Winning the Gentleman (Hearts on the Heath #2) - Kristi Ann Hunter Page 0,46

I got demoted at the house I worked in for a while.”

Don’t ask, don’t ask, don’t ask. “What were you before?”

“Upstairs maid. I wasn’t good at it.”

“I wouldn’t think dusting is all that different from brushing a horse,” Aaron said dismissively. Knowing she’d worked as a maid before sparked a flicker of hope. “Have you considered working in a house again?”

“I’ll do it before I starve.”

She said the answer so simply that it took Aaron a moment to realize what she’d said. How could he respond to that? “Let’s saddle the horses. Today I’ll teach you how to do a brush run.”

“You’re going out with me? It will be nice to see a proper example.”

“I’m not a jockey.” He went to saddle Sweet Fleet and sent the stable boy to prepare Equinox.

All too soon it was just the two of them, walking the horses out of the yard.

He tried to keep everything focused on the animals. It was easy enough on the short bursts when the horses had to run, usually up the berms and dykes on the Heath, but during the walking portions, the woman insisted on talking.

Somewhere around the third or fourth set, he found himself replying. Probably because the topic turned to horses.

“You wouldn’t think that riding one type of horse would be different from another, but it is. They’re trained to move differently,” she said.

“Could you teach a racehorse the steps you did in the circus?”

She lit up at his interest. “I could eventually, but it would require a good deal of work. I’d have to reteach him how to move.” She tilted her head and bit her lip.

Aaron looked away. He never noticed women’s lips or hands or anything about them. Most of the time he only noticed they were women long enough to give a polite nod and then avoid them.

“I wonder what it would look like,” she continued. “They normally take such long strides that they might be even better at certain maneuvers.”

“Do you miss the horse from the circus? That was a fine animal. I don’t think I’ve ever seen one like it.”

Her gaze dropped to the ground. “There aren’t many Andalusians in England. That one came from a farm in Ireland. It was bred from horses the owner brought from Spain.”

“That explains why the story followed an Irish faerie.”

As much as Aaron hated the incessant chatter, the sudden silence was somehow worse. Or maybe it was the way her shoulders slumped and she folded the reins through her fingers.

Should he just keep riding? Make her shift behind him so they could form a proper string? With only two horses to run, it had seemed silly to line them up like they normally did, but this was what happened when he didn’t stay with proper procedures.

“The first horse I fell in love with was in a traveling show,” Aaron said. “It wasn’t an Andalusian, but I think the rider had similar training. He’d been in the military. He made the horse do this strange jump every time someone put money in the hat. To a little boy, it looked like the animal could fly.”

Aaron hadn’t meant to speak, and he certainly hadn’t meant to tell that story. He didn’t talk about his past, as a rule, and he definitely didn’t talk about his childhood. Not even with Oliver and Graham. As far as they were concerned, he’d dropped out of the sky as a ten-year-old with a scandal and a benefactor.

“Horses always look like they should break,” she responded. “Thin legs and big bodies that do the most marvelous things. It shouldn’t work, and yet it does. And they do everything with grace and beauty. It’s entrancing.”

Aaron worked with a lot of men who loved horses. They breathed them, bled them, and he’d never heard any of them voice their obsession that way.

“Now we’ll run them up that hill.” Aaron pointed to their left. It wasn’t his normal route, and turning now would make their brush run series at least a mile short, but it would end this conversation, and right now, that was far more important.

THERE’D BEEN A certain consistency in Sophia’s life for the past two years—performing the same show with the same people, continually moving on, meeting a plethora of strangers at every stop. Somehow the familiarity of constant change had been more comfortable than the regularity she now lived.

Each day was essentially the same. Rise with the scullery maids, dress, wait for the tray that, thankfully, came around