He still held a shred of hope for a reasonable explanation, but he had a feeling his wishful thinking was connected to that moment when Miss Fitzroy had jumped from the horse’s back and landed in his arms.
The fact was she’d deliberately misled him. What else had she lied about without actually telling a lie? Desperate circumstances had pushed more than one otherwise honorable person to make less-than-honorable choices. Perhaps she wasn’t so deep into this that he couldn’t still help her.
The door of the cottage was on the ground, so he was able to ease inside without much noise. Standing in the doorway caused his shadow to stretch across the sad furniture and a pitiful sleeping pallet, but there was no one there to notice. He frowned. Had she somehow known he was following her and managed to climb out over the broken wall without his noticing?
He stepped farther into the room and looked around. The last thing he’d expected to see was a white Andalusian horse standing in a stall made of loose brick and timber.
He swallowed hard. Perhaps she was a horse thief after all.
AS SOPHIA’S TEARS soaked her horse’s coat, her mind whirred. If they could just get to London, there would be opportunities. Even if she had to go back to performing or rent Rhiannon out for ladies to ride in Hyde Park. Maybe she could dress as a boy and find work as a tiger.
Hysterical laughter threatened to bubble up through her tears. As if Jonas would allow her to pretend to be a boy. If it weren’t for that crazy accusation in the training stable, she’d never have come up with such an idea. She hugged her horse tighter. What was her life becoming?
Warm breath tickled her back as the horse curved her neck around to bump her head against Sophia’s body. The reminder that she wasn’t alone chased away some of her despair.
She must think before she acted next time. Every possible consequence had to be examined, not just the best possible scenario. Was that what God was trying to teach her? Maybe if she matured enough to consider the consequences beforehand, He would give her more to manage.
It was a nonsensical hope, but she’d learned long ago that hope was worth holding on to even if doing so required a little nonsense. Life was far too difficult to go through without hope.
“I’m certainly glad Lord Gliddon isn’t here to see this. He’s loud enough without having a valid reason to call you a horse thief.”
Sophia lifted her head. Mr. Whitworth stood in the narrow gap at the front of Rhiannon’s stall, effectively trapping both her and the horse.
“I’m not a horse thief,” she said quietly.
He pointed to Rhiannon. “Is that, or is that not, the horse from the circus?”
“Yes,” she said and sighed. “But she belongs to me, not Mr. Notley.”
“You own two changes of clothes and you expect me to believe you own a horse that you could sell and cover the rent on a modest cottage for a year?”
“Three.”
“I beg your pardon?”
“I have three changes of clothes. Though now I suppose I have only one. I don’t think Lord Gliddon would take kindly to my returning to his house to retrieve the others.”
Mr. Whitworth’s exasperated expression was easy to make out even in the shadows of the cottage. “Three, one, two, it hardly matters, considering they by no means indicate a person with the means to care for a nag, much less a mount of quality.”
Sophia frowned. “Does a nag require less money to feed and house? I wouldn’t have the funds to purchase Rhiannon now, but . . .” Sophia swallowed. “You have to believe me, I didn’t steal her.”
“You have to do better than that, Miss Fitzroy.”
She licked her lips and wrapped a braid from the horse’s mane around one finger. “Can I be honest with you?”
“I don’t know,” he grumbled. “Can you?”
She couldn’t blame him for his frustration. Still, she had to protect Jonas. If Mr. Whitworth didn’t believe her, took her to the magistrate, and backed up Lord Gliddon’s claims, she had to make sure that Jonas would still be free to start over. “Is it safe to be honest with you?”
“I don’t think you can afford anything else. The only safety you’ll get from me will be in exchange for an honest—and expeditious—explanation.”
She swallowed and tried to give a smile, to look unbothered. “It’s not as if you’ve tongue enough for two sets of teeth. Chances of you spreading the tale are slim.”
He didn’t smile back.
She winced and rushed ahead before he lost what little patience remained. “My father trained in Spain. When he came back to Ireland, he brought horses to start his school. He bred them, training the foals from the beginning to be fancy riding horses. He gave me one of the fillies. We started training her together.”
Mr. Whitworth said nothing, but the tension emanating from him abated somewhat. She pushed on, anxious to get through the story without getting tangled in her own emotions. “My father loved my mother and me and Jonas and the horses and his students. He was very good as a father and trainer. He wasn’t very good at managing money.”
Mr. Whitworth grunted.
“After he died, we discovered how tenuous everything was. Within months we lost the riding school and the house. Soon after that, we lost Mother. I kept my horse, though, even as we sold the rest of them. Horses were all I knew, and I couldn’t imagine how I could make my way in the world without her.”
“I can’t imagine how you thought to make your way with her.”
Sophia frowned. “We’ve done well enough.”
He gave a pointed look around the dilapidated cottage.
She bit her lip, having to concede his point.
“How old were you?”
“Seventeen.”
“So, you left home at seventeen with the intention of joining the circus?”
“I didn’t leave my home, I lost it.” Wasn’t the man listening? “And my intention was to train horses with my brother, but no one wanted to hire someone so young on nothing more than the reputation of our father. Perhaps they’d hire a stable boy, but not a girl, and not one bringing her own horse.”
“Is this the same brother you last saw sleeping in an abandoned cottage?”
A chill shot through her. She didn’t remember telling him that. What else had she told him while babbling nervously across the countryside? If she couldn’t remember, she couldn’t continue her tale. She might contradict herself, or unwittingly give more away. “Abandoned cottages are lovely finds when you don’t have anywhere else to call home.”
She quickly added, “I don’t know where my brother is now.” That was technically true. She didn’t know exactly where he was.
Mr. Whitworth’s eyes traveled over her face, jerking from point to point as if trying to see past her words to the truth beyond.
Wind blew outside the cottage, wailing past the openings and rattling the loose, broken edges. A chunk of roof fell into the cottage and broke into pieces on the floor. Rhiannon jumped sideways, pushing Sophia into the cottage wall. Air rushed from her lungs as Sophia braced herself against the horse.
Then Mr. Whitworth was there, squeezing in beside her and forcing Rhiannon to shift over and press against the other side of the stall.