The Duke’s Secret Wager: London Season Matchmaker Book Four

by Adams, Lucy

  Matthew was so filled with frustration that he did not know what to do. Instead of going to Beauchamp, instead of speaking directly to Rigby and calling him out for his lack of consideration and his overwhelming arrogance, Matthew turned around and walked away. He had a good deal to think on and certainly did not want to speak rashly, but doubts were beginning to form in his mind as to whether or not Rigby would listen to any advice, acknowledge that he had been wrong, and become a meeker sort of fellow. And underneath that came the feeling that the young lad who had suddenly appeared in his stall was the right sort of person to ride Beauchamp. He had managed to get a better sense of the horse than Rigby, the experienced jockey, had done, which spoke of a true consideration of the animal.

  Shaking his head, Matthew continued to walk away from the race, his mind filled with discontent. This day had not gone as well as he had hoped it would. And that, he considered as he looked up at the sky, would fill his mind with dark clouds for some time yet.

  Chapter Two

  “Must we go?”

  Catherine hid a smile as Dinah spoke the very words that had been on her own mind for the entire morning, seeing how her mother sighed heavily at the question.

  “Yes, Dinah, we must,” Lady Whitehaven replied. “It is the height of the Season! Why would we refuse to attend an event such as this? It is quite the opportunity, and most young ladies would be delighted to attend it.”

  The event this evening was to be a ball, thrown by the Duke of Blackwell, who was one of England’s most eligible bachelors according to the gossip. He had a grand townhouse in London, but the ball was being thrown at his large estate near Ascot, some miles out of London. Thankfully, there was more than enough space for people to reside overnight, and Lady Whitehaven had been thrilled to receive an invitation. Unfortunately, neither Catherine nor Dinah were at all pleased.

  “But it is so very far,” Dinah complained, shaking her head. “And we are not to waste our time on things that lack worth.”

  Most likely, that is a repeating of something that was said during the service last Sunday, Catherine thought to herself, a slight nudge of guilt in her own heart that she had not been paying a good deal of attention that day and that she could not recall anything specific of what had been said.

  “It is not lacking worth!” Lady Whitehaven stated firmly. “It is to be a wonderful evening, where both yourself and Catherine can have the opportunity to present yourselves to old acquaintances and make new acquaintances thereafter. I have hope for you both that you might yet discover a happiness with a sensible gentleman.”

  Catherine just managed to prevent herself from rolling her eyes at this remark, seeing how Dinah went a slow shade of red at Lady Whitehaven’s remark. Dinah appeared to be entirely disinterested in the Season, in the same way as Catherine was, but for very different reasons. Since losing her parents some years ago, Dinah had become very devout and considered most things to be worldly and frivolous. This included expensive gowns, balls, dancing, and all other forms of entertainment, for Dinah much preferred to read quietly and to spend time praying. It was not something that Catherine had any desire to mock nor disdain, for she could not imagine what it must be like to have lost both loving parents in one horrible moment. However, this Season, since returning to London, Catherine had noticed that Dinah appeared to be a little less studious and a trifle more interested in all that went on about her. Of course, she still protested about attending balls and the like, but it was a little less vehement than before.

  “We leave within the hour, so there is no need to consider complaining as though it will change my mind,” Lady Whitehaven said dramatically, as she rose from her chair in a flurry of skirts. “Although you should be pleased, Catherine. His Grace has, from what I understand, excellent stables.”

  A sudden shiver ran down Catherine’s spine. “Indeed?” she replied, trying not to show the great rush of interest that had climbed into her mind. “I have never heard of it, I confess.”

  “Which is to be expected, given that you show such little interest in the gentlemen of the beau monde,” Lady Whitehaven replied, clearly exasperated. “Yes, the Duke of Blackwell has excellent stables and has a keen interest in horseflesh. I believe he intends to enter the Gold Cup race this year in Ascot.”

  This had Catherine’s interest flaring all the more, looking towards her mother in surprise. “Indeed?”

  “I have been speaking to my friend, Lady Wimple, whose husband is, as you know, more than interested in such things,” Lady Whitehaven replied, waving a hand as though this was not of any particular interest. “Apparently, the Duke of Blackwell has a newly purchased stallion, who did not do as well as was expected in the most recent race. Not that I care for such things, but I am certain that you should be allowed the chance to see the stallion, should you ask for it.” She let out an exasperated sigh and shook her head. “But that is only to be done on the onus that you attend the ball and behave accordingly. In the morning, before we depart, I shall arrange for you to see this ‘Beauchamp’ or whatever the creature is called.” Her eyes fixed upon Catherine’s, who suddenly found herself struggling to breathe. “What say you, my dear?”

  Catherine’s mind was filled with the name of the horse, realizing precisely who she had been speaking to when she had sneaked into the races and, thereafter, into a stall that contained one of the most beautiful horses she had ever seen. The man had told her that he was a duke but had not given her his full title, and she had returned not knowing the identity of the gentleman in all its completeness.

  “Catherine?” Lady Whitehaven queried, looking at her with a flicker of concern in her eyes. “Is something wrong?”

  “No, no, Mama,” Catherine managed to say, her voice thick as she tried to hide her surprise and sudden nervousness. “No, not at all. Thank you.”

  Lady Whitehaven’s frown returned. “And what say you to my suggestion?” Her eyes narrowed just a little. “Will you behave as I ask and as you are expected? If we are to have this agreement, then you will not go and hide yourself in a corner, hoping that you are not noticed, and you will not speak brashly to any gentleman who approaches you in order to turn his interest away from you.”

  Catherine found herself nodding, seeing how her mother appeared rather pleased with the outcome as her frown faded away completely. There was nothing else she could do other than agree, given that she was quite overwhelmed with the knowledge that the gentleman she had been talking to only last week was, in fact, the Duke of Blackwell. The Duke of Blackwell owned Beauchamp, and now, she was going to be attending his ball and residing in his estate overnight! It was not the ball that brought her any delight, however, but rather the realization that she would be able to see Beauchamp again. If she thought things through, then mayhap she would even have the chance to ride him.

  A flurry of excitement rolled around her belly, her hands clasping together tightly in her lap. Would the duke allow her to ride Beauchamp if she asked? It would be one thing for him to agree to show her his horses but quite another for him to permit her to take one for a ride – and, most likely, Catherine realized, the duke would think her much too weak or inexperienced to ride such a horse as Beauchamp. Her excitement began to fade away as she rose from her chair and made her way to the door, excusing herself quietly with the mention that she was not quite ready to depart as yet and needed to ensure she would be prepared on time.

  Hurrying up to her bedchamber, Catherine took in a deep breath and sat back down at her dressing table, looking at herself in the mirror and remembering what she had done before. In her frustration and her anger at being treated in such a differing fashion simply because of her sex, she had decided to take matters into her own hands. The courage that had been required of her had been great, and a good deal of planning had gone into her intentions, but it had all worked out very well for the most part.

  She had chosen to dress as a gentleman in the hopes that she might be able to ride in the races as so man
y others did. However, she had thereafter realized that she would not pass for a gentleman, given her slight figure and voice, so she had decided to attempt to appear as a young lad instead of a gentleman. Binding her chest with long strips of material, she had sought out her brother’s clothes in his unoccupied bedchamber and had, much to her relief, discovered that some of his clothes from his younger days had been still hanging in the wardrobe. His shoes had been very difficult, however, for the boots did not fit her and were much too big and so she had been forced to buy a pair instead, using her pin money. She had also discovered that one could purchase a wig and had not had any qualms in doing that very thing. Her mother did not know of it, for Catherine had been most careful to hide such a thing from her, but she had cut off some of her hair in order to help her bind it up in as tight a fashion as she could. The maid, when Catherine had asked for her help, had been horrified at the request, but Catherine had been determined. Giving the maid a coin or two as a reward and as a promise for her silence had done the trick, for in the end, the maid had taken Catherine’s cut hair and disposed of it carefully so that no one would know what had happened. Catherine was still easily able to put her hair in a chignon and the like, but she had also been able to flatten her hair against her head in as intricate a fashion as she could, which had helped her to fasten the wig that she had purchased. Once fully assembled, Catherine had stared at herself in the mirror, barely recognizing her own reflection and finding it a little disconcerting that she appeared so boyish.

  However, given that this was precisely what she had been intending, Catherine had felt her confidence grow as she had studied her appearance, and thus, her determination had grown fully into completion. It had been this courage that had helped her slip from the house whilst her mother was still abed and whilst Dinah was reading quietly in the library. Making her way to the races had been easy enough, for a hackney had been sought and money paid, and thereafter, Catherine had been in a world of delight. It had been more joyous than she had ever expected, for she had been able to walk amongst the gentlemen, stable hands, and jockeys without anyone giving her more than a cursory glance. She had been able to feel a part of the world that had been held back from her for so long, and it had been exhilarating.

  Why could you not return to that world again?

  Catherine frowned, looking at her reflection and knowing that she could very easily turn back into that young lad, Christopher Leighton, and that most likely, no one would suspect her. The Duke of Blackwell had spoken at length to her and had not even once considered that she was not who she said she was. Surely then, she had nothing to concern herself with. When the ball was in full swing or when the guests had begun to retire, she would be able to slip to her chamber, change, and then hurry out to the stables in the hope that she might see Beauchamp again and, mayhap, take him for a ride under the moonlit sky. She could do so without assistance from anyone, for Catherine knew full well how to saddle a horse and, indeed, how to brush a horse down once the ride was at an end. The duke would be caught up with his guests, and the stable hands, most likely, would have either retired or gone in search of some sort of entertainment of their own, given that they would not be required for the rest of the evening.

  The very thought of it captured Catherine’s whole attention, making her stomach twist with a thrill of anticipation. If she were to do as she wished, if she were not to continue to linger in frustration and disappointment with what was both required of her and permitted for her to do, then she was the one who would have to make such changes as to allow that. Yes, there was risk, and yes, she might be discovered, but the chances were so slim that Catherine considered it to be worthwhile.

  Knowing that they were to leave very soon, Catherine hurriedly began to pack up her things, hiding the wig in a hat box, which she then covered with a bonnet. Wrapping up the rest of her gentlemanly clothes, she tugged a pillowcase from the bed and thrust the clothes within. Ringing the bell, she waited for the maid to come so that she might give them her hat box and her other items, making sure that they would be well hidden within the rest of her things. Excitement began to circle up within her, and Catherine had to pace about the room in order to contain herself. She would do exactly as her mother had asked, for she would engage with the gentlemen at the ball, and she would act with as much decorum and poise as her mother desired. Thereafter, she would retire early and then would slip out as quietly as she could, once she was prepared and ready. The plan was already formed in her mind, and suddenly, Catherine found herself filled with a good deal more anticipation than before.

  Chapter Three

  “Good evening, Lady Whitehaven.”

  Lord Blackwell bowed over Lady Whitehaven’s hand, aware that she was smiling brightly at him whilst two younger ladies stood nearby. The ball was in full swing and the guests, thus far, seemed to be enjoying themselves. His mother, the Dowager Blackwell, was also enjoying herself it seemed, for as he released Lady Whitehaven’s hand, he could hear the sound of his mother’s tinkling laugh making its way towards him.

  “Thank you so much for your very kind invitation,” Lady Whitehaven cooed, clearly delighted that they had been considered. “My daughter, niece, and I are truly grateful.”

  Matthew cast a quick glance over the two young ladies next to Lady Whitehaven, smiling politely but thinking that neither were particularly beautiful and certainly did not appear to be as pleased as Lady Whitehaven about this invitation, given that neither were smiling.

  “But of course,” he said, gesturing towards the ballroom. “I am glad also that you can reside here until your departure in the morning. I do hope you have a pleasant evening.”

  Lady Whitehaven nodded, smiled and then moved away quickly, taking her two charges with her. Matthew did not pay them any further attention, immediately turning towards his other guests. There was a good deal to do this evening, and he was determined to throw an extravagant evening that would be the talk of London and the surrounding area for at least a few weeks to come. That, at the very least, would satisfy his mother, who was continually complaining about his lack of interest in seeking a wife, even though Matthew had already informed her that he would do so only when he felt it was necessary for him to do so. After all, he had a younger brother who was married and enjoying a quiet life in the estate with his wife and small son, so if the worst was to happen then at least the dukedom would pass to someone within the family line who was possibly more worthy of it than he.

  “Good evening. How very good to see you.”

  Hands were bowed over, gentlemen were greeted, and still the guests arrived. Matthew found himself growing singularly weary of saying the same words over and over again, to the point that he had to grit his teeth in between greetings. His back ached from the constant bowing which was then followed by holding himself tall and straight, as he was expected to. He was finding no pleasure in this evening thus far and prayed silently that it would very soon come to a close.

  By tomorrow, the guests will have all returned home and you will have done your duty for another year, he reminded himself, as the number of guests finally began to dwindle. Chin up.

  * * *

  Finally, a good hour after the first guest had arrived, Matthew finally felt as if he was able to leave his post and begin to mingle with the guests. Taking a few steps further forward, Matthew hesitated for a moment, feeling himself held back. To walk into the ballroom and begin to converse with his guests would mean that another expectation would be placed upon his shoulders. He would have to circulate throughout the room, ensuring that he danced every dance with a different young lady. Given that he was still a bachelor, most young ladies would be eager to seek him out, with a good many mothers pushing their daughters forward for him to lay eyes on. Groaning inwardly and trying to convince himself that it was only for one evening, Matthew tried to force himself forward, pasting a jovial smile on his face that he did not really feel.

  “You do not look as though you are enjo
ying your ball, Your Grace.”

  Matthew started in surprise, twisting his head over his left shoulder to see a young lady standing by the wall. The shadows were heavy there, and Matthew guessed that the person who had spoken had no desire to be seen by many. A spark of curiosity warmed his heart, and he looked a little more closely at the person standing there, wondering if he could make her out a little better. A pale complexion with dark hair was all he could see, only just managing to make out her form.

  “I have a good deal of responsibility,” he replied, surprising himself with his honest response. “There is much I must do and say and the weight of it is, at present, resting heavily on my shoulders.”

  There was a breath of silence.

  “I believe I understand, Your Grace,” came the eventual reply. “If it is of any relief, then I can assure you that I shall not seek you out for conversation nor to bat my eyes at you in the hope of gaining your attention.” She laughed softly, and Matthew could not help but chuckle, finding her remark quite humorous.

  “I presume you are one of the guests,” he replied, wondering who this lady might be. “And yet you have either eluded me or are deliberately standing away from me.”

  “Not you in particular, I assure you,” the voice still remaining very quiet, although a twinge of mirth was in her words. “I will gain my courage soon enough.”

  Matthew could not help but chuckle at this, aware of how difficult it could be for the quieter ladies to make their mark upon society. Again, he tried to scrutinize the face of the lady without taking another step towards her, but he could barely make out any of her features. “I must hope that, when you do, I shall be permitted to put my name on your dance card,” he said, a little surprised that this idea had not only come to him but that he had spoken it without restraint. “That shall, surely, bring you a good deal more courage.”