Sophia didn’t know who they were, but she knew what it was like to be ridiculed. What had he claimed earlier? That she was trading his reputation to make a name for herself? She’d thought he was simply being dramatic, but what if it were true? She twisted her fingers together, wishing she could take all she’d learned today and go back to yesterday and discuss it with Jonas.
Such a pity time only moved forward.
The thin man grunted and shook his head again. “I’ll see you tomorrow. I hope you have a plan by then.”
He led the horse away, leaving Sophia and Mr. Whitworth staring at each other, a situation made far more awkward without the horse as part of the picture.
Mr. Whitworth shoved his hand through his hair and shifted his weight to one foot. “What am I going to do with you?”
“I thought we’d agreed I was going to ride.” She bit her tongue in reaction to the blurted statement. The pain was too late to be of any benefit.
His eyes cut toward her and his mouth pulled into a slight frown. “Unless you intend to sleep in the stall with Equinox and share his feed, that isn’t the answer to my question.”
Oh. Right. He wouldn’t be able to place her wherever he normally housed his jockeys. Another issue she hadn’t considered.
“Have you been reading Wollstonecraft in your spare time, Mr. Whitworth, or have you always harbored this heretofore hidden need to buck tradition?” A sweet, smooth, feminine voice drifted from behind Sophia’s shoulder, and she twisted her head to see a couple approaching them.
She was everything a lady should be. Dark hair that maintained its careful styling despite being out of doors, pale skin, and a dress cut to skim across the grass as she walked. Her arm was linked with that of an equally polished gentleman. Only the disheveled light brown hair kept him from presenting perfection.
Standing in front of Mr. Whitworth had made Sophia feel shabby enough, but the approaching couple made her catalog every mend and patch in her clothing. None were easily visible, but even the slightest level of scrutiny would reveal them.
Mr. Whitworth evened his weight, crossed his arms over his chest, and lifted one eyebrow, once more looking as if he were in complete control of the situation. “Unless you have recently procured a copy of Wollstonecraft’s work for Oliver’s library, I fear such writings are not available to me.”
A small idyllic smile graced the woman’s face. “Father would never approve of my reading such a book.”
“Meaning you’ve already hidden your copy among Oliver’s volumes.” Something that might have been a smile twitched at the edges of his mouth, but Sophia blinked and the hint of humor was gone.
The man escorting the dark-haired woman tensed visibly at the exchange, losing the indulgent smile he’d been wearing moments before. He looked at the woman, then at Sophia, and finally at Mr. Whitworth. “You could have warned me.”
“Actually, I couldn’t have,” Mr. Whitworth grumbled, but his voice was too low to interrupt the other man, who continued speaking.
“Everyone is asking me why I would agree to this.” He glanced over his shoulder to where a few nosy busybodies still lingered.
“Why indeed,” Mr. Whitworth said with a narrowed look in Sophia’s direction. He sighed, and the accusatory look dropped from his face. “I’m afraid more than one misunderstanding has led to this moment. The result is that Miss Fitzroy is, indeed, your new jockey.” He paused, eyes locking with hers once more. “For now.”
Sophia licked her lips and swallowed. Would he even give her a chance to win? No matter how good a rider she was, if he placed her on a slow animal, there was nothing she could do to win.
“The more immediate problem,” he said, “is where to put her for the night.”
She didn’t like the implication that she represented more than one problem, each of which would have to be dealt with in a certain order, but even she had to acknowledge that the housing he’d promised was made infinitely more difficult by her skirt.
Irritation kept her from feeling too sorry for him, though. Three people had approached since they’d reached an agreement, and not once had the man seen fit to introduce her. She hadn’t the slightest idea who was talking to her—or rather who was talking about her. Granted, everyone in the immediate vicinity was likely talking about her, but it would be nice to know who was doing so within her hearing.
“She can’t bunk with the grooms,” the man said, shoving his hand through his hair, displaying how it had gotten disheveled in the first place. “The maids?”
“I think not,” the dark-haired woman said. “You’ve a bachelor’s residence and she isn’t a servant. It isn’t proper.”
“Neither is riding a racehorse,” Mr. Whitworth added.
“Well, then, it isn’t proper for Oliver.”
Sophia wrapped one arm over her middle and forced her chin up.
The woman’s expression was respectful, despite her dismissive words. “She can stay with me.”
“What?” both men asked at the same time.
“Not with me, exactly, but there’s no issue with her staying in the maids’ rooms at my family’s house.”
“We race against your father,” Mr. Whitworth said. “Housing our jockey with him doesn’t seem right.”
“She will be riding for the man who is soon to be my husband, and I should be part of his success,” the lady answered, maintaining her perfect smile the entire time.
Sophia tilted her head. Was the lady’s face painted to hold such a consistent expression? She’d met people with impressive makeup talents, but none that could produce a look that real.
“I haven’t a better solution,” said the man with her, who Sophia assumed was the soon-to-be-married Oliver.
She really wished someone would make introductions. More than that, though, she wanted her lodgings settled. Obviously she couldn’t sneak Jonas and Rhiannon into maids’ quarters, but if she were eating from the same house as this fine lady, even the remainders of the family’s meal would likely be enough for her to split with her brother. “I won’t be any trouble. All I need is a bed and a meal.” Her stomach grumbled again. It was embarrassing, but if it convinced them she needed a large meal, all the better. There would be more to share with Jonas.
“It’s settled, then,” the lady said, her expression still serene, if a little strained about the mouth.
“Where are your other bags?” Oliver asked. “I’ll send a man to fetch them.”
Hot embarrassment surged from where the bag pressed against Sophia’s shoulder up her neck and across her face. Likely she was as red as her hair. Maybe more so. There’d been a time when she’d traveled with a trunk of her own. Sometimes even two.
That seemed a lifetime ago.
“No bags.” She swallowed hard as the woman’s perfect smile finally drooped into a look of pity.
Sophia fought against indulging in such an emotion for herself. Her situation would appear dire to these people, but things were looking somewhat better at the moment. She had to remember that.
Unfortunately, she didn’t know how to navigate out of the pity-inducing moment with any sort of grace. Fortunately, she was adept at verbally blundering about. Awkward was better than pitiful. “Since Mr. Whitworth has not seen fit to properly introduce us, perhaps we could do the honors ourselves?” She pressed a hand flat to her chest. “Miss Sophia Fitzroy.”