“You know,” Miss Hancock mused, “I think that’s the first time I’ve seen you do anything other than smile.”
Lady Rebecca’s face went blank, and then she looked at Lord Farnsworth. “My goodness. What have you done to me?”
“Loved you just as you are, my dear.”
She answered with a soft, gentle smile and folded her hands in her lap.
Lord Trent waved his paper in the air. “My request is easy. I get to stable that beautiful horse until Miss Fitzroy makes other arrangements.”
“Well.” Miss Hancock threw her letter onto the table. “He asked me to stay out of everything and not interfere.”
A round of suppressed laughter was the only response.
Lord Wharton frowned. “I’m rather miffed I didn’t get a letter.” He gave a pointed frown to Miss Snowley. “He’s known me far longer than the rest of you.”
“He didn’t know we’d be here,” his wife said. “It’s possible your letter is arriving at the solicitor’s now.”
“I hope so.” He nodded toward Sophia. “What does your letter say?”
“I’d imagine it’s far more personal than ours,” Miss Snowley warned.
Sophia looked back down at the strong, slanted writing that was to be her last tie to Aaron Whitworth. “He arranged me a job. I’m to be the riding instructor for Mrs. Carlton’s School for Girls.”
“That’s Mother’s school,” Lord Wharton said, his voice soft with awe. He cleared his throat. “Well, not exactly Mother’s, but she is one of the patronesses and volunteers there often.” He exchanged a wide-eyed look with Lord Farnsworth. “He did go to London.”
“And voluntarily met with your parents.”
Both men appeared utterly shocked.
Sophia didn’t blame them. Aaron had asked everyone he knew for assistance. Every person he could possibly ask a favor of had been contacted.
For her.
It was a beautiful, difficult, selfless gift that provided a way for her to leave his life with more than she’d arrived with. As much as she wanted to appreciate it, she couldn’t help wishing he’d chosen to put the same effort into keeping her around.
Thirty-Three
Aaron shouldn’t feel like he’d run clear across the Heath.
What had he really done yesterday?
Had a conversation with Graham’s mother, who had immediately been intrigued by the idea of a riding instructor with Sophia’s abilities.
Assured Lord Grableton he was fine on his own and the other man was free to go to his club.
Cleared the billiard table three times while he waited for Lady Grableton to return from Mrs. Carlton’s School for Girls.
Sent an express to the inn in Newmarket that would set everything in motion.
Finished removing Sophia from his life.
Perhaps that was why he’d felt like a horse who’d been sweated and then left standing about in his blankets.
He should have waited until he’d gotten back to his rooms to write the note, but he’d wanted to get it sent before he could call off the entire thing. So, he’d done it in Lady Grableton’s drawing room while the footman summoned a messenger.
Once the missive was on its way, he’d sat on the settee.
He didn’t know how long he’d been there, but eventually voices in the front hall had broken into his stupor.
“Is he still here?”
“He’s been staring at the wall for hours. Peter, I’m worried.”
Aaron’s first thought had been that he’d never known Graham’s father’s name was Peter. His second was that if they grew worried, they’d send for Graham. That would make a host of other problems for Aaron.
He’d pushed to his feet and left the drawing room. “Thank you for your assistance, Lady Grableton. It means a great deal. I’ll be going now.”
“Given the hour, won’t you join us for dinner? There’s a small group of friends coming, but it will be simple to add one more.”
“Your father isn’t one of them, by the by,” Lord Grableton added. “In case his being in town is giving you hesitation. We wouldn’t do that to you.”
Panic had gripped exhaustion by the arms and done a jig in his belly. He’d stepped closer to the door. “Thank you, my lady, but I have other plans.” Mostly to be anywhere other than there.
He’d taken a hack back to his rooms, shucked his coat, and fallen into bed.
Now it was morning, and he still felt like he’d been kicked in the head.
Then again, it had been one emotional blow after the other for the past two days. It was a lot for a man to deal with when he avoided emotion like it was a venomous snake.
Everything was done. He could return to Newmarket.
He probably shouldn’t, though. It might take some time for his friends to put everything together and get Sophia to London. He didn’t want to be there when she left Newmarket. The last thing he needed was to be forced to tell her good-bye and watch her walk away, smiling as if he was happy about it all.
He was happy for her—happy that he could give her what she wanted, or at least had the connections to make it happen. God, please don’t ever make me have to do anything like that again.
If this was how people made changes in their lives, he would gladly remain a stable manager forever. How did others do it? How did they decide who wouldn’t mind being asked and how big a favor was appropriate? He still wasn’t sure he’d gotten it right. He’d have to follow up with everyone when he returned to Newmarket and ensure they didn’t resent his appeals.
Three days should be enough. If they were going to grant his requests, they’d accomplish it within three days.
Until then, he’d stare at the walls of his room.
It took him five minutes to determine he was terrible company.
He went to a coffeehouse but found strangers made even worse companions, so back to his rooms he went. He shucked his fashionable coat and rolled his shoulders. The looser cut of the coats he wore in Newmarket was far more comfortable, but he wasn’t about to give anyone in London more reason to look down on him.
What was wrong with him? He was a man who’d found comfort in his own company his entire life. Now it was agitating, and he was the one person in the world he couldn’t walk away from.
Two large, neat piles of correspondence sat on his desk, everything that had been sent to him since his last visit. Correspondence wasn’t really the correct word for it, since not a single letter was personal. The only mail delivered to his London address was invitations sent by people who wanted to stay in his father’s favor.
Graham and Oliver thought Aaron chucked them in the trash, but he didn’t. He opened every single one. Then he tortured himself imagining how Rigsby would be welcomed while the hostesses lived in terror that Aaron would accept.
The first time he’d heard his father insisting that the ton acknowledge his illegitimate son, Aaron assumed it was his father’s way of trying to make up for the stigma he’d saddled on Aaron. It wasn’t until he attended an event that he realized it had nothing to do with him. His father had a need to play the penitent martyr in public, paying for his mistake and providing an example for others to do better.