The Defiant Miss Foster & A Highly Respectable Widow

by Melinda McRae

  “Did you say yes?” “I did not give him an answer,” she explained, relieved that Robbie showed no signs of distress. “I told him I needed some time to consider. I knew that I needed to discuss it with you. I have thought that you two dealt well with each other.”

  Robbie nodded absently. “If you married him, would we go to live at his house?”

  “We would.”

  “So I would not go to Grandpapa’s for the summer?” The disappointment in his voice was clear.

  “You could certainly go for a visit,” she said. “Lord Belton has a country house of his own, you know, in Dorset. I imagine there are lots of things you could do there.”

  “And I would still go to school in the fall?”

  “Yes.”

  Robbie stared down at his feet, as if he found them the most fascinating objects. “If you married him, would I have to call him ‘Papa’?”

  She sensed the anxiety in his question and hugged him close. “Not unless you wished to. Lord Belton knows you remember your papa. You can call him what you wish.” Robbie’s sigh of relief told her she had mollified his worry.

  “Mama?”

  “Hmm?”

  “Would we ever see Lord Knowlton again if you marry Lord Belton?”

  The pain of that thought tore through her. “We might see him in town on occasion,” she said slowly.

  “I will miss him,” Robbie confided. “We played chess at his house yesterday and he said I was getting much better.”

  “You were at Knowlton’s house?” She stared at Robbie in surprise.

  “He invited me,” Robbie said defensively. “I think he wanted to take me to Astley’s, but when I told him I had gone already, he suggested we play chess. It took more than an hour for him to beat me.”

  “I am pleased your chess is improving,” she said quietly. Astley’s? How like Knowlton to confound her again. It was nearly impossible to conjure up the picture of him there. She was grateful he had not totally forgotten Robbie. She still felt twinges of guilt at having allowed their friendship to develop so last year.

  “Atlas is probably ready now,” Robbie hinted.

  She pulled him close again. “And ponies must come before mothers, I know.” Her voice turned serious. “You are certain you would not mind if I marry Lord Belton?”

  “No, Mama,” he replied, squirming to be free of her arms.

  “Ride carefully,” she instructed as he headed for the door.

  For a brief moment she wondered at Knowlton’s purpose in renewing his acquaintance with Robbie; then she firmly resolved to push all thoughts of him from her mind. She had another man to consider.

  But try as she might, she simply could not rid her mind of Knowlton. He had the annoying habit of popping into her thoughts whenever she tried to look favorably upon the idea of marriage to Belton. And she feared that the situation would continue if she agreed to marry Belton.

  Knowlton closeted himself in the study at the Upper Brook Street for several days, unwilling to make the effort to go out. The simple act of opening the paper filled him with dread, for he daily anticipated seeing in black and white that which he feared most. Robbie’s answers had only confirmed what he had long suspected. Any day now, Katherine would be affianced to Belton and lost to him forever. He had seen the closeness between them at the Worthington rout. It was only a matter of time. Knowlton desperately wanted to be able to wish them well, for he desired Katherine’s happiness above all. If Belton could provide it . . .

  It took no effort to imagine Katherine in several years, laughing and content with a doting Belton at her side and adoring children at her feet. Knowlton sucked in his breath at the sharp stab of pain that scene evoked.

  He groaned in despair as the realization hit him. He loved her. It would be laughable if it were not so horribly true. For so long he had thought himself incapable of that emotion. Yet he knew no other word to describe the hold Katherine had over him, the unbearable yearning and need he had for her. His life had been hollow and empty since the day they had parted, and he knew that he would not be at peace again until she was at his side.

  He had to have her. But, oh, the price she demanded. Fear clutched his heart. She wanted a boring, respectable marriage. Could he honestly agree to such a thing?

  Marriage would require so much of him. More than he had ever given anyone. Companionship. Dependability. Fidelity. The very words made him cringe. He had demonstrated none of those qualities in his five-and-thirty years. Was there any reason to think he could adopt them now? Could he truly change himself to become the type of man Katherine wanted? Was this newly acknowledged feeling strong enough to carry him through?

  He was not even certain he knew exactly what marriage would entail. Was it not laughingly said that every woman changed once the ring was safely on her finger? Or that the thrill quickly faded after the honeymoon period had ended? What would ultimately happen to him and Kate if they joined their lives together?

  Somers would know. Somers, who had once been as opposed to marriage as he, could tell him what happened after marriage. Did he now have any regrets over taking Elizabeth as his own? Knowlton abruptly jumped from his chair. He knew Somers had intended to spend only a short time in town. Was he still here? Racing into the hall, Knowlton grabbed his hat and gloves, hastening down the front steps for the short walk to the square. Somers was the one person he could trust to tell him the truth.

  “Knowlton, how delightful.” Elizabeth held out her hand in greeting.

  “You are as lovely as ever, my dear.” He smiled, bowing low over her hand, relieved to have found the Wentworths still in town. Elizabeth did look well. Was it true that pregnancy made a woman lovelier?

  She laughed. “How well you lie. I know I am horridly huge, and with three more months to go. Somers has already taken to calling me ‘the whale.’ ”

  “Shall I call him out for the insult?” Knowlton asked, his eyes twinkling.

  “A duel?” Somers asked, strolling into the room. “How exciting. Who is the poor fellow?”

  “You,” Knowlton replied with a grin. “Elizabeth tells me you have been casting grievous insults at her.”

  “Nonsense,” Somers said, planting a fond kiss on his wife’s cheek. “You must have misunderstood. Besides, we are leaving for home on the morrow, so I am not free to indulge your thirst for bloodshed.”

  “Do I have your leave to withdraw the challenge, my lady?”

  “Only if you stay to dine with us tonight,” she replied. “For I know it will be ages before we see you again. Babies have such an annoying habit of driving all our friends away.”

  “Then I shall stay,” he promised. He looked to Somers. “I should like to have a word with you, if I may. If your lovely wife will excuse us?”

  Elizabeth laughed. “I see even the mention of babies sends you fleeing. Go ahead, leave me here with my book. I shall be content.”

  Somers nodded toward the door. “We can repair to the study.” He gave Elizabeth another kiss and followed Knowlton into the hall.

  “You sound filled with mystery,” Somers said when they had ensconced themselves in the comfortable leather chairs that flanked the fireplace, glasses of brandy in their hands.

  “Elizabeth does look marvelous,” Knowlton said, unsure how to gain the information he needed without revealing his thoughts to Somers. “Do all women look so when they are . . . ?”

  Somers laughed. “You should have seen her over Christmas, when even the sight of breakfast caused her to turn green. I would waken every morning to the sound of her retching in the washbasin.”

  His blunt description made even Knowlton feel a bit green. “You did not ... I mean, it did not bother you?”

  “How can I complain when I am the cause of it?” Somers smiled smugly.

  “Do you ever regret giving up your freedom?” Knowlton asked bluntly.

  Somers eyed him with a guarded expression. “I do not think there is a man alive who has not asked himself t
hat question—particularly after a long night spent in the company of a screaming baby. But an honest answer? No. Never.”

  “Why?” Knowlton leaned forward, eager for the answer.

  Somers smiled enigmatically. “It is Elizabeth, pure and simple. I cannot imagine a life without her.” He set down his glass and quickly refilled it. “The night Caro was born filled me with sheer terror. I had thought I was well aware of my feelings for Elizabeth, but that night showed me just how deeply they ran. If anything had happened to her, I honestly do not think I could have gone on.”

  Knowlton did not realize he was nodding in agreement. Somers noted the action and smiled inwardly. The point of this odd conversation became clearer.

  “Is it not frightening to feel so strongly?” Knowlton took a careful sip of his brandy.

  “It is terrifying,” Somers agreed. “But I would not change it for the world. You cannot know the indescribable joy I feel when I wake each morning and find Elizabeth at my side. I would do anything in my power to make her happy, even if I had to lay down my life for her.”

  Knowlton pondered this in silence. Somers’ words echoed his own thoughts about Katherine, confirming his worst fears. It was love, this strange, unfamiliar feeling that had him in its grip. He did not know whether to laugh or cry at the finality of his knowledge.

  “It is funny,” Somers said thoughtfully, “for I did not realize for the longest time that I loved her. Oh, I knew I admired her and wanted her in a physical way. But it was not until I realized that her happiness was more important than my own—even if that meant she would be lost to me forever—that I finally understood what love really is.”

  Knowlton stared morosely into his glass. Could he selflessly let Kate walk out of his life, knowing it was best for her? Was his desperate desire to find some way to possess her an indication that he was still more concerned with his own selfish needs?

  Somers eyed his closest friend with curious interest. He well remembered the utter panic he had experienced when he had arranged matters to provide Elizabeth with an independent competence, giving her the option to refuse his offer of marriage. There had been that agony of indecision, knowing he was giving her the very excuse to reject his proposal. That she had accepted sometimes seemed nothing short of a miracle to him. And Knowlton’s situation could only be worse. Somers had been no angel, but he had certainly been more discreet in his behavior than Knowlton. Katherine Mayfield could harbor no illusions about him.

  He began to understand the reasons underlying Knowlton’s erratic behavior this spring. Why he had been seen with a new companion at every turn. He was trying to exorcize a woman from his mind. Somers shook his head, a fleeting smile touching his face. Did Knowlton not know that course was doomed to failure?

  He saw Knowlton pour himself another glass and drain it nearly as quickly. It looked to be a long afternoon. Somers refilled his own glass, remembering the night he had walked in on Knowlton and Katherine in the library. She had looked to be a willing participant in that heated embrace. Yet gossip said she was close to wedding another. He decided to test his theory.

  “I understand everyone is looking to Belton for an interesting announcement.” Somers watched Knowlton carefully and did not miss the whitening of his friend’s knuckles on the glass he held.

  “So it is said,” Knowlton said curtly, taking another large swallow of brandy.

  “It seems a rather odd match,” Somers said with feigned casualness. “Katherine struck me as a bit too spirited for a prosy fellow like Belton.”

  “One can never account for taste.”

  “I had once thought her taste was excellent. A little adventuresome, perhaps, but pointed in the right direction.” Knowlton pierced him with a withering stare.

  Somers grinned. “Of course, I might be mistaken. Perhaps she is in the habit of kissing any number of men behind closed library doors.”

  Somers was tempted to throw up his hands in a defensive posture against the glare Knowlton directed at him.

  “What I think,” Somers said, weighing his words carefully, “is that we have a man who thinks he has newly discovered he has a heart, yet is terrified to find out for certain. It is odd, since he has never struck me as a cautious sort before. Perhaps age is beginning to tell.”

  “If I thought that there was any hope,” Knowlton said finally, “I might be tempted to speak. But I see no point in pursuing an impossible quest.”

  “Are you so sure it is impossible?”

  Knowlton laughed sardonically. “What woman in her right mind would have anything to do with me?”

  “You do have a point,” Somers said, torn between amusement and sympathy. “But do you want to go through the rest of your life never knowing the answer? I suspect you will always be plagued by doubt if you do not speak now. Who knows? Perhaps the sun has touched her brain and she will say yes.”

  “It is not even her refusal that I fear the most,” Knowlton said in a low voice. “It is her acceptance. I know I shall disappoint her. I can never be the man she deserves.”

  “Should not the choice be hers?”

  Knowlton shook his head in despair. “I want to believe it is possible. But if I bring her pain, I will never be able to forgive myself.”

  “One could argue very effectively that she has certainly seen you at your worst,” Somers said. “You have put on a striking demonstration this spring of the very definition of the word ‘licentious.’ ”

  “Would to God that I could go back and have it to do all over again,” Knowlton moaned, the liquor slightly slurring his speech. “Everything, from the very start.”

  “You cannot, however, so you may as well stop wallowing in self-pity and decide what you can do now to rectify matters,” Somers said bluntly.

  “I knew I would get consolation if I came to you,” Knowlton retorted.

  Somers tossed back his head and laughed. “Is that not what friends are for?” He poured more brandy into then- glasses. “Elizabeth will probably not speak to me for a week,” he said, beginning to feel the effect himself, “but I think the occasion calls for some serious drinking.”

  Elizabeth was more than a bit disgusted when Somers and Knowlton finally staggered out of the study at the dinner bell. But she bit down on her lip and did her best to ignore their boisterous display at the dinner table. Besides, if she treated Somers too harshly he would never tell her what had transpired to bring them to such a state. And she had an overwhelming desire to know.

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  How shall ever one like me

  Win thee back again?

  —Shelley, Song

  Knowlton groaned aloud at the bright morning light streaming into his room. He was not certain whether to blame himself or Somers for his sad state.

  Despite yesterday’s talk with Somers, he was still apprehensive about speaking to Kate of his feelings. Somers had almost convinced him he should make the attempt, but in the harsh light of morning Knowlton was no longer as certain.

  He had spoken the truth when he said he feared her acceptance more than her rejection. Because that would put the burden of success squarely on his shoulders. And he could not fail. He himself could live with his failure, for his expectations of himself as a doting husband were low. But other people would be relying upon him, and if he failed them, he was not certain he could ever live with himself again. The hero worship he had often glimpsed in Robbie’s eyes frightened him silly. Could he take on the mantle of fatherhood and be a success? He was fond of Robbie, but that was not enough to make him a good father. Lord knew, he did not exactly have a shining example from his own childhood to guide him. The thought of the adoration dimming in the boy’s eyes made him wince. He could not bear to see that happen.

  And Kate. If he failed her . . . how could he ever live with himself? It was enough to send braver men fleeing in terror. He had disappointed her so many times already.

  Breaking his promise not to pursue her while she sheltered under his
roof. His abominable tormenting of her at that wretched dinner at Somers’s. His blatant flaunting of every Cyprian in the town. If she had only heard half the tales of his recent licentiousness, she was certain to have been filled with disgust. How could he possibly think she would ever seriously entertain the thought of a union with him? The idea was ridiculous.

  Yet he knew, somehow, that he had to make the attempt. For his sake, more than hers. He felt that Kate was truly his last hope. If he could not acknowledge and live with his love for her, he would never be granted that chance again. She held out to him a great prize—love, tenderness, compassion, and trust. All the emotions that he had scorned through his five-and-thirty years. All emotions he had not thought a necessary component of a man. Yet he now realized that without them, he was less than a man.

  What, in all honesty, could he offer her? He knew she had no care for his title. She had lived too long in the shadow of the power of the Winslow name to hold any affection for that. He knew she would have no qualms about his relationship with Robbie. He could not have been fonder of the boy if he was his own son. But with Robbie’s future secured by his grandfather and the rekindled contact with that family, Katherine would not be so needing of a male influence in her son’s life.

  Of course, he offered financial security. Quite a bit more than that, in fact. Katherine would never want for anything material. He would buy her the moon if he could. But with Winslow’s patronage, she would not be perched precariously on the edge of poverty anymore. And Knowlton knew her wants were simple. She was no more averse to pretty things than any woman, but she was neither avaricious nor accumulative. Money would not be a critical point with her.

  When all his other advantages had been stripped away, there was really only one thing he could offer her that no one else could—himself. And he feared that was the poorest part of the bargain. One rather cynical earl, with a history that would recommend him only to the boldest lady or the most grasping Cyprian. Certainly not a past that would make Katherine confident of the outcome of any connection.