Chapter One #2
Victoria nodded in understanding, oblivious to our silent argument. “He’s the best rider there’s ever been,” she said. “The horse world will never be the same.”
Jasper Knighton wasn’t dead, even though Victoria’s somber tone may have indicated that.
About eighteen months ago, after a string of family tragedies, he stepped back from competing and abruptly withdrew from the limelight.
Completely. From what I’d heard, he’d always been more reserved anyway, unlike his gregarious cousin.
But he’d been quiet, pleasant, and amiable.
These days, the horse world’s gossip mill talked of him as a moody and bitter man who was best avoided.
I had no idea whether that was true, but the man who’d chatted with me that day years ago at my aunt’s center became my hero.
I couldn’t imagine him being bitter and cruel to anyone.
The oil painting must have been fairly recent.
Gone was the nineteen-year-old I’d met, the one whose career I’d followed intently throughout the years.
Instead I regarded a man of thirty-two with messy, deep brunet hair and heavy stubble covering his face.
His eyes were as dark and stormy as the gray English skies in the painted background.
If possible, he was even more handsome in this picture than when he retired. More rough and rugged. But my stomach fell, as he also appeared troubled. Haunted, even. His eyes . . . They screamed of pain.
It made my heart ache.
“If you’d come this way,” Victoria said, and we walked out into a courtyard.
I stopped dead in my tracks as the true glory of Golden Oaks immediately greeted us.
Laid out like an equine paradise was every horse rider’s dream: pristine arenas (both indoor and outdoor), and stable blocks that stretched for miles.
Even the harsh winter weather failed to make this place look anything less than spectacular.
“Okay, I get why you convinced me to come with you,” Sage said from her equally awestruck state beside me.
I smirked at my best friend. There had been no convincing.
Getting the opportunity to compete on a Knighton-bred-and-trained horse was the equivalent of winning the lottery in our industry.
Despite her history with Atticus, Sage had jumped (no pun intended) at the chance.
As had I.
The property stretched far and wide. There were trainers working horses in round pens. And they weren’t just show jumping trainers; I saw dressage and eventers too. Golden Oaks was unlike any other stable yard in the world. A melting pot of all different disciplines across one extensive property.
Only the best of the best got invited to train here, a blessing I didn’t take for granted. I’d worked tirelessly to be where I was in my career. Golden Oaks would only further my drive to be number one in the world.
Victoria turned to us with a smile that softened her prickly approach a little. “Can I just say, we are all so excited that you both have agreed to train here and jump for Knighton Equestrian. I just adore watching you.”
Sage winked at Victoria. “Thanks, girl. We’re so happy to be here too . . . even if it is cold as balls.”
An ATV suddenly arrived before us, thankfully cutting off Sage’s balls talk.
A girl who looked about twenty-one was driving.
She jumped out of the vehicle and wiped her hands on her navy-blue riding tights.
“Mila Burton,” she said, shaking our hands.
She was petite with long, fiery-red hair that fell to the middle of her back.
She boasted a pale complexion and an adorable face full of freckles.
She was gorgeous. Mila then faced me. “I’m your new groom, Ms. Oakley.
” She smiled. “I’m a huge fan and so honored to be working with you. You’re a true inspiration to me.”
“Good to meet you too, Mila,” I said, “but please call me Hallie.” Mila’s face flushed and she nodded with a wide smile on her face, then introduced herself to Sage.
We followed Mila into the ATV. Sage sat beside me.
Mila leaned around me to speak to her. “Your groom is Horatio. He’s a good friend and one of the finest grooms here at Golden Oaks.
He’s currently settling in the newly acquired Knighton horses after their travel day. ”
“Perfect,” Sage said, and we slowly set off through the equestrian center once our luggage was secured in the back of another ATV. I caught myself yawning, and my eyes watered.
Mila smiled at me. “Jet lag?”
“Jet lag,” I confirmed, then let my gaze drift to my surroundings.
I’d had the privilege of competing all over the world.
I’d been lucky to have visited many amazing countries, but there’d always been something about England for me.
In the spring, everything was green, lush, and vibrant in a way that no other country could touch.
My aunt told me it was because it rained so much that it was so full and alive.
Seeing the overcast, drizzly skies right now, I had no doubt she was correct.
But I loved the other seasons too. Even the current gray and moody skies that came with fall and winter.
Strangely, it always gave me a sense of peace.
But this place . . . Golden Oaks . . . It was what I imagined heaven would look like. I’d never seen anything so well thought out. Every section of the center had been planned to perfection and immaculately maintained.
The waning winter sun shone through the windshield, warming my face a bit.
I closed my eyes, only to smile when I heard classical music coming from somewhere to my left.
I opened my eyes and glanced over to see a man in a nearby dressage arena, perfectly executing an extended trot on a bright-bay warmblood.
I immediately recognized him when he raised his head. “Felix Knighton,” I said, and Sage whipped her head toward him too.
“Like silk,” Sage said a few seconds later, awe in her voice.
“He moves like silk on that stallion.” As if he felt us talking about him, he looked directly our way, showcasing the large scar that took up half of his face.
Felix had been known as the most handsome of the Knighton men—Jasper and his three cousins, Forrest, Felix, and Atticus—until an accident marred one side of his face and he turned in on himself, completely pulling back from the social side of our sport.
“He’s the most beautiful dressage rider I’ve ever seen,” I said, and Mila nodded.
“He’s out here every day. He’s a better rider now than he ever was before his accident, and he was impossibly good then,” Mila said.
We passed the dressage practice arenas, and my heart beat in double time when the one-point-six-meter-high show jumps begin to boast their bright colors in the distance.
Seeing a well-designed course had an almost Pavlovian effect on me.
There wasn’t a jump or course I wouldn’t try to clear. I was fearless that way.
“The grooms and yard staff all bunk in the staff quarters just over there,” Mila said, pointing to the most stunning “bunkhouses” I’d ever seen.
“But you both will be staying in the Orchard Cottages.” Mila smiled dreamily.
“They’re beautiful, and just up here.” Suddenly, a large mansion began to crest just over a hill of trees to our right.
“What. The. Fuck,” Sage muttered, only to add, “Holy shit!” when the full might of the mansion came into view.
Mila giggled. “That’s where the Knighton family lives.”
“All of them?” I asked.
“Yes. As far as I know they have a wing each,” Mila said. “But they’re very private people, and the staff and riders don’t go inside.”
“Stuck-up assholes,” Sage uttered under her breath, and I elbowed her in her ribs before Mila overheard. Sage folded her arms across her chest. Her grudge against Atticus Knighton consumed her.
When we were eighteen, Atticus came to Silvercrest to train and compete.
The minute they met, they were a collision of flames, always bickering and sniping at one another.
It became their favorite game. To be near them was to feel their undeniable chemistry.
But when Atticus left my aunt’s stable yard to return home, he took all the affection Sage had toward him too.
Weeks after he left, when I couldn’t take her sullen mood anymore, I dragged her to the hay loft, and we drank our weight in wine.
Drunk off her ass, Sage admitted she and Atticus had fucked.
When she found out he had fucked another visiting rider only days later, her want for him turned into blind hatred.
I regarded Atticus as a friend back then.
I still did. What he did to Sage was wrong, and I wanted to punch him for hurting her.
But she was eighteen, and he was only a year older.
We were all stupid teens back then. But if you crossed Sage, you would never be granted her forgiveness. And he never had.
I studied the mansion. It certainly looked big enough for a football team of people to live there and barely see one another if they didn’t want to.
It was so stunning, like Downton Abbey or some period drama, all ancient gray stone, diamond-patterned lead windows, and English ivy devouring its facade.
Four towering, ornate columns stood like protective sentinels at the entrance, and an old oak, arched door led the way inside.
“Here we are,” Mila said, and I tore my gaze from the mansion to look to my right.
A wide smile immediately pulled on my lips.
A small grouping of sweet cottages was tucked into what looked like an orchard of fruit trees.
Their branches were bare now, but I could only imagine what they’d look like when they were in full bloom.