Many of the methods he used on the horses in his charge were different from the normal ones, and both the stables he managed—including Oliver’s father’s—had shown increased success because of it. The care of horses and advancements in their training had long been a passion of Aaron’s.
Despite his closeness with Aaron, Oliver attended very few races and never expressed interest in his father’s racing stable. Before he’d fallen in love with the daughter of an avid horseman, Oliver had cared only that his horse looked good and was fit enough to carry him wherever he wanted to go.
Perhaps it was love that had finally sent Oliver over the edge of reasonableness. It had certainly wreaked havoc in Aaron’s life, and he wasn’t even the one experiencing it, thank goodness.
Aaron didn’t have anything to offer a woman. At best he dallied on the fringes of polite society. At worst he was an outcast. Far better for Aaron to keep his circle of friends small and tight so his situation affected as few people as possible.
If only those few people would stop falling in love and expanding the circle. Each and every one of them had gone through a period of acting a complete fool because of their love-addled brains.
None had recovered from the malady with sanity intact.
“Forget about Brimsbane, at least for the moment.” Hopefully forever. “Let’s discuss the agreement with Davers.”
Oliver winced and blew out a long breath before relaying to Aaron the details of the challenge. “Might he agree to a postponement?”
“Oh, most assuredly,” Aaron said dryly, “but not before ensuring that everyone in Cambridgeshire, Suffolk, and Essex knew you’d reneged.”
It was possible that had been Davers’s plan all along. The man had a history of trying to tap a weakness in Aaron’s employers in order to mar Aaron’s reputation. If Oliver canceled the challenge, everyone would assume it was because Aaron didn’t think he could win. He’d tried to fire Hughes quietly, but if Davers somehow knew Aaron had no jockey . . .
Regardless of the method or motivation, Aaron’s carefully and strategically cultivated reputation was in danger. The small foundation he’d managed to build himself would crack. One crack would lead to another, and in little time at all, he’d become exactly what his father had told him he would be: nothing.
Aaron couldn’t—wouldn’t—tell Oliver that. He never admitted his fears aloud to anyone. Ever.
Besides, guilt would wrack the man if he knew Aaron’s concerns, and he might try to correct the disaster with an even more foolish decision. Oliver and Graham, the viscount who made up the third member of their boyhood trio, had sacrificed enough for Aaron as it was. Their friendship had inspired him to hope. He wouldn’t repay them by inspiring worry—or worse, pity.
Oliver ran his hand through his hair and resumed pacing. “We have to run the race.”
“Yes.” Knowing he couldn’t stop what had already been set in motion, Aaron turned his mind to potential solutions. Newmarket was the heart of English racing. Jockeys abounded in the area.
Unfortunately, he couldn’t think of anyone who met even his two essential criteria and would be willing to ride for him this close to the October Meetings. Jockeys worked closely with their horses, and the decent ones had all been hired long ago. They wouldn’t want to jeopardize those positions by agreeing to run for Aaron. Though superb, his reputation was fragile, and no one wanted to be the jockey at the helm when the ship finally crashed.
Either God thought Aaron needed another lesson in perseverance, or the world wanted him to remember his proper place—or rather his lack of one.
Existential issues notwithstanding, tomorrow morning Aaron would be expected on the Heath with a horse and rider at the starting post.
He sighed. “I suppose we could use a groom.” It would likely mean losing the challenge. Aaron’s stomach burned. He’d lost his share of official races, of course, but he’d never lost a personal challenge.
Mostly because he never accepted one he didn’t know he could win.
And while a loss would undermine his reputation, missing the race altogether would destroy it.
“The grooms are all excellent riders.” Oliver smiled, unsurprisingly unaware that anything aside from the money wagered might be lost during this race.
“You know I wouldn’t hire a man who didn’t ride well or treat a horse correctly,” Aaron grumbled. That didn’t make them good jockeys, though. Stable work tended to require stronger, larger men, which wasn’t the ideal build for a jockey.
Oliver’s smile fell, and he resumed pacing. “A loss won’t look good to Brimsbane or Lord Gliddon.”
Aaron narrowed his eyes at his friend. “I do hope once you’re married you give more concern to how your wife feels about you instead of her brother and father. I didn’t haul your lovesick foolish self from London to court the earl.”
“Rebecca loves me.” Oliver frowned.
“Precisely.” The calmness Aaron held with an iron grip shattered, and he stepped forward to grip his friend by the shoulders and give him a slight shake. “She loves you. Since the betrothal has been announced and you aren’t going to live with Lord and Lady Gliddon after the wedding, what are you worried about?”
“You don’t understand.” Oliver shook his head and looked away.
No, Aaron would never understand. He’d seen caring families and had, at times, craved one of his own, but in his experience, family was nothing but shameful responsibility. His father considered him an example to hold before his real son to show that choices had ramifications.
“Explain it to me, then.” Aaron’s voice was hard, not because he was frustrated with Oliver but because there were going to be consequences, possibly dire ones, and Aaron intended to take the brunt of them. Graham and Oliver were the only people who had ever chosen to be in Aaron’s life despite his less than noble beginnings. The least he could do was protect Oliver in return.
“I love Rebecca,” Oliver said softly as he broke away from Aaron and paced again.
“We established that.”
“I didn’t propose in London.”
“As I’m well aware.” Aaron had only visited London a few times during the Season, but he’d seen how Lady Rebecca’s popularity had paralyzed his friend, despite the indications that she reciprocated his feelings.
“You had to drag me here from London and kick me in the backside to act before I lost her.” Oliver shoved his hand through his hair again.
“Again, I am aware.”
“Yes, well—” Oliver cleared his throat—“so are they.”
Aaron frowned. “Is she—”
“No,” Oliver cut in sharply before sighing. “She understands. Lord Gliddon . . . well . . . I don’t believe he’d have given his blessing if Rebecca hadn’t forced him to. I don’t think he likes me.”
“Everyone likes you, Oliver.”
“That doesn’t mean he respects me.”
The truth of that statement silenced Aaron. Lady Rebecca saw the man’s faults as well as his virtues and loved him anyway, but to someone who didn’t take the time to get to know him, Oliver could look something of a cake.