Winning the Gentleman (Hearts on the Heath #2) - Kristi Ann Hunter Page 0,73

in one of the two boxes, munching happily on hay. Her coat was clean and gleaming, and her mane and tail had been combed through until they lay without a single tangle. Considering Jonas had merely given her a quick brushing along with food and water last night, someone else had been busy.

Perhaps one of the grooms? Who else could it have been? Had Mr. Whitworth sent them, or had they come on their own? Had they known she was occupying Mr. Whitworth’s home?

She took a deep breath and pressed a hand to her forehead, trying to shut down her thoughts like she shut up her mouth. It worked. Sort of.

The sky was still pale, with a tinge of the night’s greyness at the edge, and a damp chill wrapped around her as she walked along the lane toward Trenton Hall. She passed the main stable and poked her head in long enough to see Shadow resting in one of the stalls, then continued toward the house without a single notion of what she’d do when she got there.

A decorative walled garden sat between the stable and the house. Perhaps she would dally in there while she waited for Mr. Whitworth to make an appearance. She left the gravel drive and stepped across the stretch of manicured lawn. The old stone walls with the creeping green ivy reminded her of the vine-covered home she’d grown up in. Hopefully whoever lived there now had children who could enjoy the romance of the place.

Just as she got to the corner of the garden, the front door of the house slammed, and she instinctively jerked back into hiding. Easing her head around the corner, she saw Mr. Whitworth on the drive, scooping up handfuls of small stones and chucking them one at a time toward a distant post as Lord Farnsworth came down the steps to join him.

The aristocrat looked somewhat ridiculous in riding boots, breeches, and a bright blue dressing gown. He was frowning as he joined his friend. Did he regret standing up to his fiancée’s father?

“Blast it, Aaron, it’s cold outside. Why can’t you come inside? Or better yet, come at a normal hour and join me for breakfast?”

“This is a normal hour,” Mr. Whitworth said, his tone lighter than she would have expected based on the agitated way he was throwing rocks. “Still having trouble remembering you’re in the country now?”

There was a grumble Sophia couldn’t make out, then Lord Farnsworth replied, “Couldn’t we at least be inside?”

Mr. Whitworth dropped his remaining rocks and brushed his hands together as he glanced from the house to the drive that led around to the stable. Sophia ducked a little more behind the ivy. “I don’t want extra ears.”

Heat flared up Sophia’s ears.

“What’s wrong?” The disgruntlement was gone from Lord Farnsworth’s voice, replaced by a clear note of concern. “We discussed everything last night. Or rather, you told me the conclusions you’d come to. I’m in full agreement with them.”

“Barley quit this morning.”

“What? Why?”

“And the Jockey Club is already at the table. Their discussion is rattling the windows. Given the early hour, I’m inclined to think they’ve been there all night.”

“Not taking your advice to wait until cooler heads can prevail, I take it.”

“So it would appear.”

Lord Farnsworth fell silent. Sophia bit her lip to keep from demanding Mr. Whitworth get on with it. That couldn’t be all he intended to say about it, could it?

Finally, Mr. Whitworth sighed. “I don’t blame Mr. Barley, and the Jockey Club can’t do much at this point, at least not about the first meeting. That’s not what I wanted to talk to you about.”

Silence again. Sophia bit her knuckle to keep quiet.

“Whatever I do next is going to affect you and Hudson.”

Sophia almost groaned aloud. She’d forgotten about Lord Stildon. How many people’s lives had she loused up trying to fix her own? She should go back to the cottage, collect her brother and her horse, and leave.

“I’m not going to fire her,” Mr. Whitworth said.

“I should think not. You were rather firm in your proclamation that she would be riding in the meeting.”

A sharp inhale filled Sophia’s lungs with air and her mouth with leaves. She jerked her head to move her face from the proximity of the vine, but that didn’t stop the burn at the back of her eyes. The idea of someone else caring about her fate, of someone other than Jonas supporting her, filled her with a warmth she hadn’t