The Defiant Miss Foster & A Highly Respectable Widow

by Melinda McRae

  “Bapa is off somewhere, Caro. But I can take you to your mother now.” Katherine grinned in delight at Knowlton’s bedraggled cravat. “You seem to have decidedly adverse effects on people’s clothing,” she scolded the girl. “Look what you have done to Lord Knowlton’s cravat.”

  “Oh, do not scold her for that,” said Knowlton, a wicked gleam lighting his eyes. “I have never yet objected to a lady removing my cravat. Or any other article of clothing, for that matter.”

  Katherine planted a noisy kiss on Caro’s cheek to avoid a reply. “Shall we find Mama?”

  “Outright rejection from two ladies.” Knowlton placed his hand over his heart. “Ladies can be so cruel, but do not despair. I know one day I will recover from the wound to my vanity.”

  “Do not listen to your Uncle Knowlton when he is being so silly,” Katherine warned Caro.

  “Uncle Knowlton?” his eyes mirrored his disgust.

  Katherine flashed him an impish smile. “But assuredly. You performed an excellent rendition of the doting uncle. I cannot wait to tell Elizabeth and Somers of your achievement.”

  “Kate . . .” he said warningly.

  She quickly sidestepped him and headed for the stairs.

  Chapter Eleven

  Take heed of loving me,

  At least remember, I forbade it thee.

  —John Donne, The Prohibition

  Katherine was eager to talk with Knowlton about what she had seen and heard while he entertained Caro. Surely, confronted with such irrefutable evidence, he would acknowledge that he was not completely averse to family

  life. As if coming to her aid, Somers and Elizabeth had retired early again—ostensibly because Elizabeth was fatigued. The knowing glance the two exchanged before leaving made it clear to Katherine the real purpose of their departure. She gave a longing sigh at the marked sign of their affection and, picking up her sewing again, edged her chair infinitely closer to the candles.

  “I begin to wonder if I have unknowingly committed some grievous offense,” Knowlton said while he refilled his brandy glass from the decanter on the table. “They flee from me with such ease.”

  “I rather think they prefer to be alone with each other,” Katherine said.

  Knowlton frowned and leaned negligently against the mantel. “They remind me of someone newly converted to Methodism, with their superior attitude and smug smiles.” He tossed back his head for a long swallow of brandy.

  Katherine stuck her needle into the cloth and looked at him with a quizzical expression. “Why do you make mock of their happiness?”

  “Because I know it will not last,” he said curtly.

  Katherine picked up her needle again, forcing herself to concentrate on taking neat, even stitches. Knowlton hated the evidence that Somers had a heart. Was it because he feared to discover that he had one of his own? Or was he envious because he had none?

  “My father once said that one should never question the strength of another’s love,” she said quietly. “For the answer was more often a reflection of the questioner’s own desires, rather than a true measure of the other’s.”

  “But there is nothing at stake for me in this matter,” Knowlton said, his gray eyes darkening.

  “Are you so certain?” she asked quietly. “Perhaps it is envy that causes your irritation. You covet what Somers has.”

  Knowlton glared at her oddly. “Are you implying that I desire Elizabeth?”

  Katherine shook her head. “Of course not. I meant what they have together, a settled marriage, with a family.”

  “What would I do with a collection of brats?” He grimaced. “Noisy, loathsome creatures that only cut up your

  peace, spend enormous sums of money, and then run off with unsuitable partners.”

  “Your protestations are weak, Edward.” Katherine was determined to draw him out, to force him into an explanation or at least an admission of his antipathies. “I have seen how you deal so patiently with Robbie. And after this morning, Caro worships you. All she could say after I restored her to Elizabeth was ‘No-ton, No-ton.’ ”

  “I do have a way with the ladies,” he replied with a smug smile.

  “Why are there so many?” she persisted. “Is not the admiration of one woman enough for you?”

  “But how could I be so cruel as to confine my attentions to only one?” he said in feigned indignation. “When there are so many others who would welcome it as well? It would hardly be the gentlemanly thing to do.”

  Katherine sighed in exasperation. “There has not yet been one lady who captured your heart?”

  “You are looking at an anatomical miracle—I have no such organ. Or so it has been claimed.” Knowlton presented a front of calm indifference as he strolled to the table and refilled his glass. Kate’s piercing questions made him edgy. He had not wanted an inquisition this evening, he only wished to pass the time amiably with a woman whose company he enjoyed. Kate seemed determined to spoil all that.

  “Besides, by bestowing my interests in several directions, I perform a valuable service,” he said, turning back toward Kate. “For who else would listen as disappointed wives tell their troubles? And only think of all the young ladies who would be forced into the streets if deprived of my generous subscriptions. I could not be so unfeeling.”

  “You are quite the philanthropist,” she said dryly.

  “Let us talk of you for a change,” said Knowlton, eager to deflect her attention. “For someone who is so eager to trumpet the joys of the married state, you set a poor example. Alone for six long years . . .”

  “There are not many who would offer for an impoverished widow with a son,” she said.

  “Have there been any?”

  “No offers I would deign to accept,” she said quickly, focusing her gaze on her sewing so he would not see her heightened color. Oh, she had received offers aplenty. But none of them respectable.

  “Of course, the prim-and-proper Kate Mayfield would not listen to an improper offer.” Knowlton stepped closer, reaching out his hand to stroke his fingers lightly across her cheek. He had caught a glimpse of the passion that lay beneath her surface calm. Could she really be content to remain alone forever? “Sometimes I wonder about the woman who hides behind that facade. She must long to come out at times. I wager she would enjoy herself very much if she did.”

  Katherine’s skin burned under his touch, his nearness making it difficult to collect her thoughts. He came so close to the truth. And each moment she spent with him made it harder to hide her yearnings. But as he remained closed to her, she must remain the same to him.

  “Perhaps not every woman is susceptible to your entreaties,” she said quickly, fighting against the distracting feel of his fingers as they caressed her neck.

  “I have never yet met a woman who was indifferent to me,” he said in a seductive whisper. “Are you so certain you can be?”

  No, she thought. She was no more impervious than any other of his conquests. But she still had the strength to resist him. Barely. “Yes.”

  “I think otherwise,” he said, withdrawing his hand from where it rested on her neck.

  “Only a fool would express interest in a man with a self- proclaimed lack of heart.”

  “Perhaps no one has ever wished me to possess one,” he said lightly, taking a step away from her chair.

  His comment jolted Katherine. Could it be that no other woman had desired or demanded his love? A wave of sympathy rushed over her. No wonder he protested so vehemently against that which he had never known. Yet it also stirred hope within her—for it was possible that he would one day acknowledge that he could care.

  Knowlton gazed at Katherine, wanting to reach out and touch her fiery curls, the reflected firelight streaking them with gold. The brandy, the warm room, and Kate’s nearness wreaked havoc with his senses. It had been so very long since that kiss in the garden. His self-imposed restraint grew more difficult with each passing moment in her presence.

  Looki
ng at him, Katherine saw the desire in his eyes and she was afraid. Not of him, but of herself. She grew less certain of her willingness to tell him no.

  “I fear the hour grows late,” she said, folding up her sewing and gathering her threads.

  “Tarry awhile longer,” he urged. “If our discussion bores you, we could play cards.”

  “Thank you, but I should be to bed. Robbie will waken early.”

  He nodded, accepting her departure with regret. He saw her to the door, pressed a swift kiss on her hand, and watched her walk up the stairs. Returning to the room, he sank down into the chair she had only recently moved from.

  Was it possible that Somers and Elizabeth would continue to live for years in their besotted state, as Kate seemed to think? The possibility sent a cold chill through his heart. For if Somers, the laughing, teasing, amatory expert he had known so long, was snared by love, it meant that at last there was a barrier between them that could never be breached.

  For Knowlton held no illusions about his ability to love. He could no more confine himself to one woman for any length of time than he could avoid eating, or breathing. It was variety that had always been the siren call in his life. Endless variety, sampled with an appetite bordering on voracious. He had been fonder of some than others, he was willing to grant, but no more than that.

  And, admittedly, he was fond of Kate. She had intrigued him from the first, generating a mixture of lust and need that surprised him with its intensity. After his disturbing ennui in London, it was comforting to know he could still desire a woman as deeply as he desired Kate.

  Yet there was more than sheer lust guiding his dealings with her. He had never danced attendance on a woman for such a length of time without slaking his physical need. But it was possible, in the middle of a drawing room conversation, or a walk through the garden, to forget for a moment how much he wanted her and to simply enjoy her company.

  It was the novelty of the situation, surely, that made it

  so enjoyable. He had never lived in such a domestic situation with another woman. It was, he thought wryly, something like having a wife. They took breakfast together at times, shared a luncheon now and again, and were always together for dinner. After he and Somers enjoyed a companionable glass, they then joined the ladies for a quiet evening. And Knowlton found it all eminently enjoyable. Particularly when the Wentworths departed and he had Kate to himself.

  He grinned in rueful amusement. If he was not careful, Kate would have him half-believing that it was possible to be content with only one partner. Perhaps it was possible for Somers. But not for him. Kate might hold him for longer than any other woman had. But “forever” was a word used only by poets and dreamers. It had no basis in reality—for him.

  The next afternoon, Katherine noted with surprise the large box resting on her bed. It had not been there when she went down to lunch. Puzzled, she lifted the cover, unwrapped the paper, then drew back her hand in stunned surprise. It was a dress, of a deep, rich plum hue. The bodice and sleeves were ornamented with ribbons and lace of a shimmering silver. Her hand trembling, Katherine drew the gown from its wrappings. With its high waist and deeply flounced hem, it was of the first stare of fashion and the most exquisitely beautiful dress she had ever seen. She had looked at enough of Elizabeth’s fashion books over the last weeks to recognize that.

  Tears of humiliation stung her eyes. Elizabeth knew she did not have a proper dinner dress and had purchased this for her. It was a generous gesture, but hateful just the same. Katherine knew she should be filled with gratitude, but her pride would not allow her. How hateful it was to be poor.

  “Katherine, have you seen . . . ? Oh, what a beautiful creation!” Elizabeth stepped through the door. “You decided on a new dress after all! I like it so much better than the gray silk.”

  Katherine turned toward her, a bemused expression on her face. “It is not from you?” she asked in confusion. “It was here on my bed.”

  “Had it been mine, I never would have given it away,”

  sighed Elizabeth, running her hand over the silky fabric. “Did you think that I . . . ?”

  Katherine nodded.

  Elizabeth smiled. “I had thought to do such a thing, but I feared you would say no if I asked. Obviously the giver did not bother to ascertain your desires.”

  Katherine instantly knew from whom the dress had come. “I will be back,” she said, dashing from the room.

  Knowlton was in the library, his head bent over a pile of papers. His face lit with a warm smile as Katherine entered. “Did you order that dress?” she demanded angrily. Knowlton leaned back in his chair, his arms crossed over his chest. “We are direct and to the point, are we not? No time spent in idle chitchat or greetings for Kate Mayfield. We must immediately reach the heart of the matter.” The smile never left his face as he capped the inkwell and folded his hands upon the desk. “Now, my dear, what dress is it that you refer to?”

  For a minute Kate’s assurance faltered. Yet if not he, then who? “There was a dress upstairs, on my bed. A very elegant, fashionable, and expensive dress.”

  “Oh, that one. You came in here with such a flurry, I was afraid I might have switched it with the one that arrived for the housekeeper. That certainly would have been an error.” Katherine trembled with her anger. “How can you possibly think I could accept such a gift from you?”

  “Now, Katherine, you are not going to get on your high ropes and throw out all those loathsome remarks filled with pride and injured vanity and such things?” Knowlton’s smile took on a mocking cast. “I am having a dinner party. You are an invited guest without a suitable garment to wear. Therefore, I have provided you with one. I found it to be a rather simple solution.”

  “It is highly improper.” Katherine glared at Knowlton. “You cannot buy clothing for me as if I were your . . . your . . .”

  “Mistress? Chere amie?” His smile widened. “I assure you, I am quite aware that you hold no such position in my life.” He uttered a long, regretful sigh. “Since you do not, what does it matter?”

  “What will the other guests think?”

  “I highly doubt, unless you wear a neatly lettered placard stating, ‘This dress purchased by Lord Knowlton,’ that anyone will have the foggiest notion that the dress did not come from your own closet.”

  “Everyone knows I could not afford such an elegant gown.” Humiliation began to war with her anger.

  “Then let on that you borrowed it from Lady Wentworth. I understand it is not unheard-of for ladies to share their clothes.”

  “But I will know!”

  “And it bothers you greatly, doesn’t it?” Knowlton tilted his head to one side and examined her closely. “Kate, Kate, Kate. When are you going to learn how to be a gracious recipient? Were you never taught that it is always polite to say thank you for a gift, even if the present you receive is not one that you particularly want? Lord knows, I have been accused of all manner of rudeness, but I am still able to remember that particular rule.”

  She wrung her hands in frustration. “It is not that I object to the gift, Edward, but what it represents.”

  “And what does it represent?” he asked, his voice light and teasing.

  “That. . . that there is more than friendship between us.” “Is there?” he arched a querying brow.

  “We are merely friendsshe insisted hastily. “Friends do not exchange such intimate gifts.”

  Knowlton laughed. “I would hardly call a dress ‘intimate.’ Now, had I given you a chemise, or stockings, or garters, you might have cause for complaint.”

  He sat silently for a moment, as if appraising her thoughts. “I know! It is the color to which you are averse. I had thought to consult with you on the subject, but I knew we would have a tiresome argument along these lines, so I thought to trust my own judgment. I knew I should have ordered the green.”

  “You simply do not care a whit about my feelings on this matter, do you?” She made no attempt to hide
the anger in her voice.

  “No, I do not.” Knowlton grew exasperated with her obstinate refusal to accept his gift. “You are being stubborn to the point of stupidity. You were given a gift—take it graciously and leave off with this argument.” He stood and took a menacing step forward. “I assure you, Kate May- field, that if you do not wear that dress to dinner tomorrow, I will announce that fact in front of the entire company and bring down worse embarrassment than you could ever imagine upon your head. You can toss the thing in the rag bag the next day, for all I care, but you will wear that damned dress to dinner!”

  Katherine scowled angrily. Could he not see that his persistence only caused her further humiliation? “How can you continue to offer help to me when you know I do not wish it? First Robbie’s pony, then your invitation to remain here, and now this.”

  “I interfere because I want to,” he said, his gray eyes softening. “I know this will be difficult to believe, but I have a great weakness for ladies in distress. They bring out whatever vestiges of respectability are still left within me. It would be immodest of me to recount some of the good works I have performed, but I assure you, there are several ladies in the kingdom who have me to thank for rescued lovers, restored incomes, and salvaged brothers.”

  “So now I am your current charity project? That is almost a worse insult.”

  “I assure you, Kate, I am not acting out of charity.” His eyes darkened to a smoky gray. “If I told you that I desire you more than I have ever desired any other woman, and long to see that rich fabric draped over your soft curves so that I may further admire them, would you then consent to wear it?”

  Katherine clenched her fists. “You are impossible!”

  “I agree,” he said, his eyes twinkling at her discomfort. “But since you are so opposed to ‘charity,’ I thought lust might make a more appealing motive.”