So why was he feeling so unsettled?
Oliver stood beside him in the training yard, waiting for Barley and a stable boy to prepare Equinox. After several quiet minutes, he turned to Aaron and asked, “Are we hoping to win today or not?”
That was the question, wasn’t it? And likely the source of his agitation. If Miss Fitzroy won, his challenge record would remain untainted and Oliver would be a thousand pounds richer. Convincing her to allow him to help her find another line of work would be more difficult, though.
If she didn’t win . . . well, his situation didn’t improve much. He still had to hope the other horses and jockeys made it back in time for the October Meeting, still had to find someone to ride Equinox, and still had to figure out where Miss Fitzroy could work. His only gain would be that she could no longer refuse to find a new position.
“Why don’t we wait and see?” Aaron shrugged. “We’ll act as if whatever outcome we get is the one we wanted.”
Oliver nodded and gave a good-natured chuckle. “You can’t lose with that plan.”
Or it was the plan of a man who’d seen losing as inevitable. One way or another, he was going to be worse off. Still, there wasn’t any point in speculating when neither option was good. He may as well want what he got.
Besides, he was too busy sorting through everything he knew about his little jockey. He couldn’t keep his mind off her, so he would make the obsession useful. Something was pressuring him, something he hadn’t quite put together. Her determination to be a jockey wasn’t fitting with what he knew—or thought he knew—about her.
If only he could put a finger on why it didn’t fit.
The object of his thoughts strode into the paddock. She was dressed in the same outfit she’d worn on her first day, with the silk shirt in Lord Trenting’s colors pulled over the top and tied at the waist to keep it from flopping about her legs. Barley must have given her the shirt as she came through the stable. Was it really only a week ago that he’d seen those wide-leg trousers for the first time?
He took in her face and frowned. While he’d grown accustomed to receiving a wide range of expressions from her, be it a tight-lipped smile accompanied by nervous lip licking, or impudent chatter and a head tilt of utter confidence, he’d never seen her look terrified. Her eyes were wide, her skin stark white against the red of her tousled hair. It had been pulled back into a low bun at some point, but then it had been thoroughly mussed. There was even a piece of straw sticking out of one side.
The reality of what she was about to do must have finally hit her this morning. Though that didn’t explain the straw.
She reached him just as Equinox was being led from the stable. He plucked the straw from her hair before helping her mount. There was nothing he could do about her fear now. They were both just going to have to see this through and deal with the consequences after.
Normally Aaron would have appreciated the fact that she’d yet to say a word, but instead he found it worrisome. Her fingers were gripping the reins hard enough to turn the knuckles white, and Equinox shifted restlessly as he absorbed her tension.
Aaron stepped closer to her side and laid a calming hand on the horse’s neck. He couldn’t reach any part of her aside from her legs, so he simply gave her what he hoped was an encouraging smile. “Take a deep breath. You’re ready.”
She blinked down at him but still said nothing. Then she closed her eyes and took a deep, slow inhale that seemed to expand every part of her body. As she deflated, her grip loosened and her spine relaxed. She opened her eyes to stare at the horizon and leaned forward to pat the horse on the neck.
That was as good as it was going to get.
They headed toward the starting pole. A scattering of people on horseback lined the second half of the course, ready to race alongside the track and see all the action. In the distance, a large crowd gathered near the finish post.
Had everyone in Newmarket come out to see the race? It was as crowded as a meeting day. Carriages lined the small hill, while people on foot scattered down the slope. Even the duke’s stand had people in it. The small building was too far away to see faces clearly, but use of the stand had been granted to Lord Gliddon when the duke was away, so the man in the bright green waistcoat was likely him.
Aaron sent up a prayer of thanks that the first set of banns had been read this past Sunday. Even if Lord Gliddon’s opinion of his future son-in-law dipped because of this debacle, he couldn’t stop the wedding without creating an even larger scandal.
Aaron rolled his shoulders. He didn’t care much what Lord Gliddon thought, aside from the fact that his opinion had a good chance of reaching the ears of Oliver’s father. While the wedding was safe from an earl’s displeasure, Aaron’s job was not.
Lord Davers was already at the start with his horse, jockey, and trainer. He sneered at Aaron and Oliver but didn’t even acknowledge Miss Fitzroy. Since that effort required him to avoid not just a person but an entire horse, it was an impressive, if annoying, feat.
Knowing Davers, he wasn’t going to stop with unspoken slights. Words were going to be said. Unkind ones veiled with a sheen of propriety that would keep him from having to apologize later.
Aaron could take the insults, and he imagined Miss Fitzroy had heard worse, but Oliver was a socializing member of the community. The less direct unpleasantness he had to hear from the other aristocrat, the easier he would find it to smile at him later in a ballroom.
“We can take it from here, Oliver. Why don’t you join your future wife in the stand so you get a good view?” Aaron assumed Lady Rebecca had come with her father. Even if she didn’t care much for racing, she wouldn’t miss this.
When Oliver didn’t immediately agree, Aaron turned to see him watching Aaron with an expression Aaron couldn’t quite read. Given their mixed company, Aaron couldn’t ask him what he was thinking. Finally, Oliver gave a swift nod, remounted his horse, and rode away.
Miss Fitzroy cleared her throat. Though she still looked a bit wild about the eyes, her posture had returned to its normal fluidity in the saddle. Her abnormal demeanor was jarring, but at least her skill seemed the same.
“I look forward to breaking your record,” Lord Davers said.
“You have been seeking a way to distinguish yourself for a while,” Aaron returned, knowing he shouldn’t reply at all but wanting to get in one last comment while he still had some claim to rightful arrogance.
After today he would be known as the stable manager who was either foolish enough to have a female jockey, desperate enough to recruit a female jockey, or stupid enough to allow a female jockey.
None of those were descriptions he particularly wanted attached to his name. Win or lose, his reputation was taking a hit.
As the horses lined up, Aaron took care to position Miss Fitzroy so that her whip hand was free. Sitting aside as she was, switching hands was not an option. Davers’s rider could press in on the right side and prevent her from being able to maneuver the horse as well. If he pressed in from the left, he could knock her off balance or jostle the saddle enough to send her tumbling.
All the horrible possibilities sent a burning sensation climbing up his throat, and a stabbing ache formed in the back of his head. He wasn’t going to breathe properly until Miss Fitzroy’s feet were on the ground again.