, that your financial situation is precarious and I respect the economies it forces you to follow. I fail to see where the gift to your son of something you are not capable of purchasing yourself can be such a problem.”
“Perhaps because you have always been able to buy everything you want,” she said heatedly. “When have you ever had to measure out your pennies and make the choice between a serviceable pair of shoes or a sack of flour?”
“I am aware that I live a fortunate life.” He flashed her a self-deprecating smile. “But if I can afford to give a horse to your son, what is your objection?”
“It is far too expensive a gift for him to accept. Had I known of it from the beginning, I would have instructed him to refuse it.”
“To what purpose? Should Robbie suffer because your pride is wounded?” He gestured to his booted foot. “Do you have any idea what one of these boots cost, Mrs. Mayfield? More than I paid for the horse, saddle, bridle, and a year’s worth of feed. And I have a closet full of boots like these.”
He continued speaking in a softer tone. “I know it is galling to want to provide the best for one you love, and not be able to. If a friend is willing to present a gift, it is only churlish to
refuse. It gave me great pleasure to present the pony to Robbie. Do not sacrifice Robbie’s happiness on the altar of your pride, Mrs. Mayfield. Do you honestly think you will achieve anything noble with your stubbornness?”
Katherine considered the wisdom of his words. He was right in saying Robbie would suffer because of her inability to accept what was in effect charity. Tears stinging her eyes, she shook her head.
“Then we will consider the matter settled. Robbie may keep his pony. And I promise I will consult you before I make any more purchases on his behalf. Agreed?” Katherine nodded slowly. “Agreed, my lord.”
Knowlton flashed her a warm smile. “That was not so difficult, was it? Now, please, Mrs. Mayfield, take off your bonnet and cloak and we can sit and enjoy the refreshments that should be arriving momentarily. I do not want your enmity. Can we not be friends?”
She stood silently, wavering in her resolve. Despite his air of wounded innocence, she still sensed that danger lurked in a “friendship” with Lord Knowlton. His reputation precluded the idea of an innocuous friendship with a woman.
“Come now, Mrs. Mayfield, I will not bite. Despite the lurid stories I am certain you have heard, I am not in the habit of seducing ladies in my study. At least, not unless they are willing. Stay and have some tea.” He again extended his hand for her bonnet and cloak.
Surprised at how little shocked she was by his bold manner, Katherine had a sinking feeling that she had somehow lost the fight as she untied her bonnet ribbons. She did not want to be at her ease with this man. She was angry—nay, furious—with him. Yet his friendly smile was most disarming.
“I had hoped you would grace Warrenton with a visit one day.” The earl smiled as he guided her to a chair. “We are beginning to think of Robbie as another member of the household. It is only fitting that his mother should be a familiar face as well.”
The Defiant Miss Foster & A Highly Respectable Widow Page 28
