“That is quite wonderful!” Lord Brighton exclaimed, sounding utterly delighted. “Your mother will be quite thrilled and–”
Matthew shook his head, stopping Lord Brighton in his declarations. “I have tentatively suggested that we become more than mere acquaintances, but the lady has rejected me,” he told his friend, seeing how Brighton’s face fell and feeling much the same about his own heart. “I did not even mean to suggest such a thing, but it came from my mouth without hesitation and I discovered that, even as I spoke, this was the very thing I desired.” Groaning, he ran one hand over his eyes, recalling how she had trembled as he had touched her hand. “How could I not have realized the depths of affection that were within my heart until that one moment, Brighton?”
Lord Brighton, who did not look as joyous as he had some moments ago, spread his hands wide, his empty glass now sitting on the table in front of him. “I know nothing of affection nor of love,” he admitted, a trifle sadly. “You know that I have always determined to remain a single gentleman and, as such, have made every effort to do precisely that. There will come a time when I must marry, but I had always thought I would do so out of obligation and suitability rather than any sort of genuine affection.” He tilted his head, regarding Matthew carefully. “Mayhap it is that such feelings do surprise oneself when one has not expected to ever have such an emotion.”
“That may very well be the case,” Matthew agreed, a little grimly. “But that is why it has taken me by surprise. The intensity of what I felt in that moment was…” Closing his eyes, he tried to find a word for what had occurred within him. “It was completely encapsulating. It held every part of me, rushing through me with a great force so that I could not help but be swept away by it.” Opening his eyes, he saw Lord Brighton observe him with interest, clearly caught up by what Matthew was describing. “It has not left me since that moment. In fact, I am even more convinced that I wish never to be parted from this particular lady. But it seems that I am to have no choice in the matter.”
Lord Brighton lifted his brows, shifted in his chair, and shrugged. “I cannot tell you what to do or what you ought not to do,” he said with honesty. “I have no experience in these matters. However.” He paused, signaling for yet another glass of brandy, as though that would help him clarify his thoughts. “However,” Lord Brighton continued, as the footman hurried away. “I think that if you set your mind to something, Blackwell, then you are more than likely to achieve it.”
“Not as regards this particular young lady,” Matthew replied heavily, his heart sinking towards the floor in anguish. “She is quite convinced that she is not the sort of young lady that I would find to be suitable as the wife of a duke.”
Lord Brighton’s eyes flared. “And is she correct?”
“Not in the way you might think,” Matthew said slowly, aware of what Lord Brighton would immediately go to. “She has not had her reputation ruined by anyone or anything. There has been no scandal by which her name has been blackened.”
“Then what is it?”
Matthew winced inwardly, trying to find the words to explain but struggling to find what he could say that would make sense to his friend. “She is…not particularly ladylike,” he stammered, stumbling over his words. “No, that is not what I mean. She is more than ladylike in her outward appearance and demeanor.” He had seen from her manners at the dinner table that she could behave with all propriety, which was what he would have expected. “But it is more that her pursuits and her hopes for what she might achieve in this life are a little unusual compared to her peers.”
This did not seem to clarify matters for Lord Brighton, who shook his head and waited patiently for Matthew to say more, but there was nothing else that came to mind. There were, as far as he was concerned, no words to express the rush of emotion that had come over him from the moment Lady Wells had climbed into his carriage.
She had been just the same as before in her character, in her speech, and in her demeanor, but to see her womanly form clad in a gown of emerald green that had brought a fresh brightness to her eyes, and to see her dark tresses given freedom from their usual prison had made such an affection rise up in him that for some moments, he had not been able to speak.
It was the same as he had felt the moment he had seen her riding Beauchamp across the gardens, her hair flowing wildly behind her as she had galloped. She was the most vivacious, the most determined, the most unexpected, and the most courageous young lady he had ever met, and within him was growing a furious desire not to allow her to leave his side.
But what could he do? He could not make her his jockey for the rest of her days, for she certainly could not hide away in those clothes for ever! And yet he wanted to give her the freedom she long desired, to fight for her to be given the same opportunities as he. However, it appeared he would not be able to do so if she would not allow him near. There had been unbridled longing in her eyes, a desperate hope that all would be as he promised, but she had not stepped forward and taken a hold of it. Mayhap he had not been bold enough, mayhap he ought to have stated clearly what it was he was offering her, even if the desire had in itself given him something of a start. Would she have responded in the way he’d hoped, if he’d told her clearly that he was willing to marry her, to give her as much of the life she longed for as he could?
“You really do care for this young lady, do you not?”
Tugged from his thoughts yet again, Matthew saw Lord Brighton looking at him with a small sm
ile on his face, although surprise was written in his expression.
“I do,” he admitted, wondering whether it had been that the affection for Lady Wells had been growing slowly within him only to make itself known in that one moment, or whether he had simply fallen in love with her upon seeing her as she truly was. “I just cannot find a way to convince her that she is all I will ever need. I do not care for what my mother nor what society would think, for if I care for her and she cares for me, then surely that is all that matters?”
Lord Brighton chuckled and reached for his newly filled glass of brandy. “I should say so,” he agreed, raising his glass. “I must hope that you will be able to achieve everything that you desire, Blackwell.”
Matthew accepted this with a thin smile. “And do you have any suggestion as to how I might go about it?” he asked, with a wry tone touching his words. “For I can think of none.”
“You must have determination,” Lord Brighton replied, taking a swig of his brandy. “You have long desired to win the Gold Cup and to be named Ascot’s victor. You have pursued it with everything you possess. Why not put the same force behind pursuing this young lady? Tell her that you do not accept her fears, show her that you will not care what others might say should you wed her. Prove to her that she is the object of your affections.” He shrugged. “And I am quite certain that you will, in the end, achieve your goal.”
Matthew considered this for a moment or two, a little surprised that Lord Brighton had managed to speak so eloquently and that he had given such excellent advice when he apparently knew so little of the state that Matthew now found himself in. It was, he considered, very wise to suggest that Matthew pursue Lady Wells in the same way that he had pursued the Gold Cup. It would mean giving everything he had to prove to her that she was the only one he considered, the only one he thought of. He wanted her to know that she was, in his eyes, more important than any Gold Cup, more important than any sort of achievement he felt he could attain. He would, of course, let her ride in the race, but there was no longer that desperate need within him to have her and Beauchamp win the Gold Cup. He just wanted her to be happy, to have had the chance to fulfill a long-held hope and to realize that he cared for her, just as she was.
“Do you know, Brighton,” he said slowly, feeling a fresh hope begin to fill his heart. “I believe you are quite right.” So saying, he took his brandy glass and raised it high. “I shall succeed.”
“Indeed you shall,” Lord Brighton agreed, before throwing back the rest of his brandy and setting down his glass with a thump.
Chapter Twelve
“Are you quite prepared?”
Matthew looked down at Lady Wells, seeing how she was biting her lip hard, her eyes looking anywhere but him. He had insisted that the jockey ride with him in the carriage as they made their way towards Ascot, stating that he was to give him some final instructions, and the staff had thought nothing of it.
“Lady Wells,” he said gently, reaching across and touching her hand. She jerked in surprise, her lip freed from between her teeth as she stared at him, clearly surprised at his touch.
“Lady Wells, quite frankly, you look terrified,” he said with a comforting smile. “You need not have anxiety about the race. I am certain you shall do well.”
“But I may not win,” she told him, the reason for her anxiety becoming clear. “I shall have convinced you to give me the opportunity to ride Beauchamp, will have convinced you that I am the best suited to the position, and then, when the time comes to prove myself, may not manage to do so at all!”