by Lucy Adams
“And you knew,” Catherine murmured, as Dinah nodded fervently. “I am sorry to have hidden myself from you all, but I had to do this. I had to try and achieve what has long captured my heart. The agony of not being able to do so was more than I could bear.” She turned to Merry, seeing how her sister was blinking back tears. “I am sorry to have caused so much pain and worry. That was not my intention.”
“I know.” Merry reached out and took Catherine’s hand, squeezing it gently as she tried her best to keep her composure. “But you gave us all a very great fright, Catherine.” She let out a long breath, evidently blowing away her anger and allowing her relief to flood her. “Mother will be so very glad.”
Catherine smiled and reached for Merry, giving her a long hug that spoke of both healing and understanding. “I shall be glad to see her again,” she said honestly. “I will apologize, of course, but I must also tell her the news that I am no longer to be an unmarried spinster with a penchant for the races.” Stepping back, she laughed at the matching looks of astonishment in her sister and cousin’s eyes. “I have not accepted as yet but have no doubt that I shall!”
Dinah’s voice was soft, her eyes still as big as saucers. “The duke,” she breathed, as Catherine nodded. “He knows you are Lady Wells then?”
“He discovered it, yes,” Catherine admitted. “And thereafter, we have found ourselves to be quite taken with one another.” Her smile spread as Merry began to cry with evident happiness, pulling out a handkerchief from her sleeve. “I was to refuse him, believing that I was not suitable for a gentleman such as he, but he has convinced me that I need not fear such a thing.”
“No,” said a voice from just behind Merry. “No, you need not.”
Catherine let out a long breath as the duke came inside, his expression gentle as his eyes fixed upon hers.
“My sister and my cousin have discovered me, as you can see,” she said, gesturing to Merry and Dinah. “I believe you have met my cousin before but–”
“I know Lady Weston, of course,” the duke murmured, bowing quickly towards Merry, who only managed the smallest of curtsies given her current emotional state. “And Miss Shepherd, of course. How are you this day?”
“Much better for seeing Catherine,” Dinah replied, surprising Catherine with her firmness. “I thank you, Your Grace.”
“What has been decided, Blackwell?” Catherine asked, moving towards the duke and seeing how he smiled at her. Was it because he had been permitted to have her race? Or was it merely because he was glad to see her safe?
“I have spoken at length with the officials,” he began, reaching out to take her hand and pressing it lightly. “The rules, such as they are, state that anyone is permitted to race. Anyone. That includes women, of course.”
“But they did not agree,” Catherine said, knowing what was coming. “They believe me to be entirely unsuitable for the race.”
The duke’s smile softened. “They were quite adamant that a woman could not do so, of course. However, the rules are quite clear, and it is to the rules that they must abide, being the officials of Ascot Heath.”
A sudden curl of excitement tore through Catherine’s belly. “You do not mean to say that–”
“Indeed I do, my love,” he interrupted, now grinning broadly. “They could find no way to remove your right to race from the rules. Therefore, this year, you are permitted to race – although, I fear that the rules shall be swiftly changed thereafter!”
Catherine could hardly breathe, staring up at the duke as though she expected him to then shake his head and say that, in fact, she was not to be permitted after all, but no such words were spoken. Instead, he simply smiled at her, his hand tight in hers, waiting for her to respond.
“I am to race,” Catherine breathed, her heart beginning to beat furiously in her chest. “I am to be permitted to race.”
“You are,” the duke murmured, coming closer and putting one arm about her waist, pulling her a little closer. “And whether you win or whether you come at the very end, we shall have a celebration of your success thereafter.”
Hardly able to believe it, Catherine let out a small, shaky laugh feeling as though she wanted to laugh and cry at the same time. Her hand went to her mouth, her eyes shining as she held the duke’s gaze, her excitement growing to a crescendo. She was to be able to race, not disguised as Mr. Leighton but as herself. She was going to be able to prove that she was able to race and compete just as well as any gentleman; she was going to be able to show that she had as much mettle and skill as they. She could hardly believe it.
“I should inform Mama as quickly as possible,” Merry interrupted, not quite managing a smile. “The news of your ride will go all through London within minutes, I am quite certain.”
That took some of the joy from Catherine, knowing that this might very well affect her cousin’s reputation. “I shall make sure to cover my face as best I can, although I shall let my hair free so that there can be no doubt as to who I am,” Catherine told Merry, aware of how her sister’s relief was immediately apparent. “I would not bring shame nor mortification down upon anyone.”
“Are you quite certain?” Dinah asked, taking a step forward and looking at Catherine with concern. “You know very well how I feel about the ton and the Season, so you need not do so on my account.”
Catherine smiled at her cousin. “I believe that I too felt the very same way as you as regarded the ton, marriage, and the like, Dinah. However, now I must admit that I feel very differently. Things can change, my dear cousin, and it is with that awareness that I shall choose to hide my features from the world. I shall still be able to prove to those watching that a woman can compete just as well as any gentleman, all without showing my face.” She reached out and pressed Dinah’s hand. “Trust me. This is for the best.”
“Most considerate of you, Lady Wells,” said Lord Brighton, who was, much to Catherine’s surprise, looking at Dinah with interest. “Come now, shall I take you back?” He offered his arm to Dinah, who stared at him as though she did not quite understand what he was offering. Catherine hid her smile as Dinah, eventually, reached out and accepted it, clearly quite uncertain as to what she was doing.
“I wish you the very best of luck, dear sister,” Merry murmured, putting one hand on Catherine’s shoulder for a moment. “Have no fear about what Mama will say. I will speak to her at length on your behalf.”
“Thank you,” Catherine replied gratefully. “Just reassure her that I am well and that I am content – and that I shall be home again by this evening.”
“I will, of course.” Merry smiled, let go of Catherine’s arm, and left, swiftly followed by Lord Richardson.
Catherine felt the air grow thick about her as she looked up into the duke’s face, seeing how his gaze had become tender, how his eyes were filled with the affection he had for her. His arm was still about her waist, and as she held his gaze, she saw him shift so that he was standing closer to her still.
“I have every faith in you, my love,” he told her, his head lowering just a little. “Know that I will be cheering you on, glad that you are finally being given the chance to ride and race as you have long dreamed of.”
Catherine let out her breath slowly, sending some of her flickering nerves away. “I shall be confident, knowing that you are there watching and waiting for me,” she replied, feeling the urge to tip her head up towards his. “You are quite wonderful, Your Grace.”
He chuckled and, reaching up, began to pull out the pins from her hair, letting the rest of her tresses fall down her back. A shiver ran down Catherine’s spine as he did so, feeling the extraordinary sensations that came with his touch. Her breath shuddered out of her as he ran his fingers through her hair, seeing how his own breathing quickened.
“I will always be waiting for you, Catherine,” the duke murmured, his other hand now framing her face. “I will wait for your answer for as long as it will take for you to give it to me. I do not want to lose you f
rom my life, for you can never be lost from my heart.”
She closed her eyes, reached up, and pressed her mouth to his, giving into the urge that had been slowly building within her. For a moment, the duke did not react and then, in a heady burst of emotion, he wrapped his arms about her waist and crushed her against him. Catherine’s heart burst into a furious gallop as she clung to him, unable to do anything more.
“I take it then,” the duke whispered, his mouth only just away from hers as he broke their kiss, “that you have decided to accept me?”
“I have,” Catherine whispered, her eyes still closed as her heart roared with love for him. “My heart is yours, Blackwell. It is filled with a love for you that I know will remain there until the end of my days, growing a little brighter and stronger every day.” She felt his lips press against her cheek, both relieved and sorrowful when he let her go. The sensation of being in his arms had been utterly overwhelming.
“You cannot know how much joy this brings me, my love,” he murmured, now catching her hands in his as she opened her eyes. “My heart is overflowing with joy! I – I want to shout from the roof of the stalls that my bride shall be none other than the wonderful, strong, passionate, fiery creature that is Lady Wells!”
Catherine laughed aloud as he again wrapped her in his arms, whirling her about the stall and making Beauchamp snort in surprise. When he set her down, she leaned into him again, her head resting against his shoulder. His arms came about her as she settled there, feeling as though they were taking the first steps towards being as one, as husband and wife.
“I think Beauchamp is in agreement,” the duke said, as Beauchamp nickered loudly, making Catherine laugh. “And that should be all the confirmation you require, my love.”
She looked up at him again, her expression joyous. “You are all that I need,” she told him honestly. “I can look forward to my future now, knowing that you will not hold me back.”
“Never,” he promised her, before reaching down to kiss her again.
Chapter Fourteen
“Did I hear it said that you have a woman riding your horse?”
Matthew, standing in the grandstand, tried not to sigh. “Yes, it is quite true,” he told the gentleman behind him, wondering if they had ever been acquainted before. “And I have no shame in acknowledging it.”
“But a woman!” the man replied, laughing aloud. “They cannot ride as well as gentlemen! What on earth are you thinking in permitting such a thing?”
Matthew closed his eyes and let his hands tighten on the rail, his frustrations growing by the minute. “I think that is the point of allowing her to ride,” he grated, praying that the man would stop asking questions and making comments. “It is to prove to those watching that a woman can, in fact, ride just as well as a gentleman, if not better.”
The loud guffaw that came from the fellow told Matthew that he had failed entirely in his attempt to defend his choice of rider. The man shook his head and slapped Matthew on the shoulder, making him tense all the more.
“You will be the laughingstock of England!” the gentleman cried, laughing through his words. “And I shall be the very first one to see your reaction when that jockey of yours comes in dead last.”
Matthew could not contain himself any longer. Turning around, he jabbed one long, hard finger into the man’s chest, seeing how the smile immediately slid from his face, replaced with a look of fright. The top hat he wore – something required for all gentlemen when they attended the races – wobbled dramatically as Matthew began to speak, prodding the gentleman with each word he spoke.
“That is quite enough,” he said, seeing the man begin to splutter. “I am not even acquainted with you, and yet you think you can speak to me in such a way? Have you no realization of who I am?”
The gentleman took a step back, as Matthew dropped his hand, his brows knotting as he glared at the fellow.
“I am the Duke of Blackwell, willing to take a risk on a certain young lady because I believe her to be the best jockey in all of England,” he stated, his voice loud and filled with both pride and determination. “I will not be laughed at, nor chased out of London by gossip and mockery. No, instead, I shall stand here, proud and victorious, as my horse and my jockey make it known to all of England that a woman can ride just as well as any gentleman, should they be given the opportunity.”
The gentleman tugged a handkerchief from his pocket and began to dab at his forehead, beginning to bluster. His face was bright red, and all about him, gentlemen were listening with obvious interest as Matthew finished his speech.
“So might I suggest, therefore, that you cease your mockery and, for perhaps even a moment, begin to believe that a lady might be more than capable of something you have already decided she cannot do.” Matthew sent one final hard look towards the fellow and then turned back towards the Ascot Heath, his hands curling into tight fists as he did so. He had no doubt that, even if Lady Wells should win the race, that he would have a good deal of gossip and the like to contend with, but that was something he did not care about in the least bit. However, he would not tolerate mockery or the like, not when it was entirely unjustified. Lady Wells, he knew, was about to prove to them all that a lady could not only ride well but race, and for that, he was more than little proud.
“Not having any trouble, I hope?”
Matthew turned to see Lord Brighton making his way through the assembled gentlemen, elbowing the red-faced gentleman out of his way.
“I should not have any trouble now, no,” Matthew replied, with a small, rueful smile. “I will not have gentlemen mock me when they have no understanding of what she can do.”
Lord Brighton let out a long breath, leaning forward on the railings. “I have no understanding of it either, to be truthful, but I trust your judgement.” He smiled, his expression brightening. “And may I be among the first to wish you happy.”
“I thank you,” Matthew replied, his tension fading as he thought of the day that would soon come, the day when he could make Lady Wells his bride. “I thank you for your encouragement to continue pursuing the matter, Brighton. Without it, I might not now be standing here with such a joy in my heart.”
Lord Brighton chuckled, slapping Matthew on the shoulder. “I am glad to have been so helpful,” he replied, turning his attention back to the race ground. “Oh, look. The horses are taking their places.”
Matthew’s stomach immediately began to churn, his fingers tightening on the rail as he clung to it, as though his very life depended on how tight a grip he had. He could see the dark navy and scarlet from where he stood, could see Lady Wells as she mounted, holding onto the reins in her usual gentle manner. She had a large kerchief tied around her head, covering her nose and her mouth and hiding a good deal of her face. When questioned, Matthew had stated to the officials that it was to keep dust out of the lady’s nose and mouth, and for whatever reason, they had accepted it. He would have been happy if she had chosen to reveal her face to everyone but was also content to go along with her decision, knowing that she was making it for the sake of her cousin and her family name. Beauchamp was stamping and snorting, but Matthew did not feel any particular concern at that. The horse was clearly in an excitable mood and ready to race, but he had no doubt that Lady Wells would be able to contain him.
He could hear a few loud jeers from all around him, hear the sounds of mocking rushing to his ears as a few of the spectators noticed that a woman was sitting astride, clad in a jockey’s outfit. He did not let them affect him and prayed that Lady Wells herself would not permit them to affect her either. Watching them closely, his heart quickening in his chest, he let out a long steadying breath and waited for the starting pistol.
The sound ricocheted across the grounds, making him start. The horses moved as one, one large creature making its way along the racetrack. His heart moved into his throat as the horses began to separate, his hands holding onto the rail so hard that they began to hurt.
“T
here she goes!” Lord Brighton shouted, his excitement obvious. “Look, she is staying near the middle of the pack! She is not falling behind!”
This was supposed to be something of a compliment, Matthew supposed, managing a small, tight smile as he glanced at his friend. Breathing slowly so as to keep himself calm, he kept his gaze fixed on Lady Wells, seeing how she bent low over Beauchamp’s neck, her hair flying out behind her. She used no crop and did not beat nor shout at Beauchamp, as some of the other jockeys did. Instead, she simply fixed her gaze on the path ahead, her hands loose on the reins. Beauchamp, free to run just as he pleased, suddenly put on a surge of speed, pushing himself forward past the other horses.
Lady Wells was no longer in the middle of the pack. Nor was she merely close to the front, she was, in fact, beginning to overtake the leader.
“Look, look, Blackwell!” Lord Brighton exclaimed, his hand grasping Matthew’s arm as though he was not watching Lady Wells intently. “She is gaining! She is gaining!”
“She is doing more than gaining,” Matthew breathed, his excitement curling upwards in his chest. “She is…winning!”
Indeed, Lady Wells was doing precisely that. She was now at the very front, riding hard and crouched even lower over Beauchamp’s neck. The crowd had fallen almost silent, their evident surprise that a woman was able to ride so fast and so quickly in the most important race of all overwhelming them. Matthew could barely breathe, seeing how Beauchamp galloped all the more quickly, evidently delighted with the open ground and the chance to run as fast as he pleased. The end of the race was growing ever closer and Matthew found himself growing more and more anxious, fearing that something terrible was going to happen, that something dreadful would occur that would prevent Lady Wells from winning.
But it did not. The sound of cheering exploded around him as he stared at the finish line, seeing how Beauchamp crossed it at least several lengths ahead of the others. He could do nothing nor say a single word, his eyes fixed on Lady Wells as the air about him flooded with noise. It was fuzzy, burning into his mind but not quite able to bring about a reaction from within himself. It was as if he could not quite take it in, could not quite let himself believe what had just occurred.