“I’m borrowing a horse for Miss Fitzroy,” he said, hoping that he could keep this encounter short.
“Perhaps Midas?” Bianca asked with an oversweet smile that was obviously fake, though her eyes glittered with mirth. “He’s spirited enough for a decent female rider.”
This time Aaron couldn’t hide the wince. He’d said that very thing to Bianca before when she’d asked to ride one of the retired racehorses. The friendship that had grown between the two of them meant Bianca was going to tease him mercilessly the moment he allowed Miss Fitzroy onto the back of a racehorse.
He couldn’t resist the urge to get in a dig or two first. “You aren’t mistress of this house yet, you know.”
“It’s only a matter of time.” She huffed and stuck her nose in the air, trying her best to look put out, but the twitch of her lips ruined the effect.
Hudson had been giving Aaron a hard look, but his gaze softened as he turned it to Bianca. “Does that mean your father is ready for me to ask for your hand?”
Bianca gave up her irritated pretense and sighed, meeting the viscount’s soft gaze with one of her own. “No. It feels like he’s going to make me wait forever.”
Aaron hadn’t orchestrated the distraction, but he’d take it. He looped Shadow’s reins on the fence and then stepped around the couple to speak to the grooms. “Saddle Poseidon.”
The grey had been an excellent racer a few years ago and was one of Aaron’s favorite mounts at Hawksworth. It would give him a good idea of whether Miss Fitzroy could actually handle a powerful horse. The ride might even frighten her into quitting.
He bit back the urge to have one of the more temperamental horses saddled instead.
The couple behind him didn’t remain distracted for as long as he’d have liked, and he and Miss Fitzroy were soon face-to-face with them again. While Bianca seemed to find the entire situation amusing, Hudson’s expression was far more concerned.
“When did you hire her?” he asked in a low voice.
“This morning.” Yesterday he’d offered a job to a man who apparently didn’t exist.
Hudson’s eyes widened.
Aaron took a deep breath. How could he explain the situation without telling the entire story? Leave out any piece of it—including Oliver’s growing insecurities—and Aaron appeared an utter madman.
One of the grooms, Miles, led Poseidon and a trail of other grooms onto the drive.
“We’ll discuss this later,” Hudson said.
Aaron had no doubt that they would. If Hudson hadn’t been considering managing his own stable and pushing Aaron out of the position before, he probably was now.
“We put Miss Snowley’s saddle on him,” Miles said. “It’s the only sidesaddle we have.”
“Oh, I can ride astride,” Miss Fitzroy said, lifting part of her skirt to reveal what she wore underneath.
Not a word was said by the people amassed in front of the stable. Even the birds seemed shocked into silence.
Aaron stared at a woman’s legs for the first time he could remember. Despite the lifted skirt, he wasn’t taking in strong calves or a delicately turned ankle. No, beneath that ill-falling skirt, Miss Fitzroy was wearing trousers.
Eight
Trousers?” Miss Snowley surged across the drive, eyes locked on the wide-leg trousers Sophia wore beneath her skirt. “I’ve never seen anything like it.”
A burning sensation started at Sophia’s hairline, crept over her ears, and slid down her cheeks. She hated when she blushed. Jonas would tease that it looked like her hair was bleeding into her face.
Miss Snowley was bent nearly double now, her hands wrapped in the fabric of her proper pinned-up riding skirt. “You ride astride in these?” Her eyes flew up to meet Sophia’s. “Is it easier to control the horse that way?”
“Sometimes?” Sophia hated that the answer came out like a question, hated that even more heat flooded her face.
“All the prattling you did on the walk here, and this is what embarrasses you?” Mr. Whitworth shook his head and looked past her shoulder. “Put your skirt down. Simply putting you on a racehorse is scandalous enough. I’ll not add your riding astride to the mix.”
Gracious, he intended for her to run harum-scarum across the Heath in a sidesaddle? She could do it. The thought of everything that could go wrong made her knees shake, but she could do it. She smoothed her skirt, lifted her chin, and walked over to the grey horse. His back wasn’t nearly as wide as Rhiannon’s and was at least a hand higher. The nostrils flaring in his thin face implied an energy she’d not handled before.
She swallowed hard. “I’ll need a leg up, please.”
This was one reason why she often rode astride. It was nearly impossible to mount a sidesaddle on one’s own without a block to stand on, because there was no way to resettle the saddle once she was atop the animal.
If she put too much weight in the stirrup while racing . . . no, she wouldn’t consider that. Dwelling on the potential problems would have her quitting before Mr. Whitworth could find a reason to fire her.
Everyone was still for a moment, and then Mr. Whitworth stepped forward, joined his fingers, and lowered them for her use. It wasn’t until she’d placed her foot in his hands and pushed up that she saw a mounting block a few feet away on the horse’s other side.
The burn in her cheeks continued as she settled in the saddle and arranged her skirts. The wide leg of her trousers was still visible, and the skirt didn’t flow like a proper riding habit, but that couldn’t be helped. This was the best riding outfit she owned.
She gathered the reins and looked down at Mr. Whitworth. There was a peculiar expression on his face, one that might have been admiration if she didn’t know he already considered her a thorn in his side.
And wasn’t that a shame? It would have been nice to talk with a handsome man who respected horses and her abilities with them. Jonas never talked down to her, often even deferred to her when it came to equine knowledge, but it just wasn’t the same.
Mr. Whitworth swung up into his saddle and secured her small bag to the back of it. Lord Stildon crossed to stand at the horse’s side and speak in low murmurs.
“Don’t you need a chaperon?” Miss Snowley asked. “I could mount up, perhaps even ride—”
“As we are both employees of Lord Trenting and will be out in the open for the entirety of this ride,” Mr. Whitworth said, cutting off both Miss Snowley and Lord Stildon, “a chaperon will not be necessary.”
Miss Snowley sighed.
Lord Stildon crossed his arms.
Sophia shifted in her saddle and looked away. Was this why Mr. Whitworth had said she would ruin him? If she cost him this job . . . no, she wouldn’t. She would win, she would show people what she was capable of, and she would make these men glad they had taken a chance on her.
If only they gave her time to do that. She cut her eyes to see the end of a hushed conversation between Lord Stildon and Mr. Whitworth. He was frowning as he nudged his horse forward. Had he already lost his position?
“Come along,” he said, turning the horse from the stable and crossing the paddock to return to the Heath.
Sophia sent her horse after him, enjoying the steady gait of the grey and resisting the urge to encourage him to hold his head higher.