One
SEPTEMBER 1817
After twenty-two years, Aaron Whitworth should have been aware of his closest friend’s idiocy. Yet it had never crossed his mind Oliver could do something so utterly foolish.
One could argue the man had saved Aaron’s sanity, if not his life, during their school days, but sometime in the years since boyhood, the heir to the Earl of Trenting had lost his mind. Befriending Aaron hadn’t been the wisest decision, though, so it was possible Oliver’s penchant for making poor choices, or at least rash ones, had always been present.
Aaron clamped his teeth together to avoid saying anything he might later regret. Yanking memories of better times to the front of his mind, he forced his voice to remain even. “You did what?”
“Accepted a challenge. That is what men of the turf do.” Oliver lifted his chin as his gaze slid from Aaron’s and dropped to the horse patiently awaiting its rider.
Aaron frowned at the reins in his hand. He’d been moments away from mounting, ready to make the ride to the Stourbridge Fair in Cambridge and approve an order of saddles one of the sellers planned to deliver after the fair.
Dawn was stabbing its first streaks of light into a clear sky. Oliver’s cook had prepared him a breakfast of cold meat, cheese, and bread to eat as he rode. Aaron’s horse, Shadow, had been energetic on the short ride from his cottage to Oliver’s stable, assuring an enjoyable journey to the next town.
The promise of the morning paled in the aftermath of his friend’s blunder.
Aaron sighed and draped Shadow’s reins over a hook on the wall of the stable. Ever since Oliver had gotten betrothed to the daughter of one of Newmarket’s prominent horse breeders, he’d been determined to participate in the interests he would one day inherit.
Starting with the racing stable.
Unfortunately, though Oliver was a solid, loyal friend, his knowledge of property and business was little more than conceptual. He seemed to know he’d made a mistake this time, even if he didn’t realize the enormity of it.
Aaron spoke slowly, weighing every word before allowing it to cross his lips. “Yes, men of the turf—and please don’t use that term again—arrange and accept challenges.” He paused. “It is customary, however, to only enter a challenge when one has a jockey to ride his horse.”
Oliver shifted his weight and cleared his throat, slowly sliding his gaze back to Aaron’s. “We don’t have a jockey?”
“Not since I fired him four days ago, no.” It should have been done weeks, if not months, before, but Aaron had put it off because finding a good jockey who was willing to work for him was difficult. He had high demands on the skill of the rider, the care of the horses, and the character of the man.
Because Aaron’s reputation was less than ideal, he often had to settle for two out of three. Since he wasn’t about to let the animals pay the price, he’d been forced to give way on character. Hughes had been a lout, but he rode well and never hurt the horses.
At least, he didn’t when he was sober.
“Why did we fire him?” Oliver asked.
And that unwavering loyalty was why Aaron would always put up with Oliver’s naïveté.
“He was enjoying his gin so much he thought the horses should have a nip as well and poured two bottles into the water trough.” Risking his own health and reputation was bad enough, but endangering the horses was unacceptable.
“Don’t we employ more than one jockey?” Oliver asked.
“Your other two took horses to a race in Yorkshire and have been delayed returning,” Aaron said. “Right now, I’m just hoping they’re here in time for the first of the October Meetings.”
“What about Hudson’s jockeys?”
Hudson, Viscount of Stildon, owned the other stable Aaron managed, though Hudson had been absent from the area until a month ago. They’d moved from employer and employee to friends faster than Aaron would have thought possible, and he wasn’t sure he fully trusted the relationship or the way it had changed his life.
Still, if the situation were dire enough, Aaron could probably stomach asking a favor of him.
Maybe.
Fortunately, that wasn’t an option. “One went to visit his ailing mother and isn’t due back for at least another week. The other stepped wrong dismounting yesterday and turned his ankle.”
Oliver ran a hand through his hair, making the light brown strands stick up at odd angles. “Equinox has no jockey.”
The quiet statement cut through Aaron’s control, and a groan escaped as he dropped his head back to look at the lightening sky. “Why would you agree to a challenge without asking me? Especially since we’ve several races on the books already with the upcoming October Meetings.”
“Davers was rather adamant.”
Aaron’s head jerked hard enough to strain the muscles in his shoulder. The challenge was with Lord Davers? Aaron’s relationship with the Newmarket horse owners was tenuous but decent. Except with Davers. The other man had never liked that Aaron was allowed to sully his presence simply because he had an excellent touch with horses and a few decent connections.
Oliver knew that. Why would he have anything to do with—
“And Brimsbane was there,” Oliver admitted with a sigh, once again shifting his gaze to avoid looking Aaron in the eye.
For as long as Aaron had known Oliver, the man had gotten on well with everyone. Now, for a reason even Oliver probably didn’t know, he had formed a one-sided rivalry with his future brother-in-law.
With a sigh, Aaron reached out and buried his hand in Shadow’s mane, drawing comfort from the warmth of the horse’s neck. “You have the girl’s affection, her father’s agreement, and a wedding date set in a month. What does it matter if her brother thinks you a cod’s head?”
Oliver snapped his attention back to Aaron and frowned. “Brimsbane thinks me a cod’s head?”
No, but Aaron was on the verge of it. “To my knowledge, Brimsbane doesn’t think of you at all beyond your ability to make Lady Rebecca happy. You’ve known the chap for years.”
“I know.” Oliver began to pace, the dressing gown he’d been wearing when he rushed from the house to catch Aaron flapping about his knees. Pacing was a sure sign his grip on practical reality was sliding into panic based on some illogical conclusion only he could understand. “Did you see him at the training yards last week?”
“Brimsbane?” Why were they still talking about him? The challenge with Davers was far more pressing. They had one day to find a solution.
Aaron took a deep breath and counted to three. Oliver wouldn’t move back to the original conversation until this new one was completed. “Yes, I saw him. When he’s in town, he checks his horses’ training at least twice a week.”
“Exactly.” Oliver swung his arms wide as he continued to pace.
Aaron waited, but nothing more came. “Exactly what?”
“Brimsbane knows his horses.” Oliver stopped and pointed at Aaron. “Did you know he asked me why my horses ran without blankets, and I didn’t even know what he was talking about?”
“I don’t care for sweating the horses.” Aaron lifted one shoulder and let it drop. “Wearing a winter traveling coat doesn’t make a man faster. Why would a horse be any different?”