“We will wait with her if you like.”
Turning, Matthew saw Lord Richardson and Lord Brighton walk inside, although Lord Brighton was smiling but Lord Richardson appeared a little upset.
“You’d best hurry,” Lord Brighton continued, with an easy smile in Lady Wells’ direction. “That dratted Rigby is already doing all he can to spread word about your new jockey.” He gave Lord Richardson a nudge, before rolling his eyes. “Richardson is a little surprised, but we will make sure that no one comes near to your jockey and disturbs her further.”
“Thank you,” Matthew replied fervently, giving Lady Wells one last look before turning on his heel and hurrying back outside. He had to argue for Lady Wells, had to find a way to get the first woman in all of England to compete in the Gold Cup. Had not the late monarch Queen Anne given these grounds specifically for the racing of horses? If a woman had been able to give the grounds out of a love for riding and for races, then why should not a woman be permitted to compete? With the words of his argument already ringing around his head, Matthew hurried towards the officials tent, praying that they would, at the very least, listen to him. He could not imagine Lady Wells’ disappointment if they refused her, not when she had worked so hard and given so much.
“I will not let you down,” he whispered aloud, not seeing a wide-eyed, white-faced young lady staring at him as he passed. “No, Lady Wells, I refuse to be the one to let your dreams shatter. I will find a way, no matter how much it takes.”
Chapter Thirteen
As much as she did not want to admit it, the pain from where Rigby had punched her was sending waves of agony all through her face and into her head where it seemed to collect, filling her head with a throbbing ache that would not go away. Sitting down on a small wooden bench that one of the two gentlemen had procured for her and drinking the glass of water that the other had brought for her so that she might recover herself somewhat, as he had put it, Catherine leaned her head back against the wall and closed her eyes.
So, everyone would know now that she was a woman. Rigby would make sure of it, for the gleam in his eye as he had spotted her hair told her that nothing she could say would make any difference. He had come here with the sole intention of ruining the duke’s chances of winning the Gold Cup – mayhap with the intention of beating her so hard until she could barely stand up or the like – but had instead managed to prevent her from doing so by revealing the truth of her sex. There was, from what she could hear, a fairly large crowd beginning to grow outside the covered stall, making her glad that she had been able to hide herself away in the corner. Beauchamp was busy nosing at her now and again, clearly undisturbed by the noise outside but perhaps wondering what she was doing sitting right at the back of the stall. As he lowered his head again, Catherine could not help but laugh, rubbing at his nose gently and murmuring that everything was going to be quite all right.
“You are an excellent jockey from what I hear.”
Catherine glanced up at the first gentleman, who was smiling broadly at her. His face was kind, his eyes lingering on the mark on her face.
“I ride well, yes,” Catherine admitted, although not in a boastful manner. “It is just unfortunate that, as a lady, I am barred from doing so in a competitive manner.”
The gentleman inclined his head. “I can see your frustration,” he said, his tone suggesting to her that he truly was trying to understand. “Lord Richardson, I think, is slowly beginning to consider the matter in a better light. You must understand, he has placed a large bet and has therefore been quite shocked to discover the truth.” He chuckled, and Catherine could not help but smile, realizing that this gentleman must be Lord Brighton, if the other gentleman, who was pacing up and down, was Lord Richardson.
“I would make to win the race if I could be allowed to compete,” she told Lord Brighton, her confidence growing in a way it had not done before. It was as though, in being told that she might not be allowed to race, her nerves had gone completely and were now slowly being replaced with a firm assurance. “I am not certain that I shall be permitted however.”
Lord Brighton shrugged, looking hopeful. “A mere child raced last year,” he reminded her. “The rules state that anyone can compete.”
“Anyone who is of the correct gender,” she corrected him. “It is not written there, but that is what is implied.”
“Do not lose hope yet, Lady Wells,” Lord Brighton replied firmly. “The duke will make his feelings on the matter known in the most determined of fashions, and he does bear a good deal of influence.” A small laugh escaped from the corner of his mouth. “One of the benefits that comes with being so highly titled, I think!”
“Indeed,” Catherine murmured, rubbing her hands together and feeling tension run through her. The duke did have a good deal of influence, yes, but what if he still could not convince the officials? She would have to return home, would have to leave his estate and never again be allowed to ride nor race Beauchamp.
He wants to marry you, Catherine.
A small, quiet voice thrust up into her mind, reminding her of all the words of tenderness and affection that the duke had spoken. In her sorrow and frustration, she had forgotten that he had spoken to her in such a way, had forgotten his desperate and obvious fondness that had been held out to her as a gift, waiting for her to accept. Her heart had turned over on itself, sending both astonishment and flurries of happiness ricocheting through her. Despite her worry that she would not be allowed to compete, Catherine felt her heart rise up in her chest, pulled there by nothing more than sheer happiness. She had, at the first, thought to refuse him again, aware that she was not the sort of lady a duke needed for a wife – but he had done all that he could to prove to her that he did not care what the ton nor what his mother said of her. He wanted to give her as much as he could by way of fulfilling her dreams. Most likely, he would let her ride whenever she wished, had promised that she might even come to Tattersall with him – although she might have to improve her disguise somewhat! She had not been certain what to do, had not been sure of what to say, only to look into his eyes and to see that there was a fierce, unrelenting love burning in his eyes. Every word he had said, every promise he had made was, she knew, the complete truth. He had, as he had said, fallen in love with her. His affection was genuine, his promises committed. How could she turn from that? Her heart began to fill all the more with a deep abiding affection that she knew, deep within herself, was the very first strains of love. She had come here in the hope of being able to race but instead had found something a good deal more precious. The duke’s heart was hers and, in return, she gave him her own. Their bond was growing stronger with every day that passed, and Catherine knew that her love for him would only continue to blossom.
“Catherine?”
She started violently, her head slamming into the wooden w
all as she twisted in her seat, hearing her cousin’s voice.
“No one is permitted within,” Lord Richardson said, making to shoo Dinah away, but Catherine was on her feet before he could say more
“No, wait. Please,” she called, coming closer and seeing Dinah staring at her with wide eyes. Behind her stood Catherine’s sister, Merry, who had gone sheet white as Catherine emerged.
“Dinah,” Catherine breathed, beckoning Dinah forward. “Whatever are you doing here?”
Much to Catherine’s surprise, Dinah let out a strangled sob and threw her arms around Catherine’s shoulders. Merry, coming inside, shook her head as Dinah began to cry in earnest, her displeasure evident.
“We have been looking all over for you,” Merry told her, as Dinah stepped back. “I had only just come to London when I received a note from Mother, begging for my help in finding you, Catherine!”
A flush of guilt crept up Catherine’s spine. “I am sorry for that, Merry, but as you can see, I am quite well.”
Merry nodded slowly, her eyes dropping to the floor. “You are dressed as a gentleman, Catherine,” she murmured, clearly a little embarrassed to be talking to her sister about such a thing. “So, you are the jockey that the Duke of Blackwell is trying to convince everyone to accept.”
“The moment I saw him, I knew there was a chance you were here also,” Dinah explained, as Merry’s eyes suddenly filled with tears, clearly glad that she had managed to find her sister but a little sorrowful that it had been under these specific circumstances. “And then Merry discovered that the rumors are that the duke is attempting to have a woman race his horse Beauchamp.”