“If I’m good enough,” she whispered, “other people will hire me. This is the beginning, Jonas. This is what will create the foundation for us to reestablish Father’s school.”
Jonas grunted but said nothing. Did he also feel the danger of speaking their real dream too loudly?
Neither of them had a watch, so they weren’t sure of the time, but the rising sun gave them a good idea. The increasing number of homes and the distant estates indicated they were nearing Newmarket. The Heath, her destination, had to be close.
Jonas pried the reins from Sophia’s fingers and then pressed her bag into her arms. “I’ll take her. You’ll want your bag with you since it will be a day or two before we can meet up.”
Reality hit her hard in the middle, and she hugged her bag closer. How long had it been since they’d spent a full day apart—much less two?
Her brother’s callused hand covered hers and squeezed. “It’s going to be all right, Soph. God promised to never fail us nor forsake us.” He gave a twisted grin and a one-shouldered shrug. “Since Israel got that promise, besmirched though it was, what we’re doing isn’t going to send Him running.”
That Jonas had said we gave her some comfort. They might be apart, but that didn’t mean they weren’t still in this together. “How will I find you?”
Jonas looked around and then pointed to a knoll with a cluster of trees. “I’ll meet you there tomorrow. I’ll head that direction to find a place, then return in the morning and hide in those trees. If things go badly this morning, you can stay there until I find you. If they go well, you meet me there as soon as you can. I’ll go every day until I see you.”
Sophia swallowed. As always, Jonas had constructed a plan that saw to all the flaws she’d been in too much of a hurry to consider. From here, she was going to be on her own, though.
Jonas wrapped his arm around her and pulled her into a tight hug before giving her one last nod and leaving the road to cut across the fields still wet with morning dew.
She would not cry. If she was going to claim this job, she had to be tough. Resilient. Mr. Whitworth wasn’t going to like that she was female. Others might not like it either. Some didn’t even care for a woman performing in the circus. Were racehorse owners likely to be more inclined to accept female riders?
She didn’t need anyone’s approval, though, only their money.
Wiping her hands against the rough fabric of her skirt, she shifted her bag so that it rode more easily on her shoulder and walked on. Fabric bunched around her legs as her loose trousers rubbed and clung to the fabric of the overlying skirt. It wasn’t an outfit made for walking, but she didn’t think there would be time or a place for her to change before the race. This outfit allowed her to ride astride with modesty. Riding sidesaddle at length wasn’t always comfortable. She doubted it was the best way to race, either.
She felt every wisp of breeze, heard every twitch and rustle in the grass. As she approached the Heath, a trembling worked from her knees upward, making her stumble as she left the road. The Heath was beautiful, but the small gathering coming into view held her attention and kept her from taking in the full expanse.
In the distance were several clusters of people. Some were standing, others were seated in open carriages. A scattering of men on horseback trickled toward her across the expanse and ended at a grouping of two horses and three men, one of whom held the reins of a sleek black horse with one hand and his pocket watch in the other. His clothing was crisp, though his hair bore the disarray that comes from spending a great deal of time without a hat on while atop a horse.
The coat was blue today instead of burgundy, but it was the same man who had been to the circus the day before. Sophia’s gut tightened. She’d been so focused on riding the horse and keeping the job that she’d forgotten about facing the man.
His glance flicked often toward the road and then to the distant spectators. Twice he passed over her. She could tell herself it was because he didn’t recognize her without a wig, but how many redheaded women were wandering about the Heath?
It was too late to back out now.
She strode forward, trying to pretend it was just like the circus show. Confidence wasn’t necessary, but the appearance of it was.
“Mr. Whitworth?” The words came out slightly raspy but strong, lightly touched with the Irish lilt of her childhood.
He frowned down at her. “Yes?”
“I am your new jockey.”
Five
My new . . .” Aaron’s voice trailed off as he took in the woman before him.
Bold red hair caught and reflected the sun as the wind pulled at the strands that had come loose from the bun at the nape of her neck. Clothing that had seen better days and certainly hadn’t been designed with an eye for fashion covered a body that was the perfect size for a jockey. He frowned as he took in her pale face and confident expression.
In another time and another place, he’d have taken a few moments to analyze the way her green eyes seemed to punch him in the gut, but here on the Heath, with Davers standing a few feet away, such an indulgence wasn’t an option. He had to get this woman—whoever she was—out of the way and decide what to do about the non-arrival of his new—
He blinked down at the woman. How had she known he had hired a new jockey? “You’re the faerie.”
Her chin lifted another notch. Much farther and she’d be forced to look at the sky instead of him. “Yes.”
“I didn’t hire you.” Had she been a man, he might have. Her riding was impressive. “I hired an Irish horse trainer with red hair.”
She pointed to her head. “Red. And I can thicken my accent if that makes me more palatable.”
By the end of that statement, the light brogue she’d started with had thickened until it was barely understandable. Despite the way everything was unraveling right before his eyes, he wanted to laugh. “No one is doubting your heritage.”
“I am also the horse trainer.” She inclined her head and pulled a paper from her pocket. “Sophia Fitzroy. For one month I will ride your horses in exchange for food, lodging, and a weekly salary.”
Aaron wrapped his fingers tighter around the reins, afraid Equinox might be the only thing keeping him standing. “There was a man. . . .”
She shrugged. “He just sees to the horses. Does a few things here and there to keep them sharp. I do the training.”
The sense of foreboding he’d had coming home from Cambridge churned through him until dread ran through his veins. “I can’t put you on this horse,” he choked out.
She glanced around. “Without a mounting block available, I’m afraid you’ll have to.”
The entirely inappropriate desire to laugh speared through him again, quickly doused by the dismay that grew as his mind settled on the facts of the situation.
Davers approached, his strut recognizable even at the corner of Aaron’s vision. “You don’t mean to ride the beast yourself, do you, Whitworth? Seems a foolish way to attain your first loss.” He looked Miss Fitzroy over. “And in front of your lady too. It seems you’ve finally realized your own worth.”
The insult rolled over him and stabbed the woman. Her eyes widened, and fire flushed across her pale cheeks. He had learned long ago to ignore the men who thought their birth made them better. A woman working with the circus should have as well, but perhaps the avoidance of people’s scorn was why she’d stayed tucked away behind that wagon.