London Season Matchmaker Box Set: Regency Romance

by Lucy Adams

  “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 nowhere, 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.

  The dawning realization about what it was Rigby intended to do hit Matthew with full force, and he began to stumble towards Rigby, who was, by now, at the stable door. He could not draw too near to the man, however, given that the man’s knife was still being held ominously out towards him as Rigby retreated. Matthew began to panic, realizing that even if he managed to reach Rigby within the stable, it might be too late to save Beauchamp. His heart thundered furiously, sweat beading on his brow as he shouted out for Rigby to stop.

  The man did not listen. Instead, he pulled the door open wide, making to step through it – only for a big black shadow to come thundering out of the stable doors, knocking Rigby to the ground and flinging the knife from his hand.

  Someone had saddled Beauchamp and was now riding across the gardens with him, leaving Matthew behind to deal with Rigby.

  Chapter Four

  Creeping out into the dark gardens at three o’clock in the morning had been more difficult than Catherine had expected. For one, it had taken her longer to bind her chest and then dress in her brother’s clothes than she had thought it would, for she had forgotten just how difficult it was to remove oneself from one’s gown without the help of a maid. Thereafter, she had needed to tie her hair back tightly and then had pressed her wig on top. Pinning it there had been a little painful, but Catherine had endured it without complaint. Sneaking from the room had frayed her nerves, but eventually, she had made it outside. Her thoughts were filled with the Duke of Blackwell, even as she made her way towards the stables. To her great surprise, she had enjoyed talking with him, even though he had not been able to see her face. Her mother, of course, had been gratified by Catherine’s conduct at the ball, for once she had gained some courage, she had stepped out into the light, rejoined her mother, and had allowed gentlemen to write their name on her card. The duke, of course, had not done so—even though he had promised to do that very thing—but she had made certain that he did not know her name nor who she was, for then he might recognize who she was when she was dressed as Leighton.

  Trying to push the duke from her thoughts, Catherine had practically run into the gentleman, whilst scurrying about in the dark! She then had to rush forward – something which was much easier in pantaloons than in her voluminous skirts – and escape out of his way, only to realize that there was a matter of great severity occurring just in front of the stables.

  She had hidden herself as best she could but had overheard how Rigby had been speaking to Lord Blackwell and had felt her heart leap into her throat. Rigby had a knife, which was a threat in itself, and what he was saying to Lord Blackwell made things all the worse. Torn between remaining here and doing what she could to aid Lord Blackwell or returning to the house without delay, Catherine had remained undecided until, horrified, she realized that Rigby might very well intend to hurt Beauchamp.

  It was just as well that the night brought with it a good many shadows, for without them, Catherine was quite sure she would not have been able to move into the barn without being noticed. The shadows were long, and she, being both short and slim, had clung to them carefully, pushing the door ajar a little more and slipping inside.

  Now, pulling the door shut closed as carefully and as quietly as she could, Catherine looked about the stables, seeing how only one horse was stabled here. Most likely, Lord Blackwell had other stables with his other horses, for it was clear that he prized Beauchamp and wanted to ensure he had everything that was required, which meant, most likely, a stable solely dedicated to the creature.

  Two lanterns gave the stable an eerie glow, making Catherine shudder violently as both fear and anxiety began to melt into her bones. What was she doing? What was it she intended to do? Looking towards Beauchamp and hearing the sound of Rigby’s voice still shouting obscene remarks towards Lord Blackwell, Catherine set her shoulders and lifted her chin. She was not about to let Rigby hurt Beauchamp.

  “Hello,” she murmured, seeing how Beauchamp’s ears were held up straight, snorting as she drew near. “Do you remember me?” Carefully approaching the stallion, she held out one hand slowly, taking care to be as gentle as possible.

  Keeping her voice quiet for the sole reason of not being overheard by anyone outsi
de, she crooned softly under her breath, relieved when the horse nickered quietly in response.

  “Will you let me come in?” she murmured, opening the stall and running her hand down the horse’s neck as she stepped inside. Thankfully, Beauchamp did nothing other than turn his head towards her, as though surprised she had come into his stall. His head swung back violently, and he snorted at the raised voices that came from outside the stables – and Catherine knew she had to act quickly.

  Grateful for the way the groom and stable hands back at home had shown her how to saddle a horse and how they had, oft times, permitted her to do it on her own, she began to saddle up Beauchamp, surprised when he did nothing other than snort in either displeasure or anticipation. Her fingers slipped on the buckles as she heard Rigby’s voice grow louder, clearly coming closer to the stables. Looking about for a mounting block, the horse ready and prepared, she discovered that there was none present. Licking her lips and trying to think clearly about what she might do, despite the growing fear in her heart, Catherine led Beauchamp out, wondering if she should just let him free in the hope that this would be enough to protect him from Rigby.

  But no, it was not going to be enough. It was a risk she could not take. If she simply let Beauchamp free, then Rigby might catch his bridle or the reins and do as he intended. The memory of the knife as it flashed in the moonlight made sweat break out over Catherine’s forehead. The moment was upon her. She had to find a way.

  Closing her eyes for a moment and taking in a long breath, Catherine settled her shoulders and reminded herself that she was the only one at this present moment who was able to keep Beauchamp safe. With as much strength as she could muster, Catherine put one foot in the saddle and reached up to grasp the pommel, feeling as though she were being squashed into a most unnatural shape. Her muscles screamed as they were stretched taut, her other leg now standing on tiptoe as she tried to haul herself up.

  With every last bit of strength she had, and with an exclamation flung from her lips, Catherine managed to throw her leg over and haul herself up into the saddle. Breathless from the exertion, she grasped the reins and Beauchamp moved towards the door, only for Catherine to pull them tight. It was as though Beauchamp knew precisely what it was she was asking of him, for he waited patiently, even though she could feel his flanks quivering with anticipation.

  Catherine struggled to keep a hold of her anxiety, her breathing ragged and her stomach tight with tension. Swallowing hard and telling herself that she had more than enough knowledge and experience with which she might do this, she held her breath and saw the door begin to be pulled aside.

  The moment it was opened wide, Catherine thrust her heels into Beauchamp’s sides and he moved at once, quickly and urgently as though he could tell that something was wrong. The moment his hooves hit the grass of the gardens, he took off at speed, galloping with such a great speed that it took every ounce of Catherine’s concentration to remain on his back. Behind her, she could hear shouts and exclamations of surprise, but she paid them no heed. Bending low over Beauchamp’s neck, she gave him his head and allowed him to gallop across the gardens. The moon lit the wide-open space ahead of them, and Beauchamp seemed to relish it, for he ran for a good length of time before finally beginning to slow. Catherine, finally able to catch her breath, reigned him into a canter, beginning to feel her anxiety and her fear draining away as she began to enjoy the ride. Beauchamp was a magnificent horse, faster than anything she had ridden before and certainly more responsive than even her own mare back at home. Stroking his neck as she pulled him back into a trot, Catherine smiled despite the circumstances. This had been a wonderful night in its own way, for not only had she been able to see Beauchamp again, she had managed to take him for a ride and had felt her connection with the horse grow even stronger. This horse was bound to be a champion, if only Lord Blackwell could find a more suitable jockey.

  I would have been a wonderful jockey.

  The thought sent the smile from her face immediately, knowing that such a thing was very unlikely to happen. She was a woman, whether she dressed in gentlemen’s clothes with her chest bound or not. The only way she would ever be able to achieve such a thing would be if someone like Lord Blackwell agreed that she could do so – and given what he had said, she doubted that he would ever give her the opportunity.

  “Hoi! You there!”

  The sound of an angry voice came through the darkness towards her, and she patted Beauchamp’s neck as he slowed down to a walk.

  “Your Grace,” she stammered, suddenly realizing that she had not given any consideration as to what she might say to the duke when he found that it was she who had saddled and ridden Beauchamp out into the night. “I-I do hope that you are uninjured.”

  Much to her surprise, the duke’s angry expression faded immediately when he saw that it was she who was speaking. In fact, he looked utterly astonished, his eyes wide as he looked back at her in the bright moonlight.

  “You,” he breathed, as she tried to jump down from Beauchamp, stumbling a little as she landed. “You—whatever are you doing here?”

  Catherine’s mouth went dry as she looked up at him, trying to find something in her mind that she could use as an excuse. “I….” Swallowing the lump in her throat and aware of just how loudly and quickly her heart was beating, she came up with the only thing she could. “I have no other employment,” she said, with a small shrug that she hoped betrayed nonchalance. “Therefore, I made my way here in the hope that you might offer me the opportunity to ride Beauchamp and prove to you that I would be an excellent jockey.”

  The duke let out a breath that was a half chuckle, running one hand through his dark hair and staring at her in disbelief, as though he could not quite believe what she had said.

  “My goodness,” he muttered, dropping his hand and shaking his head in astonishment. “And you made your way to my stables, just in time to hear Rigby threaten consequences for his dismissal?”

  Catherine pressed her lips together, knowing quite well that this sounded entirely improbable. “Yes,” she replied, hating that the lies came so easily to her lips but knowing that she had no other choice. “And I could not bear the thought of Beauchamp being so badly injured and, therefore, I scurried into the barn and saddled him so that he might escape.”

  The duke eyed her carefully. “You knew then, did you, that Rigby intended to harm Beauchamp?” he asked slowly.

  “I did,” Catherine replied, without hesitation. “I saw the knife and surmised that he—”

  “What a relief you were so bold,” the duke interrupted, sounding truly grateful. “My goodness, Leighton, if you had not been present and sneaked in when you did, then I fear that Beauchamp might now be…” He trailed off, shaking his head as his expression twisted. “Thank you.”

  Catherine managed a small smile, her heart thumping furiously despite the relief that ran through her. “You are most welcome, Your Grace,” she said, still speaking quietly. “I do hope that you will allow me the opportunity to show you that I could be the jockey for Beauchamp.” A faint hope rose within her as she saw the duke frown, wondering if this was going to be her chance to ride in the races. The only chance she might ever have.

  The duke let out a long breath and then let his hands fall to his sides. “I do not think that I can refuse you after what you have done this evening, Leighton,” he replied, sending Catherine’s heart soaring to the skies. “You can see that I have decided to remove Rigby as Beauchamp’s jockey and that means, therefore, that there is the opportunity to prove yourself.” He studied her for a long moment before he continued, making Catherine fear that he was either going to refuse her or that there was something about her that betrayed the fact that she was not, in fact, a young man after all.

  “Shall we say the day after tomorrow?”

  Catherine’s breath flooded out of her, rendering her weak and breathless to the point that she could only nod, hardly able to catch her breath.

 
“Capital,” the duke replied. “You are welcome to stay here, however, until the time comes. I would not have you go back out to the village or even to London in the interim, not when you have traveled so far already.”

  Appreciating his consideration, Catherine let out a long breath and then nodded. “Thank you, Your Grace,” she said, forcing her voice to work and hearing it rasping just a little. “You are very kind. The day after tomorrow, I shall be present in the stables and ready to show you that I can be the jockey you require.”

  The duke chuckled, reaching forward to shake Catherine’s hand. “I believe you have proved it already, for not everyone would have been able to ride Beauchamp in such a way as you did,” he replied, waiting for her to take his hand. “However, I shall look forward to a proper demonstration in two days’ time.”

  Catherine nodded and, realizing what the duke was waiting for, reached out to shake it as firmly as she could, aware of just how small her hand was compared to his. Heat shot up her arm as they shook hands, making her glad for the darkness that hid her colored cheeks from the duke’s eyes. “I thank you, Your Grace,” she replied, keeping her voice as firm as her handshake. “Might I take Beauchamp back to the stables for you?”

  “I would be very glad if you would do so,” the duke replied, letting go of her hand. “Although perhaps you might lead him there instead of riding? He will need to cool down after such a gallop!”

  “Gladly,” Catherine replied, taking a hold of the reins and beginning to walk away. Beauchamp followed at once, nickering softly and making the duke chuckle again.

  “He certainly has taken to you,” the duke murmured, as Catherine led Beauchamp back towards the stables. “You have done a great thing this evening, Leighton. I will ensure that, even if you do not become Beauchamp’s jockey, that you are well recompensed for your actions this night.”