Jane Feather - The Silver Rose

"Well, that's about as novel an interpretation of marriage settlements as I've heard." Simon pushed himself away from his window-seat perch. "I can't continue with this tonight. I'm too angry to think clearly." He began to unbutton his coat. "Get undressed and go to bed, Ariel."

"I can't sleep."

"Then stay awake if you must. Do I have to lock the door?"

Ariel shrugged. "What difference does it make? I'm a prisoner in this marriage whether you make it obvious or not."

He threw off the rest of his clothes and climbed into bed. He propped the pillows behind his head and regarded her set face and glittering eyes thoughtfully.

"If you're going to be tempted to leave this room before morning, Ariel, I suggest you lock the door and bring me the key. I can't answer for the consequences if you assert your independence again this evening."

Ariel stalked to the door, turned the key, and hurled it onto the bed beside him. Then she slumped in the rocker beside the fire.

Simon pushed the key beneath his pillows and lay back, every nerve stretched toward the hunched figure in the dim firelight. He was more hurt than he could have believed possible. He had thought she was beginning to open up to him, to offer him more of herself than her body. He thought he'd meant something to her. But all along she had been intending to leave him. Nothing he had said or done in the days since their marriage had penetrated the thicket she had planted around herself.

He could understand how she might long to escape her brothers' tyranny. But it had never occurred to him that Ariel might see him too as a tyrant and view their marriage as a new prison. A prison she was determined to escape at whatever cost.

Helene crept away from the door. She had never heard Simon speak with such bitterness. But because she knew him, she had heard the hurt that fueled the corrosive anger. And she wanted to slap the silly chit of a girl who would reject what Simon was offering for something as sterile as financial independence.

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.