"So, my lords, how do you answer my scheme to bring harmony to your families and to my council chamber?" Her Majesty repeated. It was a trick she had perfected. She would resolutely ignore any response that didn't suit her, merely repeating herself until she heard what she wanted to hear.
"For my part, Your Majesty, I would be honored to agree to your proposal." Simon spoke in his melodious voice, a ripple of amusement running beneath the smooth words. "Since I am compelled to retire from the battlefield, I could do much worse than take a wife and tend to my lands." He nodded across the table at Ranulf, the ironical smile still in his eyes. "And I am more than prepared to resolve an old quarrel so evenhandedly."
Ranulf's dark eyes were unreadable. He was convinced that only death would end Simon Hawkesmoor's hatred and need for vengeance, as it would end his own. The land was nothing. The blood and dishonor were everything. So what lay behind this cool acquiescence to the impossible?
"I would discuss this in greater detail with Lord Hawkesmoor, madam," he said neutrally.
"Very well." Her Majesty sounded displeased. "I trust you will soon put matters in hand for the wedding. I would gift the bride with some trifle." She drank again. "And now to other matters. Lord Godolphin…?" She gestured to her chief minister.
Half an hour later the men rose, bowing low as the queen tottered painfully from the chamber. The minute she was gone, Ranulf's chair scraped angrily on the oak boards as he thrust it aside and stalked from the room without so much as a glance in the direction of Simon Hawkesmoor, who calmly sat down again, remaining in his chair until the council chamber was empty.
"I trust our enterprise went well, my lord." The tapestry curtain behind the throne chair was pushed aside to admit a tall red-haired woman in a gown of scarlet silk.
"So far so good, Sarah." Simon reached for the ivory-topped cane beside his chair and with its help rose to his feet again, offering the duchess of Marlborough a courteous bow. "But I think a little more pressure on the queen may be necessary. Ravenspeare may need a hint of coercion."
The duchess came over to him. "My husband was most insistent that I do everything to help you, Simon." She leaned against the edge of the table, her green eyes curious. "Do you play some deep game?"
The earl of Hawkesmoor laughed softly. "Deep enough, my dear ma'am."
"John says he stands much in your debt."
The earl shrugged. "No more than one man on a battlefield stands in the debt of his neighbor."
"You saved his life, then?"
Another shrug. "As he saved mine on many an occasion."
"You are modest, sir. But I know when my husband feels an extraordinary debt." She stood upright. "My influence over the queen remains firm, despite…" Her lips tightened. "Despite Mrs. Masham's attempts to supplant me. Have no fear. The queen will offer such inducements… or threats… that will persuade the earl of Ravenspeare to agree to the marriage."
"I don't doubt your influence, Sarah." Taking her hand, he raised it to his lips. "And don't you ever doubt your husband's love." He smiled. "A message I was charged to deliver personally."
The duchess's responding smile lit up her pale face. "I could wish you were returning to his side to deliver my answer personally. For I own I miss him most dreadfully." She added with a deep sigh, "It's hard for a woman in her prime to be without the… the pleasures and satisfactions of marriage."
Most women, when deprived of their husband's attentions, sought satisfaction in other arms. Not so the duchess of Marlborough. She sublimated physical passion in wielding control over her sovereign, whom she had dominated since she was maid of honor to Princess Anne at the court of Charles II.
Simon kissed her hand again, a graceful gesture that should have sat oddly with the overwhelming physicality of his presence, accentuated by the plain, uncompromising dress and the lines of an old suffering etched into his face. And yet it didn't. His eyes, blue and deep as the ocean, were filled with both understanding and humor.
"Your husband will be home before Christmas, Sarah. And homecomings are all the sweeter for long anticipation."
She laughed with him, a flare of passion in her eyes. "If I were inclined to spread my favors, my lord, I swear you would be the first recipient." She curtsied with another laugh and glided from the room.
The humor left his eyes the minute he was alone. Leaning heavily on his cane, he limped to the door. Would Ranulf take the bait?
"Can we turn this to good use, Ranulf?" Lord Roland Ravenspeare held up a hand to halt his elder brother's explosive description of the events in the council chamber.
"You can be certain Hawkesmoor is playing his own game." Ranulf poured wine into two crystal goblets. "If we knew what it was, we could play to his serve."
Roland took the glass handed him with a nod of thanks. He had the cooler head of the two brothers, although he was castigated as a dull plodder in a family of lightning-tempered, impulsive, quick thinkers. "If you wish to keep your power and influence at court, we have little choice but to agree to the queen's proposal," he said slowly. "As long as Ariel can be induced-"
"Ariel will do as she's told."
Roland held up a placating hand at this interruption. He had less confidence than his brother in the compliance of their little sister, but nothing would be gained by mentioning that now.
"Ariel married to Simon Hawkesmoor could be turned to our advantage," he continued reflectively. "It could be arranged that the Hawkesmoor predeceases his wife, and the land will return to Ravenspeare hands beyond all possible dispute. In addition," he added with a little smile, "a little amusement could be arranged at the Hawkesmoor's expense… before, of course, he so unfortunately meets his untimely end."
He had his brother's full attention. "Explain."
The Lady Ariel Ravenspeare galloped her horse across the flat, marshy fenland, the massive octagonal tower of Ely Cathedral-known throughout the land as the Ship of the Fens-stark against the gray autumn sky behind her, the spires of Cambridge fingering the sky in front of her. The wolf-hounds streaked ahead of the horse, enjoying the exercise as much as the work of the hunt. Ariel had brought down a snipe with her pistol, and the two hounds raced each other and the horse to reach the bird first.
Ariel let her horse have its head. Bird hunting was tame sport for wolfhounds, but Romulus and Remus needed a daily full-out sprint with some purpose to it, even if it was only racing against a young stallion in order to mark a fallen snipe. Not that this was any ordinary stallion. Mustapha was bred from the line of a great racehorse, the Darley Arabian, and was the pride of Ariel's stud.
She saw the troop of horsemen against the lowering skyline as she reined in her horse. Her brothers were immediately recognizable on the causeway leading across the fens to Ravenspeare Castle. Ariel muttered under her breath. She turned in the saddle to look over her shoulder, then put her fingers to her mouth and blew a piercing whistle. Her groom was a distant figure on his sturdy mount, but at least he was visible, and in response to the urgent whistle he put his horse to a canter.
Ariel snapped her fingers, bringing the dogs to the flanks of her horse, then she nudged her mount toward the party on the causeway.
They had drawn rein and were waiting for her, hunched in their caped riding cloaks against the biting wind blowing from the River Ouse across the flat fens.
"I give you good day, my brothers." Ariel drew rein on the far side of a dike that ran beside the causeway. "You're returning early from London. I didn't expect you before Christmas."
"We have business that concerns you." Ranulf scrutinized his sister, who smiled serenely from beneath her tricorn hat. "Where's your groom, Ariel?"
"Within sight," she responded. "Always within sight, sir."