sit tall in the saddle and don’t fall, what does it matter?”
What indeed. Sophia could have told the woman that sitting properly made the ride more comfortable for the person and the horse, but Mrs. Carlton probably wouldn’t care. Instead Sophia said, “Often our first sight of a person is when they approach on horseback. The better a lady’s seat, the better her first impression.”
“Hmm. I suppose.” Mrs. Carlton at least looked thoughtful, which Sophia considered a win.
She dined with the rest of the staff before returning to her room, where she started a letter to Jonas. They’d agreed to write one letter a week. It would be strange, not seeing him every day, but perhaps it would be good for them. Independence would only make them stronger once they were back together.
Her window overlooked the small stable and riding ring. Mrs. Carlton’s school turned out fine, respected ladies. If she did well here, others would want to hire her. This was the beginning.
She was glad for it. She was.
If only it hadn’t come at such a high price.
OCTOBER IN NEWMARKET was always a bustling frenzy. Add the wedding of the daughter of one of horse racing’s most successful stable owners and the area exploded with wealthy and titled horse lovers.
Aaron was surprised at how quickly life calmed down after Sophia disappeared from Newmarket. It was proof that he had done the right thing. They were both safe, both getting what they’d always wanted, both moving on.
It would help if Fitzroy didn’t glare daggers into his back every time Aaron stepped foot into Hawksworth, which was multiple times a day since he was still training horses out of the stable.
Mr. Barley had asked for his job back, but Aaron declined. He couldn’t trust the man not to use circumstances as a weapon. He couldn’t trust anyone other than himself.
Besides, he enjoyed the training, enjoyed working with the horses and the jockeys. He’d even hired a new jockey. That he’d once worked for Davers gave Aaron pause, until he learned the man had quit because of the way the other jockeys had treated Sophia.
So far, the fellow was working out well.
Aaron had asked about getting the actions of the jockeys who’d whipped Sophia on official record, but his inquiries hadn’t gotten far. The fact that all three men in question were no longer working in Newmarket was telling. As was the fact that Davers and another owner had pulled their horses from the other two October Meetings. The record might not be official, but someone had put the pressure on behind the scenes.
It wasn’t enough for Aaron, but it was something. Especially when the Jockey Club had agreed to list Sophia in the books as an official jockey, including her challenge win, if Aaron would let the matter be handled quietly.
The entire exchange made him more determined than ever to do things differently. Every training decision, breeding suggestion, or race subscription would be chosen because it made sense, not because everyone else was doing it.
Sophia’s encounter notwithstanding, it was shaping up to be a good October for both the stables he managed. If he could keep his jockeys and his horses healthy and avoid angering the Jockey Club, the next two meetings would be profitable.
Yet every night he paced his cottage. One wall to the other and back again. He couldn’t understand why Oliver gave in to the action so often. It wasn’t at all beneficial.
With the quiet of the night pressing in on him, he recalled that last image of his father. Angry. Bitter. Ready to confront his sons for simply existing in the same room.
Aaron didn’t want to be like that.
He plopped down in a kitchen chair and laid his Bible on the table in front of him. If his normal method of barreling through and making do wasn’t going to fix this, he’d try something else.
He would try . . . talking.
“Hello, God.”
Aaron growled and pushed himself up from the table. “This is ridiculous.”
What was God really going to change for him? He had a steady income, loyal friends, and work he enjoyed. It was more than a lot of other people had and probably more than he deserved. What did he have the right to ask God for?
The bottom dropped out of his anger, and he collapsed back into the chair.
If he had nothing to ask for, was his life really lacking? He’d always seen himself as having less because he couldn’t claim life the way his