The Defiant Miss Foster & A Highly Respectable Widow

by Melinda McRae

  “I am beginning to learn, with Robbie, that opposition only makes children more determined.” Katherine spoke carefully, afraid of alienating the marquess now that she had gained a tentative victory. “As a parent, you have to learn when to let them find their own path.”

  The marquess fingered his penknife, then sighed. “There is no question I dealt poorly with Robert on the matter of your marriage,” he admitted. “Perhaps it is time I make amends to you—and his son.”

  “I think Robert would have been pleased to hear you say that,” Katherine said, her voice catching.

  The marquess stood up quickly.

  “Where is the lad? Did you bring him with you to London, or do you still have him secreted somewhere in the countryside?”

  “He is here,” Katherine replied, allowing the first tremors of encouragement to surge through her body.

  The marquess pulled out his watch and consulted it. “Bring him around today at five,” he ordered. “The two of you may stay to dinner. Leave your address with Harlow and I will have the carriage sent round.”

  “Thank you, my lord,” Katherine said.

  The marquess waved her out of the room, immediately turning his attention to the piles of papers on his desk as if she were no longer there.

  Katherine’s knees felt weak and wobbly and she was astounded they were able to carry her out into the corridor and down those intimidating stairs. She could hardly believe that the interview had gone so well. For six years she had hidden herself and her son from this man, and in the matter of a few minutes all that had been passed over as if it never happened. Has she been a prideful fool? Had those last six years of struggle and sacrifice been totally unnecessary?

  Yet she still retained some nagging doubts about the marquess. He had tried to take Robbie from her once; would he do so again? She could be playing right into his hands. He could send Robbie off to school, hire the most expensive legal help in the country, and wrest him away from her—forever. The thought chilled her.

  But the elderly man she had encountered today was not the same man who had threatened her after Robert’s death. She was willing to concede that grief and anger had held him in their sway at that time; the years would have softened that blow. And of course, there were other grandsons now, to carry on the name. Robbie was no longer so close to the title. Perhaps the marquess spoke now in complete sincerity.

  She would have to hope so. For by returning tonight, she was casting Robbie’s fate, and hers, into the marquess’s hands. She prayed she was not making a dreadful mistake.

  “Where have you been?” Robbie’s voice demanded querulously as she reentered their sleeping chamber at the posting inn.

  “Visiting,” Katherine replied briefly, laying her warm winter cloak carefully over the back of the chair. “Did you finish with your Latin?”

  He scowled. “Almost.”

  She shook her head, but she was not angry. What boy of his age would be interested in Latin grammar when there was all of London to explore? Yet his leg was still weak, and not up to a rigorous traverse of the city’s streets. The Latin would occupy his mind while he recovered his strength.

  “We will be going out tonight,” she said casually, groping for the best way to explain things to Robbie. How best to tell him all that had transpired between her and the Mayfield family? Would he understand the reasons for her actions six years ago? Or would it all be too confusing?

  “Will I have to wear my new clothes?” He grimaced.

  She nodded, and sat down facing him. “Robbie, there is

  something important I need to discuss with you. You are ten now, and very nearly a young man, and therefore old enough to know most of the story.” She took a deep breath as she regarded her son’s quizzical eyes.

  “Your father was more than a captain in the cavalry,” she began. “He was also the son of a marquess.”

  “A marquess? Papa?”

  “The son of a marquess,” she reiterated. “And only a younger one, which is why he was in the cavalry, for the titles and estates will go to his elder brother. When your father and I married ...” She paused for a moment, watching his face carefully, fearing his reaction to these revelations. “Neither his family nor mine was very happy about it. The marquess, in particular, was very angry.”

  She halted in her narrative. It would be pointless to tell Robbie just how angry the marquess had been, and the words that had been exchanged between father and son when Robert had brought home his Gretna bride to the family estate. It would be best if Robbie never heard that story—or what had transpired between herself and the marquess after Robert’s death.

  “That is why I have not spoken of him before. But he is your grandfather, Robbie, and you have aunts and uncles and cousins here in London and in the country. I spoke with your grandfather this morning, and he is very eager to meet you.”

  She would not tell him what the outcome of the meeting could mean for the both of them. School was not a primary concern of Robbie’s; he was too young to know the advantages that would accrue from consorting with his peers. Or the doors that could be opened to him at the word of a marquess. Better that he looked forward only to having a family around him at last.

  “Is my grandfather still angry?”

  Katherine shook her head and smiled encouragingly. “He is not. That was long in the past. He has invited us to dine with him tonight, which is a great honor, for not everyone has the opportunity to dine with a marquess. That is why I wish you to wear your new clothes and demonstrate your best manners, so I can be proud of you.”

  “Tell me about my cousins.”

  “I know very little about them, I am afraid. Your papa had several sisters, and they all have children even older than you. I know there are two young boys—the sons of your uncle. You can ask your grandfather about them tonight.”

  She studied him closely, trying to gauge his reaction to the news. But Robbie’s face only reflected his boyish curiosity.

  “Does this mean,” he asked at last, “that we are not going to go back to Rose Cottage?”

  “Yes, Robbie. The marquess will probably find us another place to live, closer to his house.” And far away from the Earl of Knowlton.

  “What will happen to my pony?”

  “When we are settled, you can write to the earl and ask him for your pony. You will not be able to ride until your leg is stronger anyway. And I would not be surprised if the marquess has some ponies of his own that he might let you ride.”

  To her relief, that answer appeared to mollify his concern. She had felt a twinge of guilt at leaving Robbie’s pony behind, knowing that he might never see the animal again. If the marquess did take them in, the pony could be retrieved. She knew it would reveal her location to Knowlton, but by then it would not matter. She was certain he would have little to say to her in their changed circumstances. And there was little she wished to say to him. She wished to avoid any future contact with the earl for as long as possible. Until all the dreams he had so thoroughly dashed faded from her memory.

  Katherine noted with a self-conscious start that Robbie was watching her closely. This was no time for what-might- have-been, she chided herself.

  “I promised I would show you some of the sights of town today,” she said, brightening. “Shall we see what we can see from the windows of a hackney?”

  Robbie scowled. “My leg is fine, Mama.”

  “And I intend for it to stay that way. We shall save it for more important endeavors like the Tower and the waxworks. It would be a pity to tire it out now and have to miss those sights.”

  “All right,” he grumbled.

  Katherine sympathized. He had been inactive far too long. But he still favored the healing limb, and walked with

  a slight limp, particularly when he was tired. Until he was perfectly well, she did not want to take any risks.

  She managed to find a hack that was not too worn or filthy inside, and once the driver got over his surprise at being
ordered to drive about the streets so they could gawk like tourists, it was a pleasant journey. It was a wanton extravagance as well, Katherine noted ruefully, but if all proceeded as planned, money would no longer be of such pressing concern. With Robbie’s schooling paid for, she could exist quite easily on the small competence she had, so she even had the man stop at Gunther’s, where she treated Robbie to his first ice.

  They dallied so long that it was a mad scramble to get themselves ready for their visit to the marquess. Katherine slicked Robbie’s wayward hair to his head in hopes of his making a more presentable appearance and of disguising its brilliant red shade. She dressed herself in her serviceable gray silk, twisting her hair into a demure chignon. For once, she wished she had a decent cap she could wear. It would make her look older and more responsible. And hide that devilish red hair.

  As if that would impress the marquess. Despite the favorable outcome of the morning’s visit, she was still more nervous than she wished to be. As she herded Robbie into the waiting carriage, his eyes had widened at the sight of the grand town coach with its coat of arms upon the door and the liveried grooms.

  “Is the marquess rich?” Robbie whispered when they were settled inside on the padded velvet seats.

  She nodded. “He is.”

  “Will he give us money, then, so we do not have to be so poor?”

  “In the first place, Robbie, we are not poor.” Katherine could not keep the defensive tone from her voice. “We just do not have enough money for frivolous whims. And the marquess will do whatever he pleases with his money. It is not our concern.”

  What a dreadful lie, she scolded herself. Money was precisely what she was asking the marquess for. But somehow the thought of asking for tuition money did not sound so crass.

  “Damn that witch!”

  Knowlton stormed out the door of the Rose Cottage, his face contorted in anger. What kind of a monster did she think he was? He had accepted her refusal, had acknowledged that she considered it no compliment. There was no need for her to pack their belongings and flee from him as if he posed a danger.

  Why? Why had she left, without a word to anyone, or a message to him? He knew now he had sadly misjudged her. His offer of protection had been received as a mortal insult. Knowlton felt a spasm of regret for that. But certainly she would realize her angry rejection had effectively stilled his intentions regarding her?

  Had something else gone wrong while he was gone? Knowlton felt a stab of concern. He knew Kate had little money. Her furniture was gone; that would have entailed the expense of a cart for the journey to wherever she had fled. Rents could be low at this time of year, but food would grow dearer as winter neared. He knew she had supplemented what income she had with sewing, but would she have that opportunity in the new place she settled? He cringed at the thought of her and Robbie in need, hungry and cold throughout the harsh months to come.

  And what was worse, he would probably never know her fate. Pain shot through him at the dismal thought. If she and Robbie arrived at some pitiful state, he would never know. It would not take many reversals to reduce them to paupers; they could find themselves on the parish rolls in short time. Why was she being such a fool? He would never have forced his intentions upon her. She was safe after she made it clear she did not want him.

  But she had wanted him. That had been no feigned passion that night in Robbie’s room. She had been as bold and wanton as any lover he had bedded, wildly exciting, achingly tender, and firing such a yearning in him as he had never known before. Even now, in the cold October wind, his body raged with desire at the remembered feel of her. He had struggled against the burning heat of his memories during his absence from Warrenton, consoling himself with knowledge that he could douse the flames in the softness of a more willing female body if he so desired. That he had not done so was his own folly.

  Knowlton mounted his horse and took a long, last scowling look at the Rose Cottage. He had been driven with such plans, such ideas. Once Robbie was settled in school, he had thought to travel. Kate would have enjoyed that, he was certain. Paris, Switzerland, Italy. He wanted to share with her all the delights he had discovered there, and search for new ones they could both share. And now . . . now . . .

  With a vicious tug at the reins he set his heels to his horse. He had better things to do than worry about the fate of such an ungrateful woman and her son. He had offered to help, and his offer had been refused. Very well, he would spend no more time with them. Let them seek their own fate.

  Chapter Fifteen

  Wherefore hast thou left me now Many a day and night?

  Many a weary night and day 'Tis since thou art fled away.

  —Shelley, Song

  Katherine could not shake her last-minute jitters as she and Robbie entered the marquess’s town house. She was not worried about her son’s impression upon the marquess— she knew that Robbie’s deportment and manners were all she could wish, and he would not shame her. It was her own behavior she concerned herself with. If things began to go wrong, she did not know if she could rely on her good sense to still her tongue. The marquess still had far to go in earning her trust.

  “This is even fancier than Knowlton’s house,” Robbie whispered to his mother as they followed the butler up the stairs. “Did my papa really live here?”

  She nodded. “Not often, though. He grew up at the country estate.”

  “Will we got here sometime too?”

  “Perhaps,” she said, her lips compressing in a thin line. Her memories of her one visit to that house were bitter.

  At the top of the stairs she motioned for the butler to halt, and she turned Robbie toward the picture that had so captured her imagination that morning.

  “That young boy is your papa, Robbie.”

  “Really?” He stopped and stared. “He looks different from the miniature.”

  “The miniature was painted much later,” Katherine explained. “Why, he must have been near your age when this painting was done. The older boy is Frederick, your uncle.”

  “I don’t look much like him, do I?” Robbie asked with a note of regret.

  “Of course you do,” Katherine hastened to reassure him. “You have my hair, but otherwise you look very much like him. See how full of mischief he looks? I wager he was nearly as big a scamp as you.”

  The butler coughed and Katherine shot him a sharp look.

  “Lord Robert could be quite a handful,” he said.

  “Did you know my papa?” Robbie asked eagerly. “What do you remember about him?”

  “That he was always a very inquisitive lad,” the butler said, and a ghost of a smile crossed his face. “Stubborn as could be when he was thwarted, and always in and out of trouble.”

  Katherine smiled fondly. Robbie and his father were very like—and both took after the old marquess. Her amusement faded as she remembered the confrontational scenes between Robert and his father. Would Robbie carry on the strife into the next generation? She prayed she had successfully leavened some of his willfulness. She gently nudged him forward.

  “Your grandfather is waiting,” she reminded him.

  Robbie took one last look at the portrait and followed her down the long corridor to the drawing room. Katherine stood aside nervously to allow Robbie to enter. She had said her piece in the morning. The outcome of this evening depended upon Robbie and his grandfather.

  The marquess rose from his chair as they entered, surveying his grandson with a skeptical look.

  “So,” he said at last. “I suppose it was too much to hope that you would have inherited your father’s coloring.”

  “I have my mama’s hair,” Robbie said proudly. Katherine knew that no matter the outcome of this interview, she would forever be proud of her son for that defiant remark.

  “So you do,” said the marquess, nodding his head.

  “Mama says I look a lot like Papa. We saw the portrait at the top of the stairs. Was he really my age then?”

  The
marquess looked startled. “You may have the right of it, my boy. He could not have been more than ten or eleven when it was painted. And you are ten now?”

  “Almost eleven,” said Robbie. “In January.”

  Katherine could almost hear the marquess mentally ticking off the months. “A full ten months after the marriage,” she remarked with a tinge of sarcasm.

  He had the grace to look embarrassed, then turned back to Robbie. “Is this your first trip to London?”

  Robbie nodded.

  “And how do you find the city?”

  “I have not seen that much,” Robbie confessed. “Mama and I took a hackney and drove through the city this afternoon. She does not want me walking much because of my leg.”

  “Ah, yes, your leg. Came a cropper, did you?”

  “It was my fault,” Robbie said. “Mama told me not to ride near to where they were shooting, but I forgot.”

  “Sounds like your mama gave you some sensible advice,” the marquess said. “Do you always forget what she tells you?”

  “No, sir. Only once in a while.”

  Katherine stifled a smile.

  The marquess motioned for them to sit. Katherine settled upon the low sofa, but Robbie took a chair next to the marquess.

  “Mama said I was to ask you about my cousins,” Robbie said. “Are there any my age?”

  Katherine realized with a pang how few opportunities there had been for Robbie to develop friendships among youths his own age. It was one more thing her stubborn pride had cost him.

  “Georgie’s eldest is nearing eighteen,” the marquess mused. “There are a gaggle of females ranging from five to fifteen, but no lads your age, I am afraid. Frederick’s two boys are still in short coats; too young to be of much interest to you.”