“And now, we ride,” Matthew said once Beauchamp was ready and Leighton was standing quietly by the edge of the stall. “My horse is already saddled and waiting for me. Lead Beauchamp out.”
Walking outside, he waited for Leighton and Beauchamp to appear. Leighton came out almost at once, speaking quietly to the horse as he did so. Beauchamp was quiet but clearly eager to ride, for his flanks twitched and he tossed his head with a snort, making Leighton laugh.
“Mount, if you please,” Matthew instructed, gesturing to the horse and seeing Leighton’s face pale just a little. He chuckled to himself as the boy looked all about for a mounting block, silently wondering how the lad had pulled himself up into the saddle before, for he was quite small and Beauchamp so very large. Being just about to tell the boy that the mounting block was just around the stables to the left, Matthew was silenced as Beauchamp did something utterly astonishing.
It was as though the creature knew that the boy was much too small to be able to reach up and pull himself up, for he snorted, tossed his head again, and then carefully lowered himself to the ground, his legs underneath him.
Matthew stared in astonishment. The large stallion was now waiting patiently for Leighton to take his seat in the saddle, which the lad did almost at once, laughing softly to himself as he did so. The moment he had a good seat, Beauchamp rose up again, making the boy lurch back in the saddle, although he did not lose his seat.
“Good gracious,” Matthew murmured, as the boy picked up the reins and held them gently. “That is something I have never seen before in my life.”
Leighton laughed softly, his expression matching Matthew’s own astonishment. “He must recall how difficult it was for me to mount prior to this,” he replied, riding closer to Matthew. “Beauchamp is a very intelligent creature, I am quite certain.”
“Indeed,” Matthew agreed, shaking his head to himself as he looked up at Beauchamp. The way the horse moved seemed to suggest that Beauchamp was just as comfortable with Leighton as Leighton was with him, for the horse responded to even the slightest touch from Leighton, turning quickly when the boy tugged gently on the reins.
“If you will give me a moment, I shall mount also, and then we will ride out together,” Matthew commented, thinking that he did not require a good deal more convincing that Leighton would be an excellent jockey. “There is an excellent space a little further away from the house where I have the horses trained.”
Leighton nodded but said nothing, reaching down to pat Beauchamp’s neck. Matthew, still quite surprised by what he had seen, shook his head to himself and then hurried away, reaching his own horse that had been saddled earlier and was now waiting for him. Quickly mounting, he turned around and, clicking to his mount, broke into an easy trot.
Leighton and Beauchamp followed him without a word. Matthew increased and then slowed his pace, seeing just how easily Leighton was able to control Beauchamp and finding himself quite astonished by it. Rigby had never shown such skill with any of his previous horses and certainly had not treated the horses with such consideration nor understanding. Matthew’s confidence began to increase with every step the horse took, feeling as though the chances of him winning the Gold Cup were growing steadily. If Leighton could have more time with Beauchamp, if he was allowed to develop his abilities still further, then the Gold Cup would surely be his.
Some half an hour later and Matthew felt completely convinced that Leighton was the right man. Beauchamp galloped faster than ever before, and Leighton held his seat without any seeming difficulty. The way he was able to speak to and control Beauchamp was remarkable, making Matthew regret that he had not given the boy an opportunity prior to this moment. The lad had shown great determination in coming to seek Matthew out, in wishing to beg an opportunity from Matthew, and in doing so had managed to secure the job as jockey.
“Excellent, excellent!” Matthew cheered, as Beauchamp came to a stop only a few feet away. “You have done a remarkable job, Leighton.” He grinned as the lad slid down from Beauchamp, breathing hard with his cheeks bright red from exertion. “Well done. I have no doubt that you will make an excellent jockey” Gesturing to two stable hands who had been watching the way Leighton rode Beauchamp across the pasture, he directed them to take his own mount and Beauchamp back to the stables and rub them down. He had the matter of the Gold Cup to discuss with Leighton.
“I thank you, Your Grace,” Leighton stammered, wiping his forehead with the back of his hand and watching Beauchamp being led away. “I am so very grateful for the opportunity and I–”
“You shall be Beauchamp’s jockey,” Matthew interrupted, wondering if the lad had not quite understood what he had said the first time. “Do you hear me, lad? The job is to be yours. You have quite proven yourself, and I have little doubt that you will prove yourself to be the best jockey in all of England.” He chuckled as Leighton stared at him in clear astonishment, his eyes wide and his mouth slack. “My hearty congratulations, lad.”
Leighton shook his head, clearly not quite able to take in what Matthew had said. “I thank you,” he whispered, emotions rifling across his features. “This is more than I ever thought possible.”
Matthew, realizing that he still knew very little about the boy other than he came from a somewhat respected family, suddenly frowned. “I recall that you spoke of your family’s displeasure in your eagerness to become a jockey,” he said, seeing the way the boy’s expression tightened. “What will they say to you riding in the Gold Cup across Ascot Heath, for that is the race you shall be competing in.” He kept the boy’s gaze, seeing how a trace of guilt ran over Leighton’s face.
“I doubt they shall even notice me,” Leighton replied, with a slight hint of frustration in his voice. “As I have said, Your Grace, they do not approve of the desire within my heart to do so, and therefore, I have had to make my own way.”
Matthew nodded, thinking quietly to himself that the lad’s family matters were none of his concern but also aware that he did not want any scandal to be brought onto his own head. If a refined family identified Leighton and cried loudly about it, then he might have rumors and gossip spreading all throughout London because of it. “I do not want there to be any repercussions, Leighton.”
The boy looked up at him, his gaze firm and direct. “There shall not be, Your Grace,” he said with such a confidence in his voice that Matthew felt his own concerns begin to drain away. “As I have said, I doubt they would even recognize me.”
Wondering if this meant that the lad had changed his name in order
to remain unnoticed, Matthew shrugged inwardly and began to walk back towards the stables, gesturing for Leighton to attend with him. “The Gold Cup is the most important race of the year,” he told him, seeing how the lad hurried to keep up with him. “It is not the wealth that I care for but rather the accolade that comes with being victorious. I wish all of England to know that I breed the best of horses and secure the best of jockeys.” He chuckled, thinking of his future plans. “If Beauchamp wins the race, then I shall have what I have long hoped for,” he added, seeing Leighton nod. “And you shall – oh!”
The boy had stumbled forward, tripping over something that Matthew had not quite seen. He fell forward, his hands outstretched, but did not quite manage to prevent himself from hitting the ground, hard. The breath was pushed from the lad’s body in a loud exclamation and his cap fell to the ground.
It was not the cap that caught Matthew’s attention, however. It was the hairpiece that went with it, falling to the ground and the pins that had held it there now glinting in the sunlight.
His breath caught, his eyes widening with shock. Leighton was not as he seemed, it appeared. For a moment or two, Matthew thought that the boy had simply put on a wig in order to change his appearance so that he might hide himself from his family, but it was only as the boy began to pick himself up that he saw how the tight curls of hair were pinned to Leighton’s head….and it was in this that realization dawned.
“You…you are a woman,” Matthew whispered, one hand pressed furiously against his heart as Leighton’s head hung low over his chest, his eyes downcast and his cheeks a furious, scalding red. “Tell me I am not mistaken.” He saw how Leighton was struggling for breath, having had it knocked from him, but felt no sympathy. All he felt was anger and disappointment.
“Yes, Your Grace,” came the whispered reply, the agony of drawing in breath evident in the tight words. “It is as you see.”
Matthew closed his eyes, attempting to steady himself as he tried to take in all that had been said. Surely it could not be? Surely he had not been so easily deceived! The young lady before him had been the one to ride Beauchamp? The one who had sought him out in order to prove to him that she could be as successful, if not more successful, than any other jockey in England? He could not quite make sense of it, for a young lady did not have desires and dreams such as that! It was almost laughable.
“Everything I have told you, Your Grace, is the truth,” Leighton said, her voice now a little more robust. “Aside from the fact that I have hidden the truth of my sex from you, the rest is exactly as I have said. I seek to be a jockey. I seek to prove myself as a capable and excellent rider. My family is respectable and certainly does not accept that my desire is to be such a thing. Instead, they frown and shake their heads at me, telling me that I ought not to seek such a thing simply because of who I am. That is not, as I see it, entirely fair.” Green eyes looked back up at him now, burning brightly with an unmistakable ire, and Matthew felt himself ridiculous, wondering how he could not have seen before that Leighton was not, in fact, a young lad as he had first presumed. Now that he knew her to be a woman, he could see the oval face, the bright green eyes, and the very femininity of her. This was utterly disastrous.
“You cannot be a jockey, Leighton – or whatever your name might be,” he replied harshly, seeing how she seemed to shrink before him. “A woman can never be such a thing.”