by Lucy Adams
He smiled. “There is, in fact,” he said, with a small bow. “Your presence this evening.”
A tiny line formed between Lady Wells brows. “This evening?” she repeated, glancing up at Beauchamp. “We are to go riding again, as far as I understand?”
“Yes, we shall indeed,” he agreed with a quick smile. “But before that, I should like you to join me for dinner. It shall not be too late, given that we will need to take Beauchamp out thereafter, but I thought that–”
“Dinner?” Lady Wells had interrupted him, but Matthew was suspicious she did not realize she had done so. “You wish me to join you for dinner when I am dressed in such a fashion?” Her brow furrowed all the more, betraying her confusion. “A stable hand does not often join a duke for dinner, Your Grace. It would confuse everyone and bring suspicion to bear.”
He nodded, a grin playing about his mouth. “I quite agree,” he told her, seeing how she blinked, betraying her lack of understanding. “Therefore, I wish you to join me for dinner as Lady Wells, not as Mr. Leighton.”
Some moments passed, and Lady Wells brows did not lift and her eyes now held a little suspicion. Did she think that he intended to take the position of jockey from her?
“You must understand, Lady Wells, it is not because I wish to remove you as jockey nor because I want my staff to know the truth of your identity,” he said, reassuring her. “I merely wish for you to join me for dinner so that we might know each other a little better. After all, it is not very often that I have a young lady dressed as a young man working in my stables!”
Lady Wells blinked slowly. “How am I to appear as Lady Wells when I reside in the house?” she asked with uncertainty. “What is it you wish me to do?”
Glad that she had not outright rejected his idea, Matthew briefly told her what his plan was and was gratified as the confusion began to lift from her face and she nodded slowly. There was no smile, however, for she still appeared a little concerned that she would be identified by some of the staff.
“I have already chosen and spoken at length to Jenny, one of the maids,” he finished. “Jenny is trustworthy and will not say a word.” He did not tell Lady Wells, of course, that such a thing had been all the more secured by the promise that he would remove Jenny from her position should she say anything to another living soul. “She has already secured a gown for you and will be able to add quick alterations to it to ensure that it fits you well.”
“I see.” Lady Wells did not smile but rather just held his gaze and looked at him steadily, a small line forming between her brows. It was clear to Matthew that there were a few questions rattling around in her head, and he waited for her to give air to them, but as silence grew between them, he began to realize that she had no intention of doing so.
“You-you do not wish to join me for dinner, mayhap?” he asked, suddenly feeling incredibly foolish and realizing that he had organized all of this without so much as a moment of consideration for Lady Wells herself. There was always the chance that she would not want to sit down to dinner with him but, of course, he had not considered that. He had simply presumed that this was something she would want.
Lady Wells sighed and looked away, a shade of pink coming to settle in her cheeks. “You say that you wish to know me a little better, Your Grace,” she said slowly, repeating his own words back to him. “Why then must we go to such lengths for me to join you for dinner, when we might talk as we did the first night I took Beauchamp out?”
Now it was Matthew’s turn to frown. “You are quite correct that we could talk in such a fashion, but I merely thought that it would be of benefit to both of us to sit and dine together. It would give us a little more time to speak without being distracted by Beauchamp and the responsibilities that we both have as regards the Gold Cup.” He watched her closely, seeing how she was studying him in return, as if she were not quite certain that he spoke the truth. “Besides which, I am quite certain that, should I be in your position, I would greatly miss sitting down with my family and enjoying a sumptuous meal.” Putting a wry smile on his face, he tried to push away the tension that suddenly rose within him, wondering if she was about to refuse him entirely.
“I suppose that has been a little difficult to become used to,” Lady Wells admitted after a moment. “I have not sat around a table since I arrived here.” Her eyes clouded momentarily, making Matthew wonder if she was thinking of her mother and her home. But then, she gave herself a small shake and looked up at him again. “I just do not want the suggestion to be made that I am somehow pining for such a life, Your Grace. I have no great desire to return to it. I am not at all missing all the things that were demanded of me. I do not miss the many beautiful gowns that my mother insisted on giving me. I do not miss sitting by the dressing table as the maid tied up my hair in the most intricate of fashions. Nor do I miss the need to stand on ceremony and to behave in a proper manner without any real consideration for the truth of my character.” She arched one eyebrow slowly, her expression quizzical. “Whilst I will not pretend that I am not looking forward to eating well, Your Grace, I would not have you think that there is anything else about my life that I pine for.”
She was trying to make him see that she was not the sort of young lady who wanted to be paraded about, who thought of nothing more than fine gowns and soft slippers in order that her appearance was all it could be. Matthew was quite aware that she would look entirely different this evening, finding that his heart quickened just a touch at the mere thought of it.
“I quite understand,” he told her, thinking to himself that no matter what Lady Wells wore, she would look a good deal better than she did at present, given that her shirt was untucked, her cap a little askew, and a smear of dirt was running over her cheek. “But you will come and dine with me, will you not?”
Another short pause but then, thankfully, Lady Wells smiled.
“I will,” she agreed, her voice soft now. “I thank you for your consideration, Your Grace. I shall do as you ask and be ready for the arrival of the carriage once I have dressed. The door to the gatehouse will be open, did you say?”
He nodded, aware of just how thrilled his heart was at her agreement but doing his utmost to hide it, even from himself. “All will be prepared for you, Lady Wells. Until this evening.” He resisted the urge to take her hand and bow over it, knowing how ridiculous he would appear should anyone else walk into the stables at that very moment. Instead, he simply inclined his head and snapped his heels together, making Lady Wells smile up at him, her cheeks still a little flushed. Walking from the stables and leaving Lady Wells to continue with her duties, Matthew found himself smiling broadly as he walked back outside. This evening was going to be quite marvelous, he was certain of it, and just as long as everything went smoothly, Lady Wells need not fear that she might be discovered.
A small flurry of anticipation rose in his heart as he made his way back to the house, thinking to himself that he too would have to ensure that he was dressed in his very best this evening. He wanted everything to be as good as it could be for Lady Wells. Rubbing his hands together in eager anticipation, Matthew rang the bell for his butler, intending to go over the menu again for this evening before ensuring that a bath was drawn and that his valet laid out his most suitable attire. He could hardly wait.
Chapter Ten
A torrent of nervousness flooded Catherine’s heart as she looked back at herself in the mirror that lay on the small table in one corner of the gatehouse. The maid, Jenny, had done a remarkable job with Catherine’s dark tresses, which had not been properly brushed in some time! It had been a little painful to have all the knots brushed free, but Catherine had encouraged Jenny to do so without hesitation, feeling herself quite glad that she was able to have her hair free from its usual confines. The maid had, of course, done as she had been asked although still appeared rather afraid that Catherine was going to complain bitterly about what she had done.
“You have done very well, Jenny,”
Catherine told her, seeing the maid bite her lip as she added the last of the seed pearls to Catherine’s hair, which had been piled up on the back of her head with curls then tumbling down from it. Quite how the maid had managed to find the gown and also all that she would need to ensure Catherine’s hair was a work of art, Catherine did not know, but she wanted to encourage the girl and remove the fear from her gaze. “Thank you.”
“You are very welcome, Miss.”
Catherine smiled at her and rose to her feet, brushing down the dark green gown that fitted her almost perfectly. Jenny had been ready with a needle and thread, ready to tackle the gown and alter it if required, but Catherine had not wanted her to go to such lengths. It was quite lovely as it was, even if it was a little long. “Now, we are to wait for the duke’s carriage, I believe,” she said, finding that she needed to say something rather than allow silence to fill the small gatehouse. “I am quite prepared, I think.”
“Yes, Miss,” Jenny murmured, turning around to tidy up a few things.
“And you are to join us?” Catherine asked, her stomach twisting this way and that as she thought of sitting in the carriage with the duke as though she were a young lady being courted by such a gentleman. “Or am I to travel alone?”
Jenny’s eyes flared in surprise, but she dropped her gaze to the ground. “The duke was most specific, Miss,” she said, clearly unaware of Catherine’s title or even her name. “I am to stay with you at all times, although I shall remain in shadow during the time of your meal. I shall not eavesdrop either, I give you my word.”
Catherine flushed. “I should not even have thought of accusing you of such a thing,” she replied, just as the sound of carriage wheels began to crunch over the gravel next to the house. The duke had arrived. “I am glad you will be present, Jenny, truly. Thank you for all of your assistance this afternoon.”
Jenny bobbed a curtsy and, for the first time since Catherine had walked into the gatehouse, gave a small smile. Catherine, pushing aside her nervousness, made her way to the door at the back of the gatehouse—not the one she had entered—and stepped outside. The back door was fairly well hidden, with thick branches above her shrouding her in shadow although the path itself was not at all overgrown. Stepping carefully along the short path that led to the road and hearing Jenny behind her, Catherine’s breath began to quicken as she saw the carriage door being pulled open for her, although it was not a footman or tiger who held it for her but rather the duke himself. It seemed he was to hide her from as many of his staff as he could, although she greatly appreciated that he had ensured that Jenny would be present with her at all times. Propriety, it seemed, was being observed in some small way, even though she, in dressing as Leighton and in running away from home, had quite thrown such a thing aside.
“Lady Wells.”
The duke bowed low as she stepped from the small path and onto the gravel strewn drive. Her heart was beating so furiously that Catherine felt quite certain the duke could hear it, and she was feeling as though her gown suddenly became very heavy and weighed her steps down as she tried to approach him.
“Your Grace,” she murmured, dropping into a perfect curtsy. It seemed she had not forgotten how to do such a thing in these last weeks, and as she lifted her head, Catherine saw that the duke himself was grinning at her.
“You are quite the lady, Lady Wells,” he murmured, offering her his hand and gesturing for her to climb into the carriage with the other. “Quite a remarkable transformation, I must say.”
Catherine’s heart fluttered. “I thank you, Your Grace,” she said, a trifle unsteadily as she accepted his hand. “It is certainly very different to what I have begun to become accustomed to.”
The duke laughed at this and Catherine felt her stomach swirl with breathless anticipation as she stepped inside the carriage, letting go of the duke’s hand and then settling back in her seat. Smoothing her skirts, she watched as the duke then waited for Jenny to climb in before doing so himself. The steps were removed and the door shut by one of the tigers, and thereafter, the carriage was on its way.
“I thought we might take a short turn about the place,” the duke said pleasantly. “It is a beautiful afternoon and, on top of which, it will be evidence to my staff that I have, as I said, gone to your door to bring you back to my townhouse.” Another easy smile. “You need have no fear, however, that anything will be said by either Jenny or those driving the carriage. They will say nothing.”
“I am grateful,” Catherine replied, her hands tight in her lap as she felt an uncomfortable swirling rushing all through her at the sight of the duke’s smile and the warmth in his eyes. “You have gone to a great deal of trouble on my behalf, and I am certain this evening will be quite wonderful.”
“I hope it will be,” the duke replied, before turning to the window and beginning to talk about what was just outside. Catherine found herself settling back against the squabs as he spoke, interested in all that he had to say and finding the tension she had felt upon stepping into the carriage beginning to drain away.
The duke talked about the history of the estate, of the village and even of the stories that had been carried from one generation to the next. She found herself smiling at him as he continued to speak, realizing that she very much enjoyed the duke’s company and, from the expression on his face, it appeared that he felt much the same way as she.
This ease of manner and contentedness in each other’s company continued on through dinner, which Catherine had to admit was quite wonderful. She had forgotten just how lovely it was to sit around a table in good company and enjoy the many delectable dishes that were brought from the kitchens. Jenny, of course, did as she had been bade and sat in the corner of the room, her back to them so that she could not watch them. Catherine was grateful for her presence although she was quite certain that the duke would do nothing improper. It was quite an unusual feeling to be sitting with a duke of the realm and enjoying his conversation, as though they were great friends and had been so for some time.
At a small lull in their conversation, Catherine allowed herself to study the duke a little more carefully. He appeared to be quite relaxed, his expression giving off an appearance of contentedness and happiness, which she had to admit she had also. He was a handsome gentleman, of course, but Catherine had never believed herself to be affected by appearance alone. Now, however, an unsettling realization came over her. The reason her heart had quickened when she had seen him waiting for her at the gatehouse, the reason she had found herself looking forward to being in his company again was because she had something of a fondness for him.
The realization took her breath away and she accidentally dropped her dessert spoon with a clatter.
The duke’s eyes filled with concern. “Are you quite all right, Lady Wells?”
Her face burning, Catherine nodded and muttered an apology, picking up her cutlery again and praying that she would not be so foolish again. She had to rid herself of such notions, for to have any sort of affection for the duke was quite ridiculous. His reason for having her here at his estate, his only drive to allow her to ride Beauchamp was so that she could win the Gold Cup and bring him the prestige that he so desired. There was nothing more to it than that. Yes, it was kind of him to show her such consideration and certainly she appreciated the friendship that had been struck up between them, but she could not allow herself to be at all clouded in emotion when it came to the duke. Their paths would part soon enough. She would have to return home whilst he would remain here, able to continue with his passion of horse racing without any restraint.
“Tell me,” she said suddenly, as the plates were cleared away. “What is it about the Gold Cup that fills you with so much determination?”
The duke did not immediately answer, telling the servants that he would take port in the drawing room and that a tea tray was to be brought there also for his guest.
“Might we walk to the drawing room, Lady Wells?” he asked, rising from his chai
r and coming over to hers, where he waited with proffered arm as she rose. “I do hope you enjoyed your meal.”
“It was delicious,” she replied, getting up as quickly as she could and wondering why he had not answered her. “I thank you for your invitation to dine this evening, Your Grace. It was quite lovely.”
“Good.” He waited until she had accepted his arm and Catherine had to pray that he was not aware of the flood of heat that seemed to run from her hand, all the way up her arm and then into her cheeks as they began to walk together. The duke’s house was grand indeed—although the sight of the various ornaments and expensive tapestries did not detract Catherine from her original question.
“The Gold Cup, Your Grace,” she said again, as he led her into the dining room. “What is it that makes you so very eager to be the victor?”
A small sigh left the duke’s lips as she let go of his arm and stepped away from him, looking all about the room as she did so. It was quite lovely, with a large mirror above the fireplace which held a crackling fire to take away the chill of a summer’s evening. “You are eager to win, are you not?”
“I am,” the duke admitted heavily. “It has long been my greatest wish.”
“But it cannot be for the wealth that comes with winning the race,” Catherine said pointedly, not shying away from the truth of things. “The prestige you have mentioned before, as I recall, but you are a duke of the realm! What more prestige could you seek?”
The Duke of Blackwell hesitated, then shrugged. “I suppose it must seem quite foolish to you, Lady Wells – and mayhap I am being so, but the desire to win the Gold Cup comes from an eagerness within me to prove to those that know me and those that know of me that I am not merely a duke.” His expression twisted, as if he knew that he was not explaining himself particularly well. “If I step into a room, then all and sundry know who I am, even if I have not been introduced to another one of them there. They know me because of my title and nothing else. I would not have it be so. I wish to appear as flesh and blood, Lady Wells, with hopes, desires, and achievements all of my own.” A wry smile tugged at one corner of his mouth, as one hand swept through his hair. “Although I do not jockey the horse myself.”
