The Silver Rose

Chapter Twenty-two

Simon awoke at dawn. Automatically he ran a hand over the space beside him. It was cold and empty and he realized why he was feeling so leaden. The previous night's miserable business played over in his head as he hauled himself up into a half-sitting position against the headboard.

Ariel was lying fully clothed on the truckle bed, the thin blanket pulled up to her chin, her gloved hands crossed over her breast. Her eyes were closed, the lashes dark half-moons against her pale cheeks.

Simon watched her sleep. Even asleep her jaw and mouth had an obstinate set. This was what he had won through his mission of peace.

He threw off the covers and struggled to his feet. His body groaned, his leg shrieked as it took his weight. It had been a while since his mornings had been quite so bad, but then, he'd missed Ariel's ministrations last night.

He stood over the truckle bed, trying to decide if she was really asleep. If not, it was a decent imitation. He dressed slowly, ran a hand over his unshaven chin, and decided it would have to wait.

He took the key from under his pillow, hobbled to the door, and let himself out of the chamber. If Ariel was truly afraid of Ranulf's stealing her horses, then her husband had better do something about it.

The doors to the Great Hall stood open, and he limped through the busy servants setting the place to rights, and stepped out into the courtyard. The fog had dissipated, but the moisture was still heavy in the air and the ground was sodden.

The dogs bounded to greet him as he entered the stable-yard. Edgar stood in the doorway to the Arabians' block. He chewed on his straw and watched the earl's approach.

"Morning, Edgar."

"Mornin', m'lord." Edgar's face and voice were expressionless.

"We had better do something about Lady Ariel's horses," Simon said without preamble. "Are they really in danger from Lord Ravenspeare?"

" 'E's took a mare in foal already."

Simon nodded. "Walk me through them, Edgar, and tell me what special accommodations they're going to need. Then we'll arrange to have them transported to Hawkesmoor Manor."

"An' 'ow does Lady Ariel feel about that, if I might be so bold, m'lord?" Edgar didn't move from the doorway.

"I believe she will see the advantages," Simon responded evenly.

Edgar stepped aside, although reluctance stiffened every line of his body, and the two men entered the block together.

Ariel waited until Simon's step had faded in the passage before she sat up. She pushed aside the blanket and swung her legs over the edge of the cot. But instead of getting up, she sat on the edge and stared down at her stockinged feet.

She hadn't slept for more than five minutes at any one time during the interminable night. Her eyes felt as if they'd been scoured with lye, and her throat prickled with all the unshed tears that had gathered and been swallowed.

What was she supposed to do now? For some reason she could no longer get up any indignation, let alone rage, over the collapse of her life's ambition. It now seemed completely trivial beside Simon's autocratic blindness. He had made no attempt to understand why her independence meant so much to her. He had not even considered that she might have been afraid to confide in him.

He had made no attempt to consider that all her experiences hitherto might have made her wary… that with one word of understanding last night he could have won her complete trust. Instead he'd trampled all over her with the full force of his authority-no different from her father, no different from Ranulf.

A soft tap at the door brought her head up with a snap. "Who is it?"

"Helene. May I come in, my dear?"

Ariel jumped up, pushing the truckle bed back beneath the fourposter with her foot. She wasn't prepared to advertise that she hadn't slept in her husband's bed. She ran her hands through her tumbled hair, then gave up the attempt to make herself look less disheveled. She'd slept in her clothes and looked it. "Yes."

Helene came into the room. She was in dishabille, but fresh and tidy, her hair falling down her back in a well-brushed skein; her face looked older, more worn in the harsh gray light of dawn.

"Forgive me, Ariel, but I couldn't help overhearing last night."

Ariel flushed crimson. "How… how… I didn't realize we were speaking so loudly."

Helene had the grace to blush, but it was only a faint reddening and Ariel barely remarked it. "I know Simon very well, my dear. And perhaps I can help you understand him. I don't mean to be impertinent, to step in where I'm not welcome, but if I can help, I hope you'll let me. Believe me, my interests are of the purest."

She took Ariel's hands in a warm clasp. "Come into my chamber, my dear. My maid has brought tea and you look sadly in need of something to warm you."

Her voice was so filled with genuine concern and understanding, Ariel felt some of her weariness lift. She had always faced alone the upheavals and complications of her life, and there was something ineffably comforting in sharing this misery with this gentle older woman, who was Simon's confidante, who had been his lover, who had known him from childhood.

She allowed herself to be drawn out of her own cold, miserable chamber filled with the sourness of bad feelings, and into Helene's room, where the fire was blazing and a tray of tea waited.

"Sit down by the fire." Helene poured tea. "Explain to me what happened last night," she invited, handing Ariel a cup. "I heard raised voices. Simon was angry, and he very rarely gets angry."

Ariel cupped her hands around the hot teacup, inhaling the steam. She propped her stockinged feet on the fender and offered her description of the night's events.

"It's only now that I realize how much I was hoping he would be different from other men," she said when the narrative was complete. "I know I'm different from other women, and sometimes he's said that he understands what's made me the way I am, but understanding isn't accepting, is it?" She looked up at Helene, sitting opposite.

Helene sipped her tea. "Simon is one of the most understanding and unusual men I've ever met," she said slowly. "And you, my dear, are extraordinarily lucky to have him for husband. He will give you all the kindness and consideration a wife could possibly expect. Surely you can give him that in return?"

Ariel set down her teacup. Her face was very white, her heavy eyes as clear as a rain-washed dawn sky. "Kindness and consideration aren't enough, Helene. They're lukewarm emotions, all very well in their place. But I want much more. I want the kind of understanding and acceptance that comes from love." Her voice didn't waver as she spoke the truth as she had only now understood it.

Helene reached over and took her hands again. "Don't wish for the moon, child. Believe me, companionship, friendship, kindness, loyalty, are as precious as anything. And Simon will give you all of those things."

"But not love?" Ariel's voice was still steady.

Helene squeezed her hands. "My dear, he's a Hawkesmoor. Your father killed his father. He can feel warmth, affection for you, but there can never be room in his heart for a Ravenspeare."

"He told you this?"

"In those very words," Helene said quietly.

"Thank you." Ariel gently pulled her hands free and stood up. "I knew it, of course. If you'll excuse me now, I have some household matters to attend to." She smiled distantly at Helene and went back to her own chamber.

When Simon returned fifteen minutes later, Ariel was sitting at the dresser, brushing her hair. Her plain gown of dark brown linen did nothing to alleviate her pallor. She didn't turn from the mirror, but her heavy-lidded eyes met his in the glass as he came up behind her.

"I've been talking with Edgar… making arrangements to remove the stud to Hawkesmoor," Simon stated. She looked so wretched he almost forgot his own hurt and disappointment. Almost put his arms around her, his fingertips itching to soothe her swollen eyelids.

But her face hardened, her mouth set in a firm line, and he pushed aside the impulse.

"I'm to have no say in their disposition, then?" she said in a flat angry voice.

Simon sighed. "Of course you are. Your decisions will be honored in my stables. But since you were so anxious about your brother, I thought it important to act quickly." He couldn't help adding with heavy sarcasm, "Forgive me if I made a decision that was not mine to make."

Ariel's fingers moved rapidly through her hair, plaiting the thick strands hanging over her shoulder. "Of course it was yours to make. Aren't all decisions concerning me yours to make, my lord?"

He refused to lose his temper again. "Probably," he said with deliberate affability. "But if I do you the courtesy of consulting you, then-"

"I should be grateful for the consideration," she interrupted swiftly. "Yes, I understand that. I learn my lessons well, sir."

Simon brought his steepled fingers up to his mouth as her angry eyes glared at him in the mirror.

"Ariel, we both know that this is not about your horses. If you wish to continue with your breeding program from Hawkesmoor Manor, then you may do so with my blessing. I have no objections to your pursuing a hobby. But we both know that that isn't what you want. Don't we?"

When she said nothing, he continued evenly, "You want financial independence in order to have a way out of this marriage. I understand that now. But it's not something I can allow. You may breed your horses. You may even sell them, although having a horse trader for wife sits uncomfortably with me. But if you make a profit, I would have to insist that it be put in trust for your children-our children. You would not have access to it yourself."

Ariel's face lost the last tinge of color. It was bone white, her eyes blue-shadowed gray hollows. But still she said nothing.

Simon ran his fingertips over his mouth. Her silence somehow was worse than anything. It was filled with accusation and a kind of resignation that was a skewer in his gut. He had come to admire that quality she had of something wild and untouched, but now she reminded him of a newly broken pony.

He put his hands on her shoulders and she shrank from him. His hands dropped to his sides again.

He left the chamber, closing the door carefully behind him, the gentle click giving no indication of his frustration.

Ariel stared at her image in the mirror until the lines of the reflection began to waver and she had the strange sensation that she was entering her own eyes, moving behind them to the world inside herself.

Companionship, friendship, loyalty. Necessary but not sufficient, she thought with cold clarity. She could not give herself in love to a man who could never love her. She could not settle for such lukewarm comfort, whatever Helene might say. And she could not stay here, continuing with the farcical celebrations of a sham marriage, behaving as if nothing had happened.

She had to go away and think what to do. Away from the distractions of Simon's presence, from his eyes, his countenance, his wonderful hands. She had to go somewhere where she could think clearly.

She rose from the dresser, pulled a battered satchel from the armoire, and threw a few things into it. Then she tossed her cloak over her shoulders and went to the door. She stopped with her hand on the latch, remembering Simon's taunts about running away without a word of explanation.

It would be cowardly and childish to leave without a word. She returned to the escritoire and scrawled a few words on a piece of paper. I have to think what to do. I'm not running away. No frills, but it was succinct. She folded the sheet, wrote Simon's name on it, and propped it on the mantel. Her eye fell on the little bone horse she had placed beside the candlestick where she could see it from the bed. She dropped it into her pocket.

Helene's door opened as Ariel left her chamber. She looked askance at the satchel. "Are you going somewhere, my dear?"

Ariel shook her head. She'd had enough of Simon's ex-mistress and her so-called desire to help. "I'm taking some things to a friend," she said shortly and hurried away.

Ariel walked the three miles to Sarah and Jenny's cottage.

It didn't occur to her to seek shelter anywhere but with her friends. The dogs bounded ahead of her as she walked briskly along the lane, her mind now a blank, as she gave herself up to the gusting winter air slicing into her lungs, soothing her burning eyes, relieving the nagging ache behind her temples.

Jenny threw open the door at her knock, exclaiming in surprise, "Ariel, you walked here!"

"I needed the exercise." Ariel entered the small room, placing her satchel on the floor by the door. She glanced outside to where the dogs were merrily playing leapfrog in the small garden and whistled them in. "May I stay here for a few days?"

Jenny glanced toward her mother, who rose from the spinning wheel and came over to Ariel. Sarah placed her hands on Ariel's face. She touched her eyelids, her mouth, as if smoothing away the lines of pain she saw there. Then she drew her to the settle by the fire.

"What's happened, Ariel?" Jenny sat beside her, chafing her hands.

Ariel told them as succinctly as she could. When she'd finished, Jenny said nothing but looked at her mother. Sarah looked grave and Ariel felt a little shiver of dismay. The older woman didn't approve of her being here.

"I shouldn't have come, Sarah?"

"Of course you should have," Jenny exclaimed. "Shouldn't she, Mother? We're your friends, where else would you go?"

Ariel continued to look uncertainly at Sarah, who, after a minute, smiled at her, reached out again, and touched her cheek.

"The earl had no right to take over your horses like that," Jenny stated, fiercely partisan.

"He's my husband. Husbands have those kinds of rights," Ariel responded, still looking at Sarah, who at this shook her head slightly but still smiled, as if at some absurdity. She raised her eyebrows in a skeptical question mark, and Ariel bit her hp, saying miserably, "No, that's not the real problem, Sarah."

The dogs' heads were resting on her knees, and she stroked them absently, drawing some comfort from their inarticulate support. "Helene, his friend-well, actually she is, was, his mistress-said he couldn't love me. She said he'd told her that himself."

Romulus raised his head and licked her face with a great slobbering swipe of his tongue. Ariel didn't seem to notice. Sarah's eyes were fixed attentively upon her, but that secret smile still seemed to lurk in their clear blue depths.

"I need him to love me," Ariel said in barely a whisper. "What am I to do if he can't?" Jenny didn't know what to answer and she looked to her mother, who raised a hand in a gentle gesture commanding silence.

Ariel continued in the same low voice, "It's all very well for Simon to say I have to trust him, but he has to trust me too. But he can't love me, so I suppose he can't see that I might love him. And if I love him, then of course I wouldn't use my own financial resources to run away from him. I wouldn't need to. So there's no reason why I shouldn't have them." She looked helplessly at her friends. "I'm not making much sense, am I?"

Jenny looked doubtful, but Sarah merely stood up, briskly fetching the kettle and setting it over the fire. Ariel felt a prickle of resentment at Sarah's apparent lack of sympathy for her miserable situation.

"I won't stay if you think I shouldn't," she said.

Sarah shook her head in brisk negative and hugged her. She gestured to the narrow ladder at the rear of the cottage that led up to the apple loft, and Jenny said instantly as if her mother had spoken, "You can sleep in the loft, Ariel. There's a pallet up there. Come and see." She went swiftly to the ladder, and Ariel, having picked up her satchel, followed her.

Ariel knew that the two women shared a bed downstairs that would certainly not accommodate three, and had been prepared to curl up on the hard wooden settle, so the small, sweet-smelling loft with its round window and straw-filled pallet felt almost luxurious. "This is perfect, Jenny." She set her bag down and went to the window. "I don't think Sarah approves of my being here, though."

"Of course she does," Jenny said stoutly. "Anyway, you haven't run away from your husband properly. You just need some time to think."

"Yes," Ariel agreed, gazing out at the circle of overcast sky. "I just need some time to think." But where her thoughts would take her, she had no idea.

"Where's Ariel this morning?" Jack Chauncey inquired jovially as he joined Simon on one of the long benches at the breakfast table in the Great Hall.

Simon sliced ham off the bone, laying the slivers on his platter. "Out and about, I expect."

"So, what was the mystery last night?" Peter Lancet inquired, taking a deep draught of his ale.

Simon spread mustard on his ham. "No mystery. It was just something to do with Ariel's horses."

His friends exchanged glances, then began to talk animatedly of other things.

"Is Lady Kelburn going to join the day's festivities?" Lord Stanton asked.

"I doubt it. She intended to pay only a very short bridal visit to my wife. In fact, if you'll excuse me, I should go and see how she is this morning." Simon stood up, reaching for his cane. He nodded to his companions and left the hall.

"Trouble?" Stanton asked the company in general.

"Feels like it," Jack returned. "Disharmony in the marital nest, I'd guess."

Simon was well aware of his friends' curiosity, but he wasn't about to satisfy it. He raised a hand to knock at Helene's door, then paused. If Ariel was around, she should discuss with her guest Helene's plans for departure. He went into Ariel's bedchamber but was not surprised to find it empty. His eye fed on the white paper on the mantel.

With a sense of foreboding, he took it down and unfolded it. His shout of rage reached Helene in the room opposite. She threw open her door and ran to him. "What is it, Simon?"

He scrunched the paper into a ball and hurled it into the fire. "I'll give her time to think!" he declared savagely. "I have tried to keep my patience, but so help me, Helene, she would try the patience of Job."

"Ariel?"

"Yes, of course Ariel," he snapped. "There's no one else in the world likely to plague me to death." Then he shook his head impatiently. "I beg your pardon, Helene. I had no right to shout at you."

"That's all right," she said. "What's happened now? I… I couldn't help but overhear some of what was said between you last night…"

"You heard?" He looked incredulous.

She blushed. "I listened."

He pushed a hand through his hair.

"I was concerned for you."

"Yes, I'm sure you were." He sat down heavily. "So you know all about it. What you don't know is that my reluctant bride has turned fugitive." He looked at her sharply. "Or did you know that?"

Helene shook her head. "No, she didn't say anything to me about-"

"Oh, so you've discussed this with her already?"

"I talked to her this morning, after you left." Helene sat on the bed, regarding him anxiously. "I suppose I've been interfering, but I thought maybe I could help. I couldn't understand how she could fail to see what was under her nose. She's so young, so naive. I felt I had to point it out to her."

And what exactly, my dear friend, did you point out to her?"

"That she was lucky to have such a husband," Helene said, the simplicity of her words merely accentuating the fervor of her conviction. "I told her she should be grateful for your kindness, your consideration."

Simon closed his eyes briefly, imagining how Ariel would react to such a homily.

"I've made things worse, haven't I?" Helene twisted her hands in her lap. She couldn't remember seeing Simon look so bleak.

"Probably. But with the best of intentions." Absently he pressed the heel of a hand into his aching thigh. A distracted frown drew his thick eyebrows together. "Did she say anything else?"

"Only that she had wanted you to accept her as she is."

"Give me strength!" Simon muttered. "She is the most impossible girl."

Helene stared at him, her hands suddenly still in her lap. "Do you accept her as she is, Simon?"

He gave a short laugh. "Yes, of course I do. I told you I wouldn't change anything about her. But that doesn't stop me wanting to wring her obstinate little neck."

"I think my work here is done," Helene said wryly. "I'll tell my maid to pack up my things, if you would send order to the stables for my carriage."

She stood up and Simon rose with her. He took her in his arms and hugged her. "I feel such a fool," she said, on a tiny sob that was buried in his shoulder. "Such a meddling fool. I did want to help."

"I know. We'll look back and laugh about it one of these days." His voice was lightly rueful, but his eyes were far from certain.

"What are you going to do?"

"Do? Fetch her back and teach her a few long-overdue lessons about acceptance," he declared savagely.

After he'd seen a subdued and chastened Helene into her carriage, Simon stood in the stableyard, slapping his gloves into the palm of one hand, wondering how to explain to his brothers-in-law that the bride had disappeared from the festivities. He would bring her back smartly enough, but first he had to find her. If she wasn't with Sarah and Jenny, then it might take him a day or two to lay hands on her. He needed to produce an excuse for Ariel's absence that would also make it reasonable for him and his friends to remain at Ravenspeare. "Tricky" was hardly the word for such an absurd situation.

"Hawkesmoor, I trust you'll be joining the party again today." The earl of Ravenspeare's voice broke opportunely into his sardonic musing. Ranulf s gray eyes regarded him with famfiiar malevolence. "You look a trifle befuddled, brother-in-law."

"I find myself at something of a loss," Simon agreed mildly. "Your sister, Ravenspeare, has absented herself from the celebrations."

Ranulf's expression sharpened. "What d'you mean?" He glanced involuntarily toward the stables where the Arabians were housed.

"They're still here, Ravenspeare," Simon said with a cool smile. "But I'm having them transported to Hawkesmoor within the week."

"Those horses belong to Ravenspeare," Ranulf declared, almost spitting in his vehemence. "My sister bought them with money from the estate, and they do not belong to her." He spun on his heel and stalked off.

"That's not true, m'lord." Edgar seemed to have materialized out of nowhere. He chewed meditatively on his straw. "Lady Ariel sold jewelry that her mother had left her to buy the stallion and the first mare. There was enough left to maintain the stables for a couple of years, and now they pay for themselves."

"Does Lord Ravenspeare know this?"

Edgar shrugged. "Must do. If 'e's so sure they're 'is legally, why'd 'e try to steal 'em?"

"Point taken." Simon nodded and set off back to the castle. The three brothers came to meet him as he crossed the grassy square in the inner courtyard.

"I wasn't paying attention, Hawkesmoor. What did you say about my sister?" Ranulf demanded, standing flanked by his brothers, hands resting on his hips. "What have you done with her?"

"I?" Simon raised his hands in a gesture of helplessness. "Nothing at all. But she's decided to retreat from all the excitement. She was finding it a bit tiring."

The three brothers stared at him incredulously. "Where is she?" Roland asked, a spark of interest enlivening his usually flat gray eyes.

Simon shrugged, struck with inspiration. Helene had caused enough trouble, now she could be useful. "She went to stay with a friend of mine for a few days."

"What friend?"

"Lady Kelburn. She paid Ariel a bride visit yesterday and they left this morning."

" 'S'true there was some woman visiting last night," Ralph said, trying very hard not to slur his words. "Timson told me."

"She can't leave in the middle of her own wedding!" Ranulf declared.

Simon shrugged again. "Forgive me, Ravenspeare, but I agreed with her that it would be wise for her to go somewhere quiet for a few days. All this junketing and sport may not be good for certain conditions."

"You mean she's breeding?" Roland demanded as his brothers still tried to grasp Hawkesmoor's meaning.

"It's a little soon to know," Simon said smoothly. "But I don't want to take any risks. Lady Kelburn's visit and invitation were most opportune. However," he added with an expansive smile. "Even in the absence of the bride, we may

continue to celebrate. I expect her to return here within a few days."

Ranulf examined him in silence for a minute, his expression intensely speculative. Then he said with a sneer, "Ah, well, I daresay we can contrive to amuse ourselves, Hawkesmoor. But I'm damned if I'm going to keep two hundred guests at my table celebrating a wedding without a bride."

The three brothers turned and went back to the Great Hall, making no attempt to adapt their pace to their brother-in-law's slower one. The hall was filled with breakfasting guests, and Ranulf, with an agile jump, leaped onto the top table.

"Give me your horn?" He snapped his fingers at Ralph, who blinked and then pulled out the hunting horn thrust into his belt.

Ranulf blew a long note and the hubbub in the cavernous hall died as people stared in astonishment at their host in his midnight blue velvet riding dress standing in the middle of the table.

"Ladies and gentlemen. My dear guests," Ranulf began in a voice of spun sugar. "I very much regret to tell you that the wedding celebrations have come to a premature end. Lady Hawkesmoor has been suddenly called away."

The silence elongated as the crowd struggled to understand what had been said. Then whispers started up. "What did he say?" "What was that about the bride?" "Where did she go?" "Is she ill?"

Simon listened in mingled disgust and amusement. On one level he didn't blame Ranulf. The man was probably fed up to the teeth with entertaining such a greedy throng at what must be exorbitant cost. But to bring his party to such a violently abrupt conclusion was scandalous. The court would buzz with it, and God alone knew what the queen would make of it. It was unlike Ranulf to be so careless of Her Majesty's disapproval.

"What the hell's going on, Simon?" Jack spoke at his shoulder. "Are we leaving?"

"No," Simon said. "We aren't. I'm obliged to attend to my wife, and I can't stay in this snake pit without someone watching my back." He limped off, leaving Jack scratching his head in bemusement.