Aaron turned his head to acknowledge the speaker and gave a nod of greeting. “Mead.”
Mr. Theophilus Mead was the embodiment of everything Aaron despised about society. The man mistreated his horses, relied on his father’s money and reputation, and was a terrible rider to boot. Yet he was welcome here, while Aaron was not.
“What are you doing here?” Mead asked with his customary sneer and a tilt of his chin that made it appear he’d smelled something foul. Given how often his face bore such an expression, one could surmise it was he who was creating the odor.
“I’m meeting someone.”
Mead glanced around the room. “Here?” He chuckled. “Who is it? I’ll save them the effort of slowly killing their social suitability and aid them with a quick blow.”
Aaron fought the urge to roll his eyes. It was true he wasn’t desirable company, but one conversation with him wasn’t enough to ruin a man’s value. A woman’s, perhaps, but not a man’s—at least not in Newmarket, where there was a high probability their conversation was about horses.
“Whitworth?”
Weren’t corners supposed to be hidden, out-of-the-way places? Aaron might be slightly taller than the average man, but he wasn’t a giant. He turned his head to greet the newcomer and relaxed when he saw Hudson, Viscount Stildon. Miss Bianca Snowley, the only woman Aaron had ever voluntarily befriended, was at his side. Unsurprising, since the two had been inseparable since they started courting.
Aaron gave a nod, reminding himself this was a formal setting and he couldn’t use his friends’ given names. “Stildon. Miss Snowley.”
Hudson shifted until Bianca was on his other side, placing her between him and Aaron and away from Mr. Mead, who’d tried to court Bianca before Hudson had come along. If the nasty look he was sending the lady’s way was any indication, he wasn’t happy she’d chosen another.
“Have you greeted Mrs. Turner yet?” Mead asked, eyes wide in an overblown attempt to look casual. “I can send her your way if you need to pay your respects. Wouldn’t want to be rude and ruin her gathering.”
“No,” Aaron said tightly. “I wouldn’t. Rather why I’m standing in this corner.”
“One would wonder why you came at all.” Mead cut a look across the room at Davers. “You couldn’t possibly be nerv—”
“Apollo had a good workout today,” Hudson cut in. “He looks in fine shape for the October Meetings.”
Aaron nodded, welcoming a topic he could comfortably converse on. “He’s been getting better and better. He should peak at the perfect time.”
Mead frowned. “I’m introducing a new horse at the first meeting.”
Aaron winced as the man’s voice grew louder. Was he trying to draw everyone’s attention to Aaron’s presence? Probably. And it was working. Several heads had turned his way, including Lord Brimsbane’s.
He stepped into the circle to address Mead. “That’s rather odd timing, isn’t it?”
“I wanted his first run to be on my home turf.”
Aaron bit his lip to keep from laughing at the idea that Mead somehow ruled the Heath. The truth was his father had enough money to run a stable barely decent enough to keep him in the Newmarket social mix. They only ever ran the smaller races, and no one took them seriously.
With three other horsemen in the circle and a woman who rode better than most other men in the room, the conversation flowed freely without any input from Aaron. He slid to the side, his shoulder moving behind Bianca’s, allowing Brimsbane to ease farther into the circle.
Three more subtle shifts and the viscount had unconsciously moved to block Aaron from the conversation.
Only Bianca noticed, and she threw Aaron a frown.
He gave her a quick grin and shrugged one shoulder. He wasn’t here to talk horses, at least not with these men. Nor were they intent on talking to him. Even Hudson hadn’t noticed Aaron’s departure from the grouping, though Aaron didn’t think any worse of him for that.
Mr. Mead’s voice rose again, drawing Lord Davers’s notice. His glance connected with Aaron’s, and his mouth turned up at the corners in a smirk. Like a cat. Right before it knocked over the milk pitcher.
“Whitworth,” he said, in a voice just loud enough to carry across the room.
Silence fell over the area for the space of a breath, followed by the low hum of conversations moving from general gossip to discussing someone present in the room. They were far from discreet, and normally Aaron could have made his own amusement by casually asking each and every one what they were talking about, but he had another goal this evening, one that making a nuisance of himself wouldn’t help.
Aaron crossed the room, ignoring the young lady who darted out of the drawing room, nearly hitting the doorframe because she refused to take her eyes off him. As if he might do something thrilling, like make a scene or throw a punch. Aaron knew better. Acting the perfect gentleman that he’d worked so hard to become was far more powerful. It made people uncomfortable, made them question their world, made them angry that he would dare to fit in on the surface when they all knew he didn’t under the skin.
Normally he reserved showings like this for London, where they were far more effective at strengthening his resolve to cling to the respectability he’d gripped with the tips of his fingernails.
Lord Davers’s companions shifted to allow Aaron into their midst, eyes darting to and fro so they wouldn’t miss a moment of the interaction.
Aaron nodded his greetings and waited for Davers to speak.
The man swirled the amber liquid in his glass before taking a slow sip, eyes fixed on Aaron the entire time. “I had no idea Mrs. Turner had issued you an invitation.”
The poor woman was going to get quite the interrogation tomorrow about including him on the guest list, despite the fact that most society matrons in Newmarket and London did the same, on the off chance his father might ask them if they were following his wishes.
“I wished for a bit of company this evening,” Aaron said, refusing to defend himself or pull the card from his pocket as proof. “As this seems to be where everyone has gathered tonight, I came here.” It was hardly everyone, but as far as Davers was concerned, it might as well be. Everyone was a very loosely defined term among the elite.
An older woman rushed into the room, mouth pressed into a thin line. People stepped out of her way, causing a commotion Aaron caught out of the corner of his eye. She gave him a look of near fear before grabbing the arm of a young lady in Davers’s circle and hustling her away.
Aaron didn’t even know the young lady’s name.
“Getting in your last moments of glory before you lose your streak tomorrow?” Davers grinned, trampling any hope Aaron had of convincing him to at least delay the challenge.
“Many a greater horse than yours has tried to end my challenge streak,” Aaron said, unwilling to give Davers the satisfaction of slinking away. At least he hadn’t made his request yet.
“Ah, but I’d place a wager that my jockey is finer than yours.”
Yes, Davers had known exactly what he was doing.
Aaron had put himself, his friends, and his hostess through an uncomfortable evening for no reason.
If there was one thing he’d learned in his years on the edge of society, it was that the appearance of confidence was almost as good as possessing it. “I think you’ll find my jockey sufficient to the task.”