"A betrothal gift, madam." Sarah's curtsy was ironic but only her victorious rival could guess how deep ran the duchess's rage at her loss of power. "A gown and a string of topaz. Very generous, of course," she added, "but something to mark the wedding itself would be so much in keeping with Your Majesty's benevolence." She curtsied again. "If such a gift were to arrive during the celebrations-there are two hundred guests, I believe-Your Majesty's kindness and consideration would be so very marked."
Sarah waited, watching closely as the queen considered this while she gestured to have her goblet refilled. It would be a small enough exercise of influence, but any return to her old sphere was a triumph over Mrs. Masham. Sarah knew precisely how the queen's mind was working. A small gesture in front of a large audience would achieve maximum effect with minimum effort.
"Well, perhaps," Anne said eventually. "We will consider it."
Sarah hid her smile.
The morning hunt was largely without sport, and Ariel rode a little apart from the main body of riders. She was looking for any sign that her brothers had mischief afoot, but she saw only their irritation at the lack of quarry. If they did have any lethal plans for their guest, it seemed it wouldn't happen until after the midday picnic.
"Why would you ride alone, bud?" Oliver trotted across to her. He smiled and it was the smile that in the past had always turned her limbs to water. Now she saw how superficial it was, how his eyes remained somehow flat and untouched by warmth, how his smiling mouth had a calculating twist to it.
"I prefer my own company."
"You've become excessively unfriendly," Oliver grumbled, but still with that smile that he believed would always melt her.
"I'm a married woman now." Ariel was determined to keep herself in check. She would answer him as coolly and politely as the Hawkesmoor did, ignoring all his barbed and suggestive comments.
"Ah, bud, you cut me to the quick," he lamented, reaching over to lay a hand on hers. "How could you forget so soon the pleasure we have taken in each other? Those wonderful nights… I remember so vividly the time when you waited for me in the moonlight, dressed as a boy because I had said-"
"Your reminiscences don't interest me, Oliver," she interrupted, feeling her cheeks grow hot as she remembered that night all too clearly.
"Oh, but they do, bud. Do you think I can't read your face? Do you think I don't know how to read your desire?"
Ariel wrenched her horse around and cantered blindly away from the temptation to tell him just what she was really thinking. She remembered her desire for Oliver now only as an exercise in humiliation. He had been a clumsy, inconsiderate lover with a lewd tongue and a need to dominate. The knowledge of her own willingness to participate in his games now made her stomach curl in distaste. But she hadn't known any better. How could she have, seeing what she had seen under her brother's roof, hearing what she had heard every day of her life? But now Hawkesmoor had forced her to look at things differently.
Quite suddenly tears started in her eyes as she raced away from the hunting party, feeling the wind rushing against her face, making her ears ache, drying the salt tears as they ran down her cheeks. She never cried. It was a sign of weakness she never allowed herself. So what was happening to her now? Surely it couldn't be that she minded the Hawkesmoor's criticisms? Why should she care what a Hawkesmoor thought of her?
But she did. She wanted the good opinion of that man with his calm bearing, his humorous mouth, his disfigured countenance, his innate gentleness hidden beneath the powerful physicality of his large scarred frame.
And the realization made her so angry and bewildered, she had ridden out of sight of the hunting party before she was calm enough to draw breath and take stock.
Simon, watching her galloping into the distance, resisted the urge to follow her. He wondered what Oliver Becket had said to her. Judging by Becket's sullen expression as he returned to the cavalcade, the conversation hadn't gone according to plan.
When they reached the site of the picnic, Ariel was already there. She had dismounted and was checking on the preparations as calmly as if nothing had disturbed her all day. Long tables were set up beneath the trees, charcoal braziers augmented the heat thrown off by the massive fires over which suckling pigs were roasting. The aroma of roast pork and the spicy fragrance of mulled wine filled the crisp, cold air.
"That was a damned waste of a morning," Ralph declared, snatching up a tankard of mulled wine from a table.
"As I recall, brother, it was your responsibility to see that deer were plentiful," his eldest brother sniped sourly. "But I daresay you were too sodden to do so."
Ralph flushed a deep crimson. "I can't do everything myself. You and Roland disport yourselves at court and leave me to run everything-"
"Fool!" Ariel muttered under her breath. She knew, as did her elder brothers, that if it weren't for her overseeing, the estate would go to rack and ruin. Not that any of them would ever admit that. But it was another reason why they would never want her to leave Ravenspeare.
A chill ran down her spine and she took a deep draught of the warm wine. "What did you think of my horses, Ranulf?" She walked across the grass to her brothers. "Edgar said you'd paid a couple of visits to the stables."
Simon heard, if Ranulf didn't, the underlying tension in the question. He moved closer.
"Quite a neat little operation you have," Ranulf responded heartily, a little too heartily. His eyes slid sideways as he bit into a thickly buttered bannock.
"Next time you decide to visit, you should tell me," Ariel continued. "If you have questions about the strain, or the breeding program, I can probably answer them more fully than Edgar."
"I'm not interested in the finer points of your little hobby, sister." He laughed as if such an interest were inconceivable. "I just wished to be sure you weren't being too extravagant. The estate can't afford to support every fancy and whim of yours."
"I don't expect it to, sir." Ariel was not in the least put out by such an outrageously unjust comment. But neither was she fooled. Ranulf's interest in her horses was not benign. But at least the colt was well beyond his reach, and a thousand guineas would be in her pocket within the week.
The thought brought a measure of warm comfort to a day that had been, so far, as miserable as a peat cutter's cottage in a Fen blow.
Simon, remembering how Ariel had said she wanted to keep her brothers away from her Arabians, wondered if Ranulf's answer had satisfied her. She had given no sign of dismay and was now directing the cooks and servants in setting out the great platters of carved suckling pig, smoked trout and eel, the pies and pasties, baskets of bread, bowls of vegetables.
It was an Elizabethan feast under the stark winter sky. Jugs of ale, mead, malmsey, and rhenish passed down the long benches while a troupe of morris dancers entertained the company. Ariel did not take her place on the bench beside her husband but remained on her feet, overseeing the servants, seemingly far too busy looking after the wedding guests to take refreshment herself.
Simon made no attempt to persuade her to sit beside him. He talked with his own friends, ate and drank as heartily as the next man, and seemed delighted with the al fresco entertainment.
"If we're to hunt deer this afternoon, we'd best be getting on with it, Ranulf," an elderly guest called out, with a hiccup. "Sun's almost over the hill."
It was the signal for everyone to move. Men wandered away into the trees, women gathered behind the screen of bushes set aside for their convenience. Ariel looked over to where the horses, now watered and baited by the grooms, were being untethered for their riders.