by Lucy Adams
Lady Wells had won. Beauchamp was the victor. He would take home the Gold Cup. And all because he had allowed her the opportunity to prove herself.
“You did it, old boy!” Lord Brighton slapped him on the back and then grabbed his hand, shaking it hard. “My goodness, what a race! I don’t think there’s ever been anything like that before! I’d say that jockey of yours has done what no other jockey has ever achieved before. Several lengths ahead, I’d say, several lengths at least!” He pumped Matthew’s hand firmly, laughing as Matthew looked back at him, a little dazed.
“She won,” Matthew heard himself say, as Lord Brighton laughed all the more. “She did it.”
“She did,” Lord Brighton agreed loudly, letting go of Matthew’s hand and gesturing towards the race ground where Lady Wells had slipped from the saddle and was now leaning against Beauchamp’s neck, perhaps murmuring something to him as she patted his neck. “Hadn’t you better go down and congratulate her?”
Matthew nodded, his legs feeling a trifle weak as he did so. “Yes,” he mumbled, trying to move away from the rail. “Yes, I should. Good gracious.” He turned back to Lord Brighton, blinking quickly. “Has she really won the Gold Cup?”
Lord Brighton shook his head and laughed uproariously. “Believe it, old boy!” he said loudly. “The Gold Cup is finally yours!”
It felt as though every eye was on him as Matthew made his way to the race ground, seeing how Lady Wells eyes were darting this way and that, perhaps afraid that someone else would approach her and tug the band from her face. When she saw him, however, relief flooded her gaze, and he felt certain she was smiling.
“My goodness, Lady Wells.” He shook his head in sheer amazement and wonder as he reached for her hands. “What an amazing rider you are.”
She flushed, her cheeks and temples going a delicate pink. “I cannot tell you how much this meant to me, Blackwell. To ride Beauchamp on the Ascot Heath, to be able to have the chance to ride against those who would consider themselves to be my betters…it was all quite extraordinary.”
“But you have done so,” he murmured, wishing to goodness that he could catch her up in his arms and press his mouth to hers but knowing he could not do so in front of the crowd. “You have shown everyone here that a woman can ride even better than a gentleman, and that they are capable of a good deal more than some might think them.”
“Thank you,” she whispered, looking up at him with shining eyes. “If it had not been for you, then I do not think that I should ever have been able to achieve this wonderous moment. You gave me the opportunity when so many would not have done so. You allowed me to ride Beauchamp and to prove myself to you.”
“And you have done more than prove yourself,” he replied fervently. “If it were not for this crowd, Catherine, I would hold you close and whisper all that is in my heart, for you have become more dear to me than any other.”
Again, her eyes sparkled, and she made to say more, only for an official to clear his throat loudly as he began to make his way towards them.
“I believe you are the winner, Your Grace,” the man said, barely giving Lady Wells a glance. He was tall and thin, with a thin white moustache and a neat grey beard. His top hat was placed firmly on his head, and he seemed to have an air of arrogance about him that Matthew immediately despised. A young lad was behind him, carrying a small cloth bag that Matthew presumed held Lady Wells’ winnings and, in the other arm, a Gold Cup. The cup that Matthew had sought to hold for so long.
“I believe that my jockey here, won the race,” he replied, forcing the gentleman to look at Lady Wells, who was standing tall and proud next to Beauchamp. “You may give her the winnings during the upcoming presentation. I shall not come forward.”
The man cleared his throat, appearing a little uncomfortable. “Your Grace, you must understand that, whilst that is normally the situation, in the current circumstances, we cannot…” Trailing off under the heavy glint in Matthew’s foreboding gaze, the gentleman turned his head away, trying to appear nonchalant. “The situation is vastly different from previous years, and I had hoped Your Grace would understand.”
Matthew did not understand, his frustrations and anger beginning to burn in his heart. Lady Wells had been the victor; Lady Wells had been the one to achieve the win; and therefore, she ought to be treated as any other victor had been done in the past. “You mean to say that, because my jockey is a woman, you will not give her the winnings in front of the crowd?”
The man began to stammer, clearly embarrassed. Matthew made to say more, only for Lady Wells to press her hand to his arm.
“I do not need the accolade, Blackwell,” she said gently. “I do not need any of it. I have won. The crowd knows it, you know it, and I know it to be true. I have won the Gold Cup. That is more than enough for my heart.”
Matthew felt his irritation begin to die away, seeing the look in her eyes and hearing the gentleness of her voice, but yet something within him began to turn against what the gentleman had said. He wanted Lady Wells to see just how many people were in awe of what she had done, of what she had achieved. He did not want her to turn away, as content as she might be within herself. He wanted her to see the crowd cheering for her, to feel that sheer joy in her heart.
“No,” he murmured, putting one hand over hers. “No, Lady Wells. It is not right for you to be treated so. Let me set things to right.”
The official began to stammer again, perhaps believing that Matthew was about to demand that Lady Wells be a part of the official presentation, but Matthew ignored him completely. Moving away from Lady Wells, away from Beauchamp and the official, he turned to face the crowd and spread his arms wide.
“You have seen a magnificent race today!” he began, bellowing loudly until finally, some of the crowd began to turn towards him. Looking to the grandstand, he saw Lord Brighton and Lord Richardson began to shush those about them, clearly wanting to hear what he had to say.
“You have seen a victor come forth,” Matthew continued, knowing full well that he would, most likely, lose his voice by the time he came to the end of his speech. “My jockey has proven to you all that a woman can ride just as well as a gentleman and, in this case, even better than a gentleman!” This statement was met with a few groans, a few mutters of disapproval but, mostly, loud cheers that made Matthew’s heart rise with pride. “She is magnificent,” he shouted, gesturing towards Lady Wells and seeing how she ducked her head, clearly a little embarrassed. “She rode better than anyone here today. Beauchamp, my horse, responds to her in a way that he does to no other. I cannot help but be filled with pride. My jockey has won!”
The crowd exploded with cheers and applause, and Matthew, a grin on his face, turned to the official and gestured for him to hand the winnings and the Gold Cup to Lady Wells. The gentleman clearly did not want to do so, but with a quick glance towards the crowd soon realized that he did not have any other choice. Without a word, without complaint, but also without a smile, he took the bag and the cup from the small boy and, with hasty steps, hurried towards Lady Wells. Handing them to her without ceremony, he jerked his head in a brief nod before turning on his heel to scurry away. Matthew’s anger burned but with an effort, he dampened the flames. The roar of the crowd as Lady Wells looked down at what she now held lifted his spirits, making his chest swell with pride as she turned her eyes to his, seeing how they had flared with wonder.
“Your champion!” he yelled, clapping wildly as the crowd’s roar swelled the air again, their thunderous applause and cheers and whoops of delight making Lady Wells face – what he could see of it at least — flush bright red.
“My champion,” he said to her, as he came close enough for her to hear him over the crowd. “Listen to that noise, Catherine. They are cheering for you. They are applauding for you. You deserve all of this and more, my dear. You are the victor. You are the champion. You are completely and utterly magnificent.”
Her eyes spilled over with tears, dampening the
kerchief as she reached out her hand to his. He held it tightly, prouder than he could express. The Gold Cup was not anything of importance to him any longer. Instead, it was the sheer happiness in Lady Wells’ eyes that filled his heart. She had fulfilled a dream she had never allowed herself to hope for and came out as the champion of one of the most important races of the year. He hoped she would never forget this moment.
Chapter Fifteen
“Catherine! Good gracious!”
Catherine tried not to cry as her mother reached for her, her hands shaking violently as she embraced her daughter.
“I am sorry, Mama.”
Those words came from her mouth without any real understanding in her own mind as to why she said them. What was it she was sorry for? She did not regret racing, nor did she regret leaving London in the first place to pursue a different life for a time.
And then, it hit her. As her mother clung to her, Catherine recalled how she had so often meant to write to her mother, to let her know that she was safe and unaffected by scandal but, what with one thing and the next, had quite forgotten to do so.
“I should have let you know that I was quite safe, Mama,” she admitted, her voice hoarse as Dinah and Merry stood nearby, watching the reunion. “I am sorry I did not.”
Her mother swallowed hard and let Catherine go, her eyes glistening with tears. “I have been frantic with worry for you.”
“I had to go,” Catherine replied, trying to explain without completely breaking down into tears. “I had to find a new way forward, Mama. I could not simply be a lady of the ton, expected to behave and act as everyone else did.”
“Dinah believed you had gone in search of such a thing,” Lady Whitehaven replied, glancing towards Dinah who was, much to Catherine’s surprise, not looking at all judgmental but rather appeared relieved that all was well. “She said that you might have returned to the Duke of Blackwell’s estate, since you had mentioned his horse on one prior occasion, but I did not think she was at all correct.” Lady Whitehaven shook her head. “It seems I was wrong.” A tear trickled down her cheek, sending another stab of guilt through Catherine’s heart.
“I am sorry, Mama, for hiding my intentions from you, but I could not tell you for fear that you would not let me go. I had to seek out an opportunity to fulfill all that I had dreamed and hoped for, for so long.”
Lady Whitehaven accepted the handkerchief that Merry surreptitiously handed her, dabbing at her eyes. Her lips trembled, her face pale, and yet there was something like pride gleaming in her eyes.
“And you have done so at last, it seems.”
Catherine said nothing, her hands twisting in front of her as her mother wiped her eyes.
“You have managed to achieve something that no other person has ever achieved before,” Lady Whitehaven continued, lifting her chin just a little and looking directly at Catherine. “You outran every other rider out on the race today, by at least eight lengths!” The shake was slowly beginning to leave her voice. “I could hardly believe it when Merry told me that it was you riding that great creature.”
“Beauchamp,” Catherine interrupted, as her mother shook her head in evident astonishment. “The Duke of Blackwell’s horse. And yes, Mama, before you ask, he was aware of the truth of my identity but chose to allow me to ride anyway.”
Lady Whitehaven’s eyes rounded a little more. “He did not–”
“He has been nothing but a gentleman, Mama,” Catherine promised. “I have never once been in danger. I swear that to you. My reputation has not been damaged in that sense.” Taking a step closer, she reached out and settled her hand over her mother’s. “Although he does wish to speak to you, Mama. He suggested that I come to you alone so that we might speak together first but, whenever it is appropriate, I know that he wishes to call on us. On you.” She smiled as her mother appeared even more astonished, although a slow understanding appeared to be dawning on her. Lady Whitehaven caught her breath suddenly, her hand tightening on Catherine’s.
“You mean to say that he…”
“Even with all my foibles and peculiarities, it appears that the duke has become somewhat enamored with me,” Catherine laughed, seeing the astonishment on her mother’s face, which was swiftly followed with a broad smile. “Yes, Mama, it seems that you are to have your wish at last.” Her heart lifted, her face shining with joy. “If you will permit it, Mama, then I will soon marry the Duke of Blackwell.”
“Good afternoon, Your Grace.”
Catherine hid a smile as her mother greeted the duke, aware that her mother was still quite overcome with all that had occurred, even though it was now two days since the Gold Cup had come to a close.
“Thank you very much for allowing me to call on you, Lady Whitehaven,” the duke replied, bowing low over Lady Whitehaven’s hand. “I understand from your daughter that you are very glad to have her returned home at last.”
Lady Whitehaven shot Catherine a look that said a good deal more than her response to the duke. Catherine smiled meekly, recalling how many sharp words had been sent in her direction since she had returned home, for her mother had not held back from berating Catherine for her foolish and reckless behavior, even though it had brought with it some excellent and agreeable outcomes.
“I am delighted to have her back home safely, yes,” Catherine’s mother replied, gracious and considerate, as she gestured for the duke to sit down. “I was in something of a state over her disappearance, I confess.”
Catherine winced, recalling just how upset and confused her mother had been and feeling fairly guilty still over her lack of consideration for her mother’s frantic state. Thankfully, Lady Whitehaven had told Catherine only this morning that she had quite forgiven her, stating that whilst she could not condone what Catherine had done, she could understand it and was glad that she had found someone with such understanding and consideration thereafter. Catherine had silently thought to herself that her mother would not have been so quick to forgive had it not been for the fact that Duke of Blackwell had made his intentions clear. Had she returned home without anything other than an apology, then Lady Whitehaven’s reaction would, most likely, have been very different.
“I am sorry for the part I played in that,” the duke replied, as Dinah rose to ring for tea. “But I cannot help but think that, without your daughter’s tenacity, I might never have found so much happiness.” Looking up at her, he smiled tenderly and sent a flush straight to Catherine’s cheeks. “I was quite set on being a bachelor for some time yet – much to the chagrin of my mother, I might add – and then, for reasons I could not understand, such an idea became almost repugnant to me.” He held Catherine’s gaze as he spoke, leaving her feeling as though she were the only one in the room, the only one of any importance. “I could not imagine being without her. I could not abide the thought of having her gone from me.” Pressing his lips together, he turned back to look at Lady Whitehaven. “Which is why I must ask you, Lady Whitehaven, if I have your permission to marry your daughter.”
Catherine held her breath, knowing full well that it was foolish to feel so anxious when her mother was not likely to refuse the duke, but still feeling the need to do so nonetheless.
Lady Whitehaven, however, looked utterly enchanted by the duke. Her smile was already present, her eyes bright with happiness.
“I have no doubt that you will make each other very happy indeed,” she replied, rising to her feet and coming across to the duke so that she might press his hand. He rose immediately also, taking Lady Whitehaven’s hand in his and inclining his head again. “I know that my son, the new Lord Whitehaven, will have no objections whatsoever.”
“Thank you, Lady Whitehaven,” the duke replied, sounding more relieved than Catherine had expected him to. “I promise that I shall spend my life doing all I can to ensure that Catherine is happy and content and able to live her life as she chooses.”
Lady Whitehaven chuckled and dropped the duke’s hand. “I am quite certain that you
shall be able to do so without any difficulty,” she replied, coming to embrace Catherine. “My daughter is clearly enamored with you, if you do not mind me saying so, and I can see that your shared passion will only bring you closer together. Although,” she added, beginning to make her way towards the door, “I do hope this will mean that Catherine will never again have need to dress in her brother’s clothes!” She laughed as Catherine and the duke exchanged a long look, a twinkle appearing in the duke’s eye. “Just allow me a few minutes to call Dinah. She should be here for this news.”
The door was left ajar but Lady Whitehaven had obviously left them alone for a short time, which was something Catherine appreciated. With a long sigh of happiness, she came towards the duke and walked directly into his open arms.
“My dear lady,” the duke breathed, as though he had been apart from her for some time, when in fact, it had only been a little longer than one day. “I have missed you so.”
“And I you,” Catherine replied, leaning into him all the more and resting her head on his shoulder. A feeling of contentment settled over her, leaving her feeling as though this was the only place she ever needed to be. “I find that I look forward to returning to your estate – and to Beauchamp, of course.”
The duke’s chest rumbled with laughter. “I am quite certain the horse misses you also, my love,” he replied, his arms encircling her waist. “Although you shall have no need to reside in the servants’ quarters any longer.” He looked down at her as Catherine raised her eyes to his. “It shall be your home.”