“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 Catherine 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 tin
y 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.”