“Do not cry, Lady Wells, I beg of you,” the duke murmured, his anger seeming to have faded as he made his way closer to her, Beauchamp still by his side. “I just fear that…” He sighed and looked down at her, reaching out to brush the second tear away. His thumb grazed her cheek and, in that moment, Catherine felt something within her shift.
“You will be quite ruined if you are discovered, Lady Wells,” he said softly, dropping his hand to her side. “Never to marry, never to have a life as other ladies do.”
She held his gaze wordlessly.
“And I will admit that I myself do not want to be held responsible for the shattering of your reputation,” the duke admitted, shaking his head gently. “The consequences of such would be–”
“I would never ask you to marry me or anything of the sort!” Catherine protested at once, her embarrassment mounting furiously. “It would be my own doing, and the consequences I would bear alone.” Sighing, she spread her hands, aware of how the light was fading around them. “I do not think that I wish to marry anyway, Your Grace. I could not be tied to a gentleman that wishes to restrict me all the more, who would never allow me to step outside the confines of society.” Her eyes burned with tears, but she blinked rapidly, refusing to let another one fall. “Can you think of any gentleman amongst the beau monde who would permit their wife to ride across the estate astride? Who would allow them to saddle their own horses and spend as much time as they could out of doors?” A sorrowful laugh left her, as a deep moroseness crept into her bones. “No, I would be expected to behave as any proper lady of the ton must. The little freedom I have at the present would be taken from me. I would not be able to ride as I do at my brother’s estate. I would be expected to remain indoors, save for a few walks in the gardens when the weather is fine. I would be asked to sew or to play pianoforte or to further my mind just a little with specified reading.”
“And you do not think you could fit into that mold.”
Her head shot up. “Could you give up the one thing that you love the most?” she challenged, gesturing towards Beauchamp. “Could you give up your horses? Your visits to Tattersall? Your gallops across the gardens? Your freedom to go where you wish and do as you please, even for only a few short moments?” Seeing him shake his head, seeing the understanding burning in his eyes, Catherine felt her heart sink back into her chest. “Then surely you can understand why I cannot.”
There was nothing but silence between them for some minutes, broken only by the sound of a chirruping blackbird and the sweet song of a robin as dusk fell. Catherine kept her head low, not at all certain what the duke would say next nor what he would do but being glad within herself that she had been honest with him. In fact, she had been more vulnerable with the duke than with any gentleman before him and even more than she had ever been with her family. At least she knew that, in some ways, he understood her reasons for what she had done. He knew the truth of her now. He knew everything. There was nothing left that she had hidden.
After some minutes, the duke let out a long, heavy sigh, making Catherine fear that he had come to his decision.
“You cannot continue to stay in the servant’s quarters,” he muttered darkly. “I shall make up some excuse as to why my jockey must have a better room, but I shall have you removed to another, more improved room this very night.” Seeing how she looked up at him in surprise, the duke gave her a small smile. “I am not convinced that this is at all wise, but I have need of a jockey and you have need to fulfill your heart’s desire. Therefore, for the time being, we will proceed as we have planned.”
Catherine was so filled with relief that she could barely speak and she was feeling as though she was about to be swamped by tears. She finally managed to stammer, “Thank you, Your Grace.”
“You are most welcome,” the duke said, with a hint of warmth about his words. “But I must have your word that, after the Gold Cup, whether you win or lose, you will return home. This will have to come to an end.”
She nodded again, her throat aching with joy.
“Good, very good,” the duke murmured, looking at her speculatively, as if he were trying to make her out. “Then come, Lady Wells. Let us get Beauchamp back to the stables and, thereafter, you settled within your new bedchamber. Although what I am to say by way of excuse to my staff, I cannot imagine!” This comment was made with a broad, bright smile, and Catherine could not help but laugh. The air cleared between them, the tension fading and only happiness remaining. It seemed she was not to be turned away after all.
Chapter Nine
Matthew’s head ached terribly. Groaning, he looked down at his accounts again and saw the numbers begin to swirl together on the page. Clearly the tension and confusion of the last few weeks was beginning to get at him.
“And now, I have Lady Wells to contend with,” he muttered, throwing down his quill and staring blankly at the closed wooden door of his study. It had been three days since Lady Wells had told him the truth about her parentage. Three days since he had gone from utter fury to sympathy in one quick moment. Seeing her tears had caught his heart, hearing her struggles had made him consider things from a different perspective. He had been about to tell her that she wo
uld be able to ride Beauchamp one more time before he arranged for a carriage to return her to her mother’s townhouse in London and that she would no longer be riding in the Gold Cup over Ascot Heath, but then the tears in her eyes and the desperation in her voice had made him reconsider.
On top of which, he had not quite been able to understand the strange reaction he had felt to seeing her ride Beauchamp across the grass with her hair streaming out behind her. She had transformed completely in that moment as he had watched, stunned and confused at the quickening of his heart. It had been very odd to see a young lady dressed in a stable hand’s clothes, but he had realized that she was, in fact, very beautiful in her own way. Her oval face, delicate nose, and striking green eyes had seemed to burn into his very soul, her curls falling about her face in an almost alluring manner, even though he knew full well she meant nothing of the sort by it. It was a reaction he still had not quite managed to work out, trying to make sense of it and yet seeing how little he could comprehend.
Leaning forward, he rested his head on the table for a moment, his hands clasped behind his head as though this would help remove the pain from his head. It was all so very confusing. He wanted to feel nothing at all for Lady Wells, but yet his heart was refusing to let her go. When she had spoken of how her freedom, such as it was, would be curbed if she was to marry a gentleman of the ton, he had found himself wanting to state that she would not be treated so if she married someone such as him – which was, of course, an utterly foolish reaction! He knew full well that if she was discovered, then the onus would be on him to marry her so that he might save her reputation, but then again, he was a duke and could do as he pleased without garnering a good deal of criticism from others. Lady Wells clearly knew what she was risking and had deemed it important enough to do so.
“Then why am I so troubled?” he muttered, getting to his feet and wandering to the window. Looking out across the grounds, his eyes focused on Lady Wells, seeing her dressed in her stable hand’s garb and with her wig and cap carefully in place. She had done a remarkable job of fooling the rest of his staff and certainly made sure that no one took any particular notice of her. He was grateful that Mr. Griggs had done as he asked and had kept an eye on Lady Wells, even though he thought him to be just a young, inexperienced stable lad. He was also glad that he had chosen to send Healy away, given how he had treated Lady Wells. Matthew winced, recalling that he had not yet had the opportunity to speak to Lady Wells about that particular incident. He would have to do so as soon as he could.
“Your Grace?”
Spinning around, Matthew was about to remind the butler, somewhat forcefully, that he ought not to simply march into Matthew’s study without knocking, only to see the apologetic look on the butler’s face and wonder if the fellow had done so and he had not heard him.
“I did not mean to interrupt you, but I feared something had occurred when you did not answer the door knock,” the butler said, inclining his head. “I knocked thrice, Your Grace. Are you quite well?”
“Quite,” Matthew replied, clearing his throat. “Is something wrong?”
The butler shook his head. “No, Your Grace. It is only that you have some correspondence.” He set the tray on the study table and bowed. “Might I enquire as to when you wish to dine this evening?”
Matthew sighed inwardly, knowing that, whilst the butler was good to ask, the time would be the same as every day since he did not often have guests. He opened his mouth to answer, only for a sudden idea to strike him.
It was not, mayhap, the very best of ideas, for it would mean that the staff would become aware of Lady Wells presence within the house and some might become aware of how similar in appearance she was with Mr. Leighton…but not if the candles were few and the light kept low. It would mean that he could have another opportunity to speak to Lady Wells and to discover more about her, to treat her as she ought to be treated given her status in society. They would train Beauchamp thereafter, mayhap, and then she could return to her room to prepare for tomorrow.
“I am to have a guest for dinner,” he told the butler, seeing no surprise or astonishment etch itself across the butler’s face, even though this was both rare and rather sudden. The butler was excellent at keeping his expression impassive, as Matthew named a time and suggested one or two courses.
“But of course, Your Grace,” the butler intoned. “I shall speak to cook directly, if you will excuse me.”