Aubrey dearly wished to do so. Lindsey’s infectious enthusiasm boded well. And it’d be nice to share in something Lindsey found so enjoyable.
But when he thought of how his efforts at learning would compare to Lindsey’s natural ease, he felt a cold lump of dread in his gullet. The grooms would doubtless receive quite a show from Aubrey’s failed attempts to master as an adult what other men had mastered as children.
To say nothing of the horses themselves. Aubrey tried not to show it, but the close proximity of so many very large animals inspired no small amount of anxiety within him. He was an engineer; he worked with machines. Beautifully reliable machines that did what they were told. And even these—a boiler, in particular—had quite literally blown up in his face. He didn’t like to dwell on what harm a wild and unpredictable animal might do.
A gruff snort behind him announced the arrival of one such animal; Parsival, bridled and saddled and ready to wreak havoc upon Aubrey’s person. Fletcher stepped up to take the reins from the other groom and lead Parsival into the paddock, just as Lindsey rode Bellerophon out of it.
Lindsey brought his steed over to stand before Aubrey. Aubrey found himself stumbling backward from the beast, whose nose hung level with Aubrey’s forehead, and spread just as broad.
“Ready to give it a try?” Lindsey asked, bright as ever.
Aubrey forced a smile. “Ready as I’ll ever be.”
Lindsey dismounted in a single fluid movement and took up Fletcher’s old post by the fence to watch.
Keenly feeling the pressure of Lindsey’s eyes upon him, as well as the eyes of all the grooms, Aubrey entered the paddock.
“Nervous, sir?” Fletcher said as he approached. “Don’t be.”
The words implied comfort, but the tone spoke otherwise. Aubrey levelled a questioning look at the groom.
“If you’re nervous,” Fletcher warned, “the horse’ll spook.”
Aubrey couldn’t think of a sentence more inclined to make a person nervous.
“Stand here, sir,” Fletcher bid him, motioning to the left-hand side of the horse, near the saddle.
Aubrey moved to the indicated position.
“Put your left foot into the stirrup,” Fletcher continued. “Grab onto the saddle here, and some mane there—exactly so, sir—and spring off with your right leg.”
Aubrey, thinking back to Lindsey’s swift and sure mounting, attempted to imitate it. He bounced off the ground—and fell immediately back on his heel, hopping around on one leg to regain balance. Parsival didn’t take kindly to all this nonsense and took a few uneasy steps away from his would-be rider, forcing Aubrey to yank his left foot out of the stirrup and stumble backwards to stay upright.
“Good effort, sir,” Fletcher said dispassionately, looking at the horse rather than at Aubrey. He caught up the reins—Aubrey rather wished he’d done that from the start, rather than let the horse walk away from him—and steered Parsival back into position. “Shall we try again?”
Aubrey, not one to give up so quickly, tried again. This time Parsival stayed in place. So did Aubrey, hopping up and down on one leg as he tried, and failed, to pull himself up into the saddle, over and over again.
A hand on his arm stopped him. Aubrey turned, expecting Fletcher. Instead he found Lindsey.
“If I might make a suggestion,” said Lindsey, whose face still bore a gentle smile. “It’s as much or more about pushing down with the left leg, as it is springing from the right. Much more so than pulling with the arms.”
Aubrey knew Lindsey meant well. Lindsey always meant well. But knowing this didn’t make him feel any less humiliated. Nor did it prevent his flaming cheeks from touting said humiliation all across the stable yard for every groom to behold—indeed, to Aubrey, the heat of his own blush felt so intense he would have sworn any maid in the house could perceive it, if she happened to peer out of an upstairs window at that moment. He wondered for one bitter instant why Lindsey couldn’t have offered such helpful wisdom before he ever attempted to mount Parsival.
Yet such bitterness couldn’t long survive under the benevolent rays of Lindsey’s hopeful smile.
Aubrey withheld a sigh, thanked him, and turned back to the waiting saddle. Again, he put his left hand upon the horse’s mane. Once more, he put his right hand upon the saddle. He slid his left foot into the stirrup, and gave one last valiant attempt at springing from his right. As his right foot left the ground, he threw his weight onto his left and forced it to unbend, pushing him further up, up, up—and very nearly over.
But not quite.
Having vaulted into the air, he then attempted to throw his right leg out across the saddle, as he’d seen Lindsey do with such ease and grace. Whether it was due to his own inexperience, or simply because his legs were not near so long as Lindsey’s, Aubrey found he did not possess anything like the same ease or grace. As such, his right leg, rather than coming down on the opposite side of his steed and sliding smoothly into the waiting stirrup, came down upon the horse’s backside.
Parsival, to his credit, neither bucked nor reared at this alarming development. But he did stamp his hoof in protest, and this was enough to send Aubrey sprawling backward. His prior dismounts were pure elegance compared to how he now flailed through the air and fell down upon his arse in the dirt.
A single bark of laughter echoed through the stable yard. Aubrey glanced ‘round him to see which groom had so forgot himself as to vocalise the fun he had at his master’s engineer’s expense, only to find the grooms stone-faced, and Lindsey with one hand clamped over his mouth to muffle any further escaping mirth. His blue eyes danced with delight, even as Aubrey stared up at him in disbelief.
“Sorry!” Lindsey gasped when he finally recovered himself. He started to offer Aubrey his arm, but Aubrey had already scrambled to his feet unassisted.
“Might help to have something to stand on, sir,” Fletcher suggested. “So you wouldn’t have to jump so high. Overturned bucket should do the trick.”
The thought of standing on a bucket to climb into the saddle sent a fresh wave of shame through Aubrey. Lindsey hadn’t stood on a bucket. Then again, Lindsey stood far taller than Aubrey—indeed, far taller than most men, though Aubrey found it difficult to remember this fact whilst surrounded by a stable-full of grooms who all stood eye-to-eye with Lindsey.
Still, even Aubrey had to concede that it was a little much to attempt an unassisted jump over an obstacle almost as tall as himself, without even the benefit of a running start. The physics of the problem simply didn’t work out.
“Here,” said Lindsey.
The sound of his voice drew Aubrey out of his mental calculations. He turned to find Lindsey in a peculiar pose. Lindsey stood beside Parsival, just behind the saddle, with his hands held out in front of him, palms up, fingers interlaced. It took Aubrey a moment to recognise the meaning of the gesture. Once he did, he blushed anew.
Lindsey intended for Aubrey to step on his hands, and thus raise him up onto the horse.
Aubrey wondered how it appeared to all the grooms, to see a baronet—their employer—holding out his hands for some workhouse brat’s boot to stamp upon. He came very near to refusing.
But the apologetic smile upon Lindsey’s lips and the clear blue honesty of his eyes melted all of Aubrey’s obstinacy away.
Once again, Aubrey approached Parsival, with his face towards the horse’s head and his back towards Lindsey. He put his hands on the mane and saddle and slipped his left foot into the stirrup. He glanced over his shoulder, then, at Lindsey’s nod, jumped from his right leg whilst pushing off with his left.
For one horrible second, he hung suspended in the air.
Then Lindsey caught his heel.
In the space of a blink, Aubrey felt himself pulled up and pushed over. He hurried to match Lindsey’s movements, lest his sacrificial efforts be in vain. His leg cleared the horse’s back—his seat came down upon the saddle—
And he was up.
A
ubrey blinked in astonishment at his new vantage point. None so high as riding atop an omnibus, no. Still, far taller than he’d ever stood in all his four-and-twenty years. It had a rather dizzying effect, not helped by the horse shifting underneath him, as if he sat atop a buoy on the ocean, which to Aubrey made his steed no less disconcerting from above than from below. To say nothing of how it felt as if one wrong move would make him as much of a gelding as Parsival.
“Steady,” said Fletcher.
Whether he spoke to the man or the horse, Aubrey couldn’t say. But as he glanced around to ascertain, he saw Lindsey gazing upon him with a look equal parts wonder and triumph. Aubrey dared a smile at him and found it returned tenfold.
“Shoulders down, sir,” said Fletcher.
The abrupt reminder of his own terrible posture brought Aubrey’s elevated mood crashing back down to reality. Aubrey rolled his shoulders, stiff muscles straining with protest against such rough treatment. Though he kept his shoulders back and his head erect whilst walking—the concept of external poise reflecting internal moral character having been drilled into him from a young age—he shared the bad habit of most office workers, in that once he sat down, he tended to hunch over his task.
This same hunch did him no favours upon horseback. He rolled his shoulders again, endeavouring to keep them down despite the burning sensation. Doing so required him to suck in his gut and hollow out his lower back—positioning which felt even less secure in the saddle then it did on the ground. His arms hung loose, and for lack of anything else to grasp, he clutched the horse’s mane in both hands.
“Very good, sir,” Fletcher said, his tone perfunctory. “If you’ll just lower your heels.”
Aubrey, confused, glanced down at his boots. At present, he had both in their respective stirrups, their toes pointed squarely at the ground. Common sense told him if he lowered his heels, said boots would then slip backwards out of these same stirrups, and his position in the saddle would become still more precarious. He wondered, briefly, if Fletcher were playing some sort of prank.
Yet Fletcher appeared as impassive as ever. And surely, Aubrey reasoned upon reflection, even if the groom did wish him the worst, he wouldn’t dare commit any sabotage under Lindsey’s nose.
Aubrey slowly raised his toes and lowered his heels. To his surprise, his boots did not slip out of place. On the contrary, his arches braced against the stirrup all the more securely.
Fletcher nodded. “Just so, sir. And if you’ll bring your thighs in line with the saddle flaps…”
Doing so required some creative unbending of Aubrey’s knees, which had up to this point remained elevated, as if he were sitting in a chair. But once corrected in accordance with Fletcher’s instruction, Aubrey found his legs fell into a loose and natural grip of the saddle. It did, however, require him to transfer his weight from his seat to his fork, which did not improve the sensation of imperiled stones. And remembering every aspect of this new and unfamiliar posture—shoulders down, hollow-backed, lowered heels, aligned thighs—required a great deal of concentration. The strain of his muscles in every direction didn’t help matters.
“With your permission, sir,” said Fletcher, “I’ll lead him around at a walk.”
Aubrey, despite his best instincts, nodded.
Fletcher turned away. Parsival followed. Despite their slow and steady pace, every powerful stride rolled up through the beast’s body to the saddle. Aubrey found himself swaying from side to side with each step, which only made his precarious posture all the more difficult to maintain. Still, he didn’t slip out of the saddle—despite feeling very much as if he were about to do so at any moment.
Parsival completed the circuit around the paddock, bringing them all back around to where Lindsey stood watching.
“How d’you find it so far?” Lindsey called up to him.
Aubrey felt his own smile growing sincere to match Lindsey’s. “I rather like being tall.”
~
Chapter Four
Aubrey spent the whole of the afternoon on horseback. By the time they broke for dinner, he felt rather accomplished—though Fletcher had yet to give him the reins. As he sat down to dinner with Lindsey and Halloway, he had the satisfying burn of a job well done in his shoulders and thighs.
By the end of dinner, everything ached.
His neck and shoulders burned from his forcing them to assume a position that, while technically correct and healthful, still felt absolutely unnatural. His spine had stretched and compacted in ways which could be charitably described as uncomfortable, and which he thought would best be described with language unfitting to his surroundings. His muscles fared no better, feeling to him as if someone had tied them in knots and set them on fire. His hip-joints felt as if dislocated and inexpertly re-attached; they seemed to grind in their sockets. Every inch of flesh on his legs burned down to the bone, from his thighs to his ankles. His skin stood in no better shape than his muscles, as his loose trouser legs pinched by the saddle had chafed his knees and inner thighs raw, and he staggered rather than walked up the stairs to Lindsey’s bedroom after dinner.
“Are you feeling quite the thing?” Lindsey asked once the bedroom door had closed behind them.
“I’m fine,” Aubrey mumbled. “Just a bit stiff.”
He rubbed the back of his neck as he spoke, hoping to alleviate some of the tension. Lindsey reached up to aid in his efforts. Two soft hands with long, clever fingers worked far better than Aubrey’s half-hearted one-handed attempt, and Aubrey let his arm drop to his side, just as his head dropped onto Lindsey’s collar with a groan.
Lindsey laughed. His fingers slipped beneath Aubrey’s lapels. Aubrey pulled back just enough to allow Lindsey to divest him of his jacket.
“A hot bath might do you good,” Lindsey murmured into his ear as he unbuttoned his waistcoat.
“Don’t think I’ve ever had a hot bath before,” Aubrey mused aloud.
Lindsey looked up sharp. “Never?”
Aubrey coloured. Most days he made do with a stand-up wash like everyone else—which Lindsey well knew—but evidently the lack of baths still required explanation. “Went to the plunge pool in the public baths a few times with the other telegraph boys, but it’s never hot. Or private.” He didn’t know which aspect felt more humiliating: the reminder of his sordid past or the revelation of his own inexperience.
Lindsey didn’t seem to take offence to either. He simply smiled. “Well, then, you’re in for a treat.”
Aubrey heartily agreed, though he felt too exhausted to do much to assist Lindsey in getting him there. Lindsey set aside his waistcoat and peeled off his shirt, then undid his braces and gently pushed Aubrey down to sit on the bed so he might untie his boots. He worked with equal parts efficiency and tenderness, his skilful fingers tracing caresses over his calves as he unhooked the garters holding up his stockings. In between divesting Aubrey of his trousers and undershirt, Lindsey even found time to steal a kiss. Such attentions left Aubrey more relaxed than otherwise, so that when Lindsey threw a silk dressing gown over his shoulders and guided him towards the bathroom, he felt perfectly content to follow.
Aubrey had seen the bathroom before on his visits to the Wiltshire house. He’d had a private breakdown in it on the morning after his first night with Lindsey. Even then, he’d taken note of the extravagant amenities, not only in the marble surroundings but in the plumbing itself. Indoor taps, running hot water as well as cold, were an incredible luxury for anyone, even those of Lindsey’s class. Through conversational asides and idle chatter over the past few months, Aubrey discovered how such marvels came to pass.
The Wiltshire house had undergone significant renovations over the past decade, at Rowena’s behest. From what Aubrey gleaned from Lindsey, it was she who required indoor bathing facilities attached to her bedroom suite. And, since it would hardly be fair to deny her brother the same privilege, she made the case to their father for the addition of a bathroom to Lindsey’s suite, too. And i
f the children had baths, the father might as well, so she persuaded Sir Geoffrey to install plumbing throughout the house. It had taken many years and considerable expense, but the end result seemed well worth the effort. No servants had to haul pots of boiling water upstairs for a bath in the Wiltshire house. The pipes did all the work.
At present, Aubrey watched as Lindsey turned the tub’s faucets, and the pipes rattled to life. Water gushed from the tap—Lindsey let it run over his hand to test the result and adjusted the faucets accordingly—followed shortly by steam. Truly a marvel of engineering; Aubrey couldn’t help feeling impressed.
Then Lindsey’s hands descended upon his shoulders and gently slipped off the silk dressing gown, leaving Aubrey exposed. He shivered despite the steam.
Lindsey, hardly more decent in just his shirtsleeves and with his topmost buttons undone, took Aubrey’s arm to support him as he stepped into the bath.
Even whilst distracted by his own efforts to keep his balance on the slippery marble and wet enamel, Aubrey couldn’t deny the sheer relief he felt as he slid under the water. It came up to his shoulders, the water level rising with the added volume of his body—he couldn’t help thinking of Archimedes. No wonder Rowena had petitioned so hard for the installation of such technological advancements; the experience of total immersion in soothing warmth felt well worth it. Already the tightly-wound muscles in his back began to relax. He sighed in relief, letting his eyes fall shut and leaning his head back against the rim of the tub.
The faint rustle of cloth echoed off the marble walls. Aubrey opened one eye to find Lindsey disrobing as well. Already down to his drawers, he had one foot up on a convenient pillar as he removed his garters and stockings, putting his shapely leg on full display, as well as the lean muscles of his back and shoulders in bending forward.
Lindsey caught Aubrey’s eye with a raised brow.
“Just enjoying the view,” Aubrey assured him.
Lindsey laughed and slid his drawers off his hips with perhaps a bit more ceremony than strictly necessary. Aubrey let his eyes rove over the trim athletic form now on full display. Would that Lindsey were closer, so Aubrey might run his hands over him, as well.
Throw His Heart Over Page 5
