London Season Matchmaker Box Set: Regency Romance

by Lucy Adams

  This did not, however, please the duke, for he turned from her with an exclamation of frustration burning on his lips, one hand shoved through his hair. Catherine could say nothing, her head bowed low as fear began to mount in her heart. He could easily send her home now; he could easily refuse to keep the promise that he had made that she would now be his jockey.

  “So,” the duke muttered, closing his eyes tightly as though to try and make sense of what she had said. “You are gentry. Your family is well respected amongst the ton, which means your family bears a title.” His eyes opened and fixed upon her. “You are not, as I thought, a respected yet untitled family, who would not make it into the echelons of upper society.”

  Seeing no reason to hide the truth from him now, Catherine set her shoulders and looked up into his face. “My father bore a title, yes,” she admitted quietly. “It has now passed to my brother.”

  The duke closed his eyes again, his expression tight. “Might I ask what this title is, Miss Leighton?” Suddenly his eyes flared, one hand reaching out to her, his finger pointed. “And might I enquire to the truth of your name also?”

  “I do not wish to say it to you, Your Grace,” she whispered, afraid of what he would do should it become clear. “For you will then throw me from the position you have only just put me in, will you not? My dreams, seemingly fulfilled, will be shattered in an instant!”

  A hard look crossed the duke’s face, his hand twining around Beauchamp’s reins. “I am not as cruel as all that, Miss Leighton,” he said firmly, although Catherine suspected that he was not being entirely truthful. “I have need of a jockey, and at this late hour can hardly expect to find another. No matter what you say to me this evening, you shall ride Beauchamp again. Now.” He gestured for her to speak; his brows lifted as he waited for her to respond.

  Catherine drew in a long breath, her chest tight and her hands curled into fists so tight that her nails were cutting into the soft skin of her palms. “My father was a marquess, Your Grace,” she whispered, her eyes falling to the ground as she heard his swift intake of breath. “My younger brother, as I have said, has now inherited the title.”

  The duke said nothing for some minutes, and Catherine could feel the tension between them beginning to grow steadily, the air filling with it and making it difficult for her to breathe. Her chest heaved as she fought against the panic that filled her, closing her eyes and trying to remind herself that the duke had promised her that he would not steal the hope he had only just given her.

  “What is your brother’s title, Miss Leighton?”

  The duke’s voice was hard, his words grating. Forcing her eyes open, Catherine looked up at him and tried to speak clearly. “The Marquess of Whitehaven, Your Grace,” she said, her voice trembling just a little. “My mother is Lady Whitehaven.”

  Air was sucked in through the duke’s clenched teeth, which he then let out in a hiss. It was clear that he knew the name and mayhap had even been introduced to her late father at some point. Catherine kept her head low, not able to bring her gaze up to look into the duke’s face.

  “So you are Lady Wells, then,” the duke said thickly. “One of the daughters of the late Marquess of Whitehaven.” He took in another breath, shaking his head as Catherine shot a quick glance at him. “Little wonder you did not wish to tell me the truth of it. Your mother will be–”

  “She knows very well that I am not at all inclined towards the ton and its many regulations and the like,” Catherine said immediately. “She will know why I have left and will be doing all she can to keep my disappearance from town quiet.” A small shrug lifted her left shoulder, even though she felt a good deal of shame over what had just been revealed to the duke. “Most likely, she will state that I have returned to the estate for a short rest or some such thing. Mayhap she will say that I am ill.” Looking up at the duke again, her resolve steadying, Catherine saw that he was looking at her with widened eyes, as if he had just recalled something.

  “You – you were at my ball,” the duke breathed, things beginning to make sense as they slotted together. “You brought the outfit with you so that you might make your way to my stables whilst the rest of the guests slept.”

  Catherine nodded, not allowing the flare of shame to creep up her spine. “I did,” she admitted. “I wanted to see Beauchamp again, that is all.” She chose not to mention that she had hoped there might have been a small opportunity for her to take him for a short ride, keeping her gaze clear. “I intended to go back to my bedchamber once I was finished and then return home with my mother and sisters.” Another small shrug. “Things did not turn out as I intended, however.”

  “No,” the duke agreed, sounding a little despairing. “They certainly did not. And now I have the daughter of a marquess sleeping in a servant’s room and working in the stables during the day!”

  Resisting the sudden urge to stamp her foot, Catherine lifted her chin. “That has all been my own choice, Your Grace,” she told him pointedly. “You offered me the position, and I accepted it because it is a life that I cannot ever get to live within the constraints of both my sex and my position in life.” Her voice shook as she attempted to contain her emotions. “My passion is right before me, and I have thrown everything into the time I have spent here. To have just a taste of what you must enjoy every day is something I shall always be grateful for.” To her horror, a tear spilled from her eye and splashed down onto her cheek, and Catherine wiped it away hastily, not wanting to embarrass herself all the more. It felt as though everything she had gained was beginning to crumble before her, as though everything she had enjoyed and endured was beginning to shatter.

  “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 sin
k 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 would 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.”

  “Thank you.”

  Matthew turned back to the window, hearing the butler close the door behind him, securing Matthew and his isolation once more. A small smile tugged at the corner of Matthew’s mouth, even though he was not at all sure what had made him do such a thing. Was it the fact that he would be facing another night at the dining table, sitting alone and hearing nothing but the clinking of his cutlery as he ate? It would be nice to have company, would it not? Of course, at times, he went into London if he was feeling particularly sociable, but most evenings he spent here alone. That was to change this evening. He would have to ensure that Lady Wells had something appropriate to wear and would thereafter have to ensure t
hat the staff did not suspect her in any way, but that could be easily done. There was the old gatehouse that, whilst well maintained, had no one residing within it. If he could get the gown and the like to be placed there, then Lady Wells could easily remove to the gatehouse to change. Although she would have to do so without a maid, unless he could secure one who would remain utterly silent about what she had witnessed. He bit his lip, feeling as though he were about to climb an overly large mountain and was struggling to work out just where to put his feet.

  No, he would have to employ the services of a maid. One who could be trusted not to say a word to another living soul. She would bring the clothes to the gatehouse and wait there for Lady Wells to arrive. Thereafter, she could alert him to the fact that Lady Wells was prepared and somehow, he would have her brought to the house as though she had come from afar.

  The horses.

  That was it. He would take Beauchamp and one of his mares and lead them out of the gate, as though he were going out to take the lady riding. Lady Wells would have to ride sidesaddle, of course, but it would only be for a short time. Thereafter, the rest would easily fall into place and he would enjoy the evening with Lady Wells as she truly was – in form and in character. The thought brought a broad smile to his face, making him begin to look forward to the rest of the day – and before he knew it, the ache in his head had gone completely.

  “Ah, Leighton.”

  He smiled as Lady Wells jerked up from where she had been bending over Beauchamp’s hooves.

  “You appear to be rather busy this afternoon.”

  Lady Wells nodded uncertainly, darting a look over Matthew’s shoulder.

  “Mr. Griggs is not present,” Matthew murmured quietly. “You can speak freely, Lady Wells.”

  She nodded, although her uncertain look did not immediately fade. “Yes, Your Grace?” she asked, a brush still in her hand. “Is there something that you require of me?”