“I did what I had to in order to ensure that I might find resolution to my hopes that have tormented me for so long,” she said candidly. “I intend to return to them soon, of course, but now that I have the chance to do as I have always dreamed, I cannot let them know of my presence here as yet.”
“Will they be worried for you?”
Catherine did not immediately answer, hearing the answer in her heart but not wishing to speak it aloud. To do so would almost be to confirm to herself that a large part of her decision had been based on selfishness, refusing to consider what her mother would think of what she had chosen to do.
“I can tell that this is distressing for you,” the duke said, after a moment or two. “Forgive me, Miss Leighton. I did not mean to pry.”
Catherine swallowed her pain and tried to smile. “You are not prying, Your Grace. The truth is, I have very little doubt that my family is deeply concerned over my whereabouts and most likely fears that I have ruined myself most completely and that, thereafter, I will bring shame to the family name…but despite the knowledge that this is, most likely, the case, I shall not permit it to influence my decision here.” The more she spoke, the more she felt as though the words were rubbing callouses on her lips, such was the hardness of her words. “I presume that must make me appear particularly selfish, Your Grace.”
The duke continued to amble slowly towards the stables, his expression thoughtful. Catherine felt herself grow tense at the quiet, fearing that he was about to say something that would confirm to her that, yes, she had been nothing but selfish, only for him to sigh and shake his head.
“If someone told me that I could not follow after my true passion, then I do not know what it is I would do,” he said slowly, looking down at her and holding her gaze. “You and I share that same passion, I believe, and yet only I am able to pursue it with all that I have and all that I am. Despite the fact that society states that this must be the way of things and despite the fact that I myself admit to having something of a quandary in permitting you to ride Beauchamp over the Ascot Heath, I confess that I have begun to understand the depths of your struggle, Miss Leighton.”
“I am glad of that,” Catherine admitted, awash with relief. “I am quite certain my mother shall never forgive me and shall keep me in solitary confinement until next Season, where I shall be pushed and prodded to go about London in the same fashion as every other young lady of the ton, which I can barely abide even the thought of! Thereafter, I shall be expected to make an excellent match with a titled gentleman, just as my sisters have done.”
The duke stopped dead, turning on his heel to look at her – and it was not until Catherine glanced up into his face that she realized what she had said. She had spoken so openly that she had not thought about what she was revealing. Heat crawled into her cheeks and rested there, sending a flood of color over her face as she twisted her hands together in front of her, trying to find something to say.
“You are gentry then.”
The duke’s words were quick, firing at her with unmistakable sharpness.
“I-I am,” she admitted, a little quietly. “I have not lied to you, however, Your Grace. My family is respected amongst society.”
This did not, however, please the duke, for he turned from her with an exclamation of frustration burning on his lips, one hand shoved through his hair. Catherine could say nothing, her head bowed low as fear began to mount in her heart. He could easily send her home now; he could easily refuse to keep the promise that he had made that she would now be his jockey.
“So,” the duke muttered, closing his eyes tightly as though to try and make sense of what she had said. “You are gentry. Your family is well respected amongst the ton, which means your family bears a title.” His eyes opened and fixed upon her. “You are not, as I thought, a respected yet untitled family, who would not make it into the echelons of upper society.”
Seeing no reason to hide the truth from him now, Catherine set her shoulders and looked up into his face. “My father bore a title, yes,” she admitted quietly. “It has now passed to my brother.”
The duke closed his eyes again, his expression tight. “Might I ask what this title is, Miss Leighton?” Suddenly his eyes flared, one hand reaching out to her, his finger pointed. “And might I enquire to the truth of your name also?”
“I do not wish to say it to you, Your Grace,” she whispered, afraid of what he would do should it become clear. “For you will then throw me from the position you have only just put me in, will you not? My dreams, seemingly fulfilled, will be shattered in an instant!”
A hard look crossed the duke’s face, his hand twining around Beauchamp’s reins. “I am not as cruel as all that, Miss Leighton,” he said firmly, although Catherine suspected that he was not being entirely truthful. “I have need of a jockey, and at this late hour can hardly expect to find another. No matter what you say to me this evening, you shall ride Beauchamp again. Now.” He gestured for her to speak; his brows lifted as he waited for her to respond.
Catherine drew in a long breath, her chest tight and her hands curled into fists so tight that her nails were cutting into the soft skin of her palms. “My father was a marquess, Your Grace,” she whispered, her eyes falling to the ground as she heard his swift intake of breath. “My younger brother, as I have said, has now inherited the title.”
The duke said nothing for some minutes, and Catherine could feel the tension between them beginning to grow steadily, the air filling with it and making it difficult for her to breathe. Her chest heaved as she fought against the panic that filled her, closing her eyes and trying to remind herself that the duke had promised her that he would not steal the hope he had only just given her.
“What is your brother’s title, Miss Leighton?”
The duke’s voice was hard, his words grating. Forcing her eyes open, Catherine looked up at him and tried to speak clearly. “The Marquess of Whitehaven, Your Grace,” she said, her voice trembling just a little. “My mother is Lady Whitehaven.”
Air was sucked in through the duke’s
clenched teeth, which he then let out in a hiss. It was clear that he knew the name and mayhap had even been introduced to her late father at some point. Catherine kept her head low, not able to bring her gaze up to look into the duke’s face.
“So you are Lady Wells, then,” the duke said thickly. “One of the daughters of the late Marquess of Whitehaven.” He took in another breath, shaking his head as Catherine shot a quick glance at him. “Little wonder you did not wish to tell me the truth of it. Your mother will be–”
“She knows very well that I am not at all inclined towards the ton and its many regulations and the like,” Catherine said immediately. “She will know why I have left and will be doing all she can to keep my disappearance from town quiet.” A small shrug lifted her left shoulder, even though she felt a good deal of shame over what had just been revealed to the duke. “Most likely, she will state that I have returned to the estate for a short rest or some such thing. Mayhap she will say that I am ill.” Looking up at the duke again, her resolve steadying, Catherine saw that he was looking at her with widened eyes, as if he had just recalled something.
“You – you were at my ball,” the duke breathed, things beginning to make sense as they slotted together. “You brought the outfit with you so that you might make your way to my stables whilst the rest of the guests slept.”
Catherine nodded, not allowing the flare of shame to creep up her spine. “I did,” she admitted. “I wanted to see Beauchamp again, that is all.” She chose not to mention that she had hoped there might have been a small opportunity for her to take him for a short ride, keeping her gaze clear. “I intended to go back to my bedchamber once I was finished and then return home with my mother and sisters.” Another small shrug. “Things did not turn out as I intended, however.”
“No,” the duke agreed, sounding a little despairing. “They certainly did not. And now I have the daughter of a marquess sleeping in a servant’s room and working in the stables during the day!”
Resisting the sudden urge to stamp her foot, Catherine lifted her chin. “That has all been my own choice, Your Grace,” she told him pointedly. “You offered me the position, and I accepted it because it is a life that I cannot ever get to live within the constraints of both my sex and my position in life.” Her voice shook as she attempted to contain her emotions. “My passion is right before me, and I have thrown everything into the time I have spent here. To have just a taste of what you must enjoy every day is something I shall always be grateful for.” To her horror, a tear spilled from her eye and splashed down onto her cheek, and Catherine wiped it away hastily, not wanting to embarrass herself all the more. It felt as though everything she had gained was beginning to crumble before her, as though everything she had enjoyed and endured was beginning to shatter.