“I have a good deal of responsibility,” he replied, surprising himself with his honest response. “There is much I must do and say and the weight of it is, at present, resting heavily on my shoulders.”
There was a breath of silence.
“I believe I understand, Your Grace,” came the eventual reply. “If it is of any relief, then I can assure you that I shall not seek you out for conversation nor to bat my eyes at you in the hope of gaining your attention.” She laughed softly, and Matthew could not help but chuckle, finding her remark quite humorous.
“I presume you are one of the guests,” he replied, wondering who this lady might be. “And yet you have either eluded me or are deliberately standing away from me.”
“Not you in particular, I assure you,” the voice still remaining very quiet, although a twinge of mirth was in her words. “I will gain my courage soon enough.”
Matthew could not help but chuckle at this, aware of how difficult it could be for the quieter ladies to make their mark upon society. Again, he tried to scrutinize the face of the lady without taking another step towards her, but he could barely make out any of her features. “I must hope that, when you do, I shall be permitted to put my name on your dance card,” he said, a little surprised that this idea had not only come to him but that he had spoken it without restraint. “That shall, surely, bring you a good deal more courage.”
Silence met his word, and it was not until they began to resonate all about him that Matthew realized what the lady must think he meant. It sounded that he was simply filled with his own self-worth, telling her that she should relish the opportunity to dance with him simply because of who he was.
“I-I mean to say,” he stammered, a little embarrassed, “that your courage might grow if the other ladies and gentlemen present here this evening see you dancing with the host of this evening’s ball. Not because I believe myself to be somehow the most important fellow in the room!”
“But you are, I suppose,” came the quiet reply. “Although I do believe I understand what you mean, Your Grace. I thank you for your suggestion. I shall ensure that I keep a space for you should I find the courage to step out of the shadows.”
Matthew inclined his head, a little unsettled to discover that his face was a little flushed with embarrassment. “I thank you, Miss….” He trailed off, realizing he did not know the lady’s name and that, if he did not discover it, he would not be able to seek her out for a dance later on in the evening. Lifting his head, he made to ask her what her name was so that he could do as he intended, but as he did so, he saw that she had gone. It was as if she were a wraith who had slipped into the shadows and disappeared, leaving him filled with a sudden, urgent desire to seek her out and discover who she was. It was most mysterious for he had never had such a desire before, given that a lady had never once spoken so candidly nor so boldly to him. As a duke, most young ladies seemed to sink into the floor at his presence, their voices breathy and wispy if they tried to converse. Not so with this young lady. Without introduction, she had boldly made a remark that had both caught his attention and made him laugh, and, in return, he had been entirely honest with her about what struggles were going on in his own mind.
“How very odd,” he murmured to himself, thinking about his own reaction to the mysterious lady and wondering why his mind was suddenly caught up with her instead of fixing itself on the responsibilities that were now his. Shaking his head to himself, Matthew stepped forward and, with a long breath, went to greet two young ladies who were already making eyes at him. It was time to begin.
“Your Grace.”
Matthew turned around in surprise, astonished to see his butler standing near to him, although there was a deeply apologetic look on his face and his brow heavily lined.
“Jones,” he replied, frowning as he took a few steps away from those he had been conversing with so that they would not overhear him. “Is something wrong?”
“Indeed.” The butler cleared his throat, still looking deeply embarrassed. “Your jockey has appeared at the stables, Your Grace, and is making such a commotion that we are afraid that some of the guests may hear him when they retire to bed. As it is getting later in the evening, I began to worry what might occur if that was to happen.” He drew in a long breath, looking Matthew straight in the eye. “I hope you know that I would not have come to you if I did not think that it was necessary, Your Grace,” he finished, clearly a little concerned that this was precisely what Matthew was going to think. “Your jockey is refusing to leave the premises until he has spoken to you.”
Matthew let out a long, frustrated breath. He had, only yesterday, spoken to Nathanial Rigby and stated that he had decided to find another jockey in place of the man. His arrogance had grown far too much to contain, and Matthew did not like how the man spoke to him. There was no respect in Rigby’s manner nor in his words, for he considered himself to be the best jockey in all of England and would not take any advice from anyone, not even Matthew himself. If Rigby was, in fact, the most competent jockey in all of England, then Matthew might consider retaining him even with his ridiculous behavior, but Rigby was not always consistent in his competing. On top of which, Matthew had been unable to forget how that young fellow had spoken about Beauchamp with such obvious knowledge and understanding of the horse when he had only just come across the creature some minutes before. It was more than could be said for Rigby, and it was this knowledge, combined with Rigby’s lack of decorum and respect that had forced Matthew to act.
Now, it seemed, his jockey was not about to accept such a fall from grace. Even though Matthew had warned him, even though he had spoken to him about his speech and manner, Rigby had done nothing to improve himself. Therefore, it was right and fair that Matthew do as he had stated – but apparently, Rigby did not agree. And now he was making a commotion in order to either irritate or anger Matthew in some way. Perhaps as an attempt to place some sort of consequences on Matthew’s head for what he had decided to do.
“You say he will not leave?” Matthew enquired, seeing the butler shake his head. “And staff have attempted to remove him?”
“He has threatened Beauchamp,” the butler replied, his voice dropping lower. “He states that unless he speaks to you, he will injure the horse. That is why I came to fetch you, for I do not want to make any decision that will bring injury to the stallion.”
Matthew’s stomach dropped, his heartbeat quickening with anger. “I see,” he replied, shaking his head. “I shall come at once, of course. In the stables, you say.” Glancing behind him, he saw his mother, the Dowager Blackwell, looking at him askance, as though speaking with the butler was once of the most improper things one might do. Her grey hair was set beautifully upon her head, her gown very fetching, but it was the keenness of her dark brown eyes, so like his own, that had him wary of her sharp tongue. “Let me just inform the dowager what has occurred so that she might take hold of these proceedings, and then I shall be out in a moment.” He glanced about him as he made his way to his mother, seeing how the ballroom had grown a little quieter. Some of the guests had already retired, and he certainly did not want any of them disturbed by Rigby – and nor did he want any gossip about this evening to be spread by his guests!
Quickly informing his mother that there was a grievously urgent matter that he had to attend to immediately, he hurried from the room without so much as a backward glance, feeling his mother’s eyes resting on his back as he quit the room. He had no doubt that the Dowager Blackwell would do very well in bringing the proceedings to a close should he be out of doors for long.
The night air was colder than Matthew had expected, although a welcome relief from the stuffy air in the ballroom. Matthew could hear Rigby long before he could see him, realizing that the fellow was in his cups already. As he walked, he started violently, suddenly seeing something scurrying across his path – only to tell himself to find his courage and that it had only been a fox or some such thing. Letting out a long breath, he finally came across Rigby, who was holding onto the doorframe of the stable, his head lolling to the left.
“You have arrived, Your Grace!” Rigby staggered forward, leaving the stable door open as he came nearer to Matthew, his face lit by the moonlight. Nearby, Matthew caught sight of two footmen and one of his stable hands, clearly a little wary as they drew nearer to the drunk man, and it was not until Matthew saw the knife glinting in Rigby’s hand that he realized just why they were being so cautious.
His gut twisted as he prayed that Rigby had not harmed Beauchamp in any way. “What is it you want, Rigby?” he asked loudly, seeing how the man’s footsteps now appeared to be a little firmer than before. “Why are you here?”
“I want to be your jockey,” Rigby said, his voice echoing across the gardens and a dark look now on his face. “You have no right to–”
“I have every right,” Matthew boomed, silencing Rigby at once. “You are hired and you are dismissed depending on what I feel to be correct. Your conduct was found wanting, and now, at this present moment, you are proving to me that I was correct to do so.”
Rigby let out a harsh laugh, swiping the air with his knife as if frustrated. “My conduct was just fine,” he replied, although his voice now held a little less anger. “I was the best jockey in all of England. I knew your horses. I knew how to ride them, what they were like. And then, out of n
owhere, you decide I’m no longer good enough for you?” He shook his head again, his eyes now glinting in the moonlight, making him appear almost malevolent. “That isn’t right. And there’s going to be consequences for it.”
Matthew did not know specifically what it was Rigby intended, but the steel blade in the man’s hand gave him a fair idea. However, it was not towards Matthew that Rigby began to advance but rather that he began to move towards the stable once more, backing away slowly with the knife raised.
Beauchamp.