He provided a new start the last time we needed one.”
Sophia snorted. “You think the circus was the best path for us?”
“Better than scrounging for berries.” Jonas shrugged. “Think about it. We’re together. We’re alive, healthy—well, healthy for the most part. Once this injury heals, I’ll be good. Things could be worse.”
They could also be a lot better. What was Mr. Whitworth going to do with them? For that matter, where were they going? Every now and then she thought she recognized an area, but given they were walking through the countryside, it could just be that one tree looked similar to another.
Her stomach grumbled, reminding her she still hadn’t eaten today. The sun was on its way down as they approached a building she could definitely identify.
Hunger turned to nausea.
“This is Lord Farnsworth’s stable,” she hissed to Jonas. “Could Lord Gliddon be here? Or the magistrate? What if Mr. Whitworth brought us here to turn us in?”
“You’re being nonsensical,” Jonas answered. “For one thing, he hasn’t had time to plan anything like that. For another, what would he turn you in for? Last time I checked, there were no penalties for not stealing a horse.”
She took a deep breath. Jonas was right. He always was.
Still, she didn’t breathe easier until Mr. Whitworth passed behind the stable and continued down the lane that extended away from the house. It was little more than a wagon road, with a well-worn path between the ruts.
She wasn’t sure what to expect, but the small, well-tended cottage wasn’t it. A second building, almost as large as the first, sat behind, the wide door open to reveal two box stalls.
Mr. Whitworth gestured to the back building. “You can put the horse in there.”
Jonas took Rhiannon’s lead from Sophia. “I’ll take care of it.”
Sophia wanted to protest, but the events of the day were catching up with her, and she wasn’t sure she had the strength to take care of everything.
Unfortunately, not going to the stable meant—what? Entering the cottage?
Apparently. Mr. Whitworth disappeared inside, leaving the door open in silent welcome.
She followed him in, unsure of what she would find. The cottage was a single room divided into sections. To her immediate left was a small cookstove, worktable, and a set of shelves against the wall. A table with four chairs sat in front of it. A large overstuffed sofa and bookshelf were to her right. In the back corner was a bed; the other corner was walled off into what she assumed was a washroom and dressing room.
Mr. Whitworth was at the cookstove, putting a pot of water on the surface and poking at the fire inside before throwing a small log into the growing flame.
He put his hands on his hips and looked around.
The silence was awkward.
The way her grumbling stomach broke the quiet even more so.
Mr. Whitworth quirked a half smile as he sent her a quizzical glance. “The water should boil soon.” He set a tin on the table. “Here’s tea. I don’t have food here, though. I’ll go up to the main house to have something brought down for you.”
She was in his house. Her invasion of his life was complete. Guilt speared through the hunger. “What are you going to do?”
He rubbed a hand across the back of his neck. “Right now? Nothing.” He turned on his heel and strode to the door. He paused halfway out. “Stay here tonight.” He gestured toward the bed. “If that doesn’t work for you, you know where the stable is.”
Then he was gone.
THE KITCHEN SERVANTS looked surprised by his request for a fully laden tray to be left at the door to his cottage as soon as possible, but they didn’t question him. Normally he let them in so they could set it on the table, but until he knew what was coming next, he didn’t want to advertise the siblings’ presence in his home.
Forget his professional reputation. His personal one would be in shambles if it became known that the female jockey was sleeping in his home for the night.
After leaving Trenton Hall, Aaron made his way toward the Heath. Shadow was still at the training yard, and he needed to know the potential repercussions of the race. If Lord Gliddon was right, this was going to be an uncomfortable walk through town.
It started with ugly stares.
Then a yelled insult from a man walking into a tavern.
When he passed the Jockey Club, there was no avoiding it anymore as a group of