"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.