London Season Matchmaker Box Set: Regency Romance

by Lucy Adams

  “No, but you purchase the horse and hire the jockey,” she replied, beginning to understand what he meant. “You wish for people to see you as you are, not just as your title.”

  He nodded, the smile fading as his gaze darted away. “That is it precisely, Lady Wells,” he replied, a tad grimly. “In winning the Gold Cup, I wish to prove to the beau monde that I have my own abilities, my own strengths and achievements aside from being so titled.” Shrugging, he threw another glance towards her. “But you must think me foolish to do so when I am so blessed to already be so well thought of within society.”

  Catherine shook her head, surprised that she felt a good deal of sympathy rising up within her. “I quite understand, Your Grace,” she replied, with a small smile in his direction. “In a way, we are both trying to pull away from the mold that society has placed us in—although I suspect that you shall be a good deal more successful than I.”

  “Why should you say that?” the duke asked, swinging his gaze back to her and then taking a few steps closer. “You are doing as you have always dreamed, are you not?”

  She gave him a small, sad smile, feeling the weight of her sorrow in her heart. “For a time, yes,” she admitted, wishing that she could only feel joy within her but realizing that there was pain also. “I shall always be grateful for what you have given me, Your Grace, for there are not many gentlemen who would have behaved as you have done. However, the truth is that, once the Gold Cup is over, I shall leave Ascot Heath and return home, where my mother shall, no doubt, curb my activities all the more.” Wincing, she spread her arms. “My riding might be curtailed, for all I know. My mother will be quite determined that I am to marry for fear that I shall turn out quite wild if I do not. How am I ever to find a suitable gentleman who will allow me to be as I truly am?” A quiet yet harsh laugh left her lips, making her shake her head. “It is for a time, Your Grace, and I shall always be glad for the time I have spent here. You, however, shall be able to go on and continue on as you have done for some time yet. For as long as you wish, in fact! If I do not win the Gold Cup for you, then I have no doubt that someone else shall be able to do so without any difficulty.” Looking up at him, Catherine spoke from her heart. “I do hope that you will be able to achieve all that you desire, Your Grace. Truly.”

  The duke held her gaze steadily for some moments before he turned away, running another hand through his hair and upsetting it completely.

  “The more I consider matters, Lady Wells, the more I think that your sex is often unfairly treated,” he admitted, his words slow and careful as though he were being deliberate with each one. “I had not given the matter any consideration until I met you, Lady Wells, and now that I know that not only can you ride well but better than many others, my mind struggles with the difficulties that you face.” His hand dropped to his side as he looked at her, appearing a little lost. “If only I could be of further assistance to you, Lady Wells.”

  Catherine’s heart leapt up into her throat, her mind filling with the one and only idea that would save her from either a life of spinsterhood or a life pushed down by her husband, battling against him to retain a sense of self. Shaking her head, Catherine let out a heavy sigh and forced those thoughts from her head. She could never be a duchess. The Duke of Blackwell had responsibilities and certainly had to ensure that he behaved with decorum and propriety. To even think that he would marry someone such as she, who wanted to throw aside her gowns and be able to ride astride whenever she wished, who desired to ride in the races and fight against the standards and rigors of her sex…no, such a thing was quite impossible.

  “You are sad, Lady Wells.”

  His voice was filled with a soft tenderness that she had not heard before, and Catherine felt herself respond to it at once. She could not look away as she turned her head to see him coming closer to her, one hand outstretched. The urge to reach out and take it, to grasp it and hold onto him grew so strong within her that she was forced to catch her breath and steel her determination.

  “I am sad, yes, Your Grace, but it is an emotion that often plagues me,” she told him honestly, seeing how he stood only two steps away from her now, his hand still out towards her. All she had to do was reach out and take it and then…then, she did not know what would happen.

  “You know that I would do all I could to remove such an emotion from your shoulders.”

  Her eyes closed and, without warning, she felt his fingers touch hers. He had not waited for her any longer. He had reached out to her when she would not reach out to him.

  “I am not the sort of young lady that anyone with such a high title as yours should have anything to do with, Your Grace,” she whispered, her heart thundering like Beauchamp’s hooves as he galloped across the duke’s gardens. “I am not a refined young lady.”

  “But what if such a thing does not matter?” he asked, his voice still holding that tenderness that sent an ache into Catherine’s heart. “What if I do not care?”

  She could not answer. Her throat was filled with sand, her mouth with dust, as her fingers twined with his. Looking at their joined hands, Catherine felt such confusion clouding her mind that it was all she could do to simply keep her eyes open. She wanted to back away, wanted to turn around and run from the room and return to her own quarters where she might be freed from such whirling thoughts, but at the same time, Catherine could not bear to separate her hand from his.

  “Lady Wells, I know that we have a good deal to each contend with, but I will confess that the thought of bringing our acquaintance – our friendship — to an end is something that brings with it a good deal of pain,” the duke continued, when she said nothing. “I do not think I can bear it.”

  “But you must,” Catherine replied harshly, the awareness of what he was offering her slamming into her with an almost bodily force. “I am not the sort of young lady that you should be considering, Your Grace.” Looking up at him, she held his gaze and tried to steady herself. “The night of the ball, I told you that I would step out once I had found my courage.” A smile lifted the corners of her mouth as she saw him blink in surprise, evidently recalling their first meeting with a new, sudden awareness. “I have found that courage now, thanks to your generosity, Your Grace. I have stepped out, albeit in a most strange and unfamiliar manner. I have taken on the guise of another in order to fulfill my heart’s desire, and for that, I shall always hold gratitude for you in my heart.” Her eyes began to burn with tears, but she did nothing to dash them away. Instead, Catherine continued to allow herself to speak openly to the duke, knowing that she had to be honest with him. “But I am aware that your mother, the Dowager Blackwell, has expectations of the lady you will one day marry. Society has expectations also. You yourself, in your own way, will have expectations.” A tear slid from her cheek. “And I can fulfill none of them.”

  The duke shook his head, his fingers tightening on hers, but Catherine held up one hand, silently pleading with him not to say anything more. “You are much too generous, Your Grace,” she told him, her voice barely breaking a whisper. “Your consideration of me is more wonderous than anything I have ever experienced before, but yet I would refuse you in the knowledge that I am not the sort of young lady that would bring you any sort of happiness.” She shrugged and pulled her fingers from his. “I am much too headstrong, much too determined, and have none of the qualities that would be required as the Duchess of Blackwell.” Turning away, she hurried towards the door, ignoring the tea tray that had been left for her. “I must bid you good evening, Your Grace.”

  She did not look at him again but scurried from the room, knowing that she would have to find a way back to her room without being seen by any of the other staff. Her breathing was ragged, and she swallowed sobs, not wanting to make a single sound.

  “Here, Miss.”

  Jenny, the maid, moved silently like a shadow and reached for Catherine’s hand. Placing it on her arm as though she were an old, decrepit woman, Jenny began to lead Cath
erine here and there, seeming to go through all the corridors that the house had, before finally making her way to the one room that Catherine knew she would be safe in.

  “No one has seen you, Miss,” Jenny said, looking at Catherine with concern. “Might I help you undress? Or fetch another tea tray? I can do that without suspicion, really.”

  Catherine, who wanted to be left entirely alone, nodded at the second suggestion, her vision still clouded with tears. “Thank you, Jenny,” she answered, aware of just how badly her voice shook. “I would be most grateful.”

  The maid bobbed a curtsy and hurried away, leaving Catherine to step into her room and close the door tightly behind her. Leaning against it, she buried her face in her hands and finally let the tears begin to flow.

  The duke had tried to offer her something that was more wonderful, more astonishing, than anything Catherine had ever been offered in her life before – and yet, she knew she could not accept it. What made it all the worse was the realization that she cared for the duke in a way that she had never expected. Her heart was beginning to fill with him, and even though she had turned from him, it seemed to do so all the more, as though she had only just discovered how truly wonderful he was. His kindness, his generosity, and his understanding were more than she had ever experienced, for none of her sisters, her mother, nor her cousin had ever been able to show any sort of understanding for her difficulties and her trials. Her friends had been few and far between, for no other young lady rode astride nor galloped like a fury across the gardens. She was not as every other young lady of the ton, that she knew, but she had never felt any sort of shame or mortification over such a thing, and especially not when she had spoken her heart to the duke. He had shown such understanding that she had wanted to lean into him and wrap her arms about his waist, feeling his strength and courage flowing into her.

  Instead, she had turned from him. They would continue with their training, she would race Beauchamp, and thereafter, their acquaintance would come to an end. There was nothing more that could be done, nothing more that could be offered her. She could not allow the duke to bear any sort of ridicule nor displeasure from the beau monde nor from his mother if he married her, not after what he had done for her. No, it was best to leave things as they stood, even if it was not what she wanted.

  “I do not want to leave you,” she whispered, sinking slowly to the floor with her face still in her hands. “But yet I must.” The truth of those words burned into her, sending pain all through her as her heart slowly ripped into a thousand tiny pieces.

  Chapter Eleven

  “So you have a jockey then.”

  Matthew nodded, his heart not leaping with joy as he had expected. “I do,” he replied, attempting to sound confident. “Do you think you will be bold enough to place a wager on me?”

  His friend, Lord Brighton, laughed and shook his head. “I shall, of course, do so,” he agreed, waggling his eyebrows. “Although I may also put a bet on one or two others, just to increase my chances of winning.”

  Unable to help himself, Matthew chuckled wryly, knowing that his friend had a good deal of money and did not need to win more – and could well afford to lose a great deal and still be in perfect financial health. “You do not think I shall win then?”

  “I think you shall try very hard to win,” his friend replied, hailing the footman to bring them both another drink. “So, tell me of this jockey of yours. Inexperienced, I heard someone say?”

  Much to Matthew’s dismay, his thoughts did not go to Lady Wells as his jockey but rather Lady Wells as she had been only two evenings ago, when she had stood in his drawing room clad in a gown of deep emerald, her eyes fixed upon his. At the thought, his mouth went dry and his heart quickened, recalling just how beautiful she had appeared.

  “Blackwell?”

  Lord Brighton sounded a trifle concerned, and it was with an effort that Matthew had to pull himself from his own thoughts. “I do apologize,” he replied with a forced smile. “The race is only in a few days’ time and I find that I am quite caught up in thinking of it.”

  His friend nodded. “But of course,” he agreed slowly. “But your jockey. Is there some concern over him?”

  “No, no, none whatsoever,” Matthew replied quickly. “He is more than adequate.” They had been training each evening, but there had not been much conversation between them since the night Lady Wells had joined him for dinner. That had been difficult indeed, for there was a good deal that Matthew knew he wished to say, but he simply could not find the words nor the way with which he might speak.

  “You believe you can win the Gold Cup, then?” Lord Brighton asked, as the footman set down the tray and handed both Matthew and Lord Brighton a glass of the best French brandy that Whites had to offer. “You will finally have the fulfillment of all your dreams and intentions?” He chuckled, but Matthew did not smile.

  “I must hope so,” he chose to say, not wanting to say much more than that. “Although if I do not win this year, then I can merely try again the following year.” The way Lady Wells had spoken to him came back to his mind with force, recalling how she would only have this one opportunity with which to fulfill her own “dreams and intentions”-- as Lord Brighton had put it. He no longer had that fierce drive within him to win the Gold Cup, to be successful at Ascot and to thereafter gain the admiration of the beau monde. It felt almost a little ridiculous to have such an intention when someone such as Lady Wells was to be held back from her own desires for the rest of her days once the Gold Cup was over.

  Lord Brighton cleared his throat, the smile fading from his face and a look of concern leaching into his eyes. His attention having been caught, Matthew looked back at his friend with what he hoped was nonchalance, although his back stiffened in a most awkward fashion.

  “Something is troubling you, Blackwell,” Lord Brighton said firmly, making it plain that he would not allow Matthew to deny it. “It cannot be about the Gold cup, for you have been putting a horse and rider into the race almost every year since the 1813 Act of Enclosure was passed!”

  “That was only three years ago,” Matthew replied with a roll of his eyes. “And I have always been a little anxious when it comes to the race.”

  Lord Brighton shook his head firmly. “No, there is something more to your concern at the present,” he replied, making Matthew realize just how well his friend knew him. “What is it? I promise you it will be easier if you speak of it!” He gestured widely for Matthew to begin, sitting back in his chair and watching him intently.

  Feeling trapped, Matthew heaved a sigh and closed his eyes briefly. “It is to do with matters of the heart, Brighton, that is all.”

  Lord Brighton’s swift intake of breath was so loud that Matthew feared the rest of Whites had heard it.

  “Good gracious,” Lord Brighton breathed, his eyes widening as he stared at Matthew. “But I thought you to be a determined bachelor!”

  “I am…I mean, I was,” Matthew replied dully. “But I have discovered someone who has lit such a spark within me that I cannot deny it.”

  “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 affe
ction 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.”