The Silver Rose by Jane Feather

looked. What on earth had he thought she was laughing at?
    The dogs began to whine and scratch at the door, and she returned to the room with a shake of her head. The dogs had been confined since noon and needed to go out. She contemplated her image in the glass, tousled from the dance, the lace of her wedding gown torn, the silk skirt covered in muddy paw prints. There was nothing to save by changing before she ventured out into the night.
    She took a heavy velvet cloak from the armoire and slung it around her shoulders, drawing the hood up over her hair and the bridal bands at her forehead. The dogs barked excitedly at this evidence of their impending release.
    “All right, all right . . . patience.” She pulled on gloves, clasped the cloak at her throat, and opened the door. The hounds bounded ahead of her toward the stairs down to the Great Hall but stopped when she called them sharply.
    “We’re not going that way,” she told them, turning aside to take the narrow stair that led through the kitchens. They jostled her on the stairs in their eagerness to get outside, and she nearly tripped down the last three steps.
    The kitchen was quiet and surprisingly orderly. Two potboys slept almost in the embers of the hearth, a footman sat nodding over a tankard of ale, and a lone scullery maid scrubbed at blackened pots in the long trough in the scullery.
    “Leave that, Maisie, and get you to bed.” Ariel stood under the arch that separated the massive kitchen from the scullery.
    “Mistress Gertrude said as ’ow I mun’ finish up tonight, m’lady,” the girl said, wiping her brow with a chapped hand. “Seein’ as ’ow I ’ad special leave to visit me ma yesterday when all the preparations was goin’ on.”
    “Was your mother sick?”
    “Oh, no, m’lady. She ’ad a bonny babe.” The girl’s tired face lit up. “Suky, they’re goin’ to call ’er.”
    “In the morning I’ll send a birthday gift for your sister,” Ariel told her, smiling. “But get you to bed now. I’ll make matters right with Mistress Gertrude.”
    The girl dropped the pot she was scouring with a clatter and wiped her hands on her apron as she bobbed a curtsy. “Thank you, m’lady.” She scurried away in the direction of her own narrow pallet in the attic with the other maids.
    Ariel wondered if Maisie would stop to think it strange that her newly wedded mistress was roaming the house on her wedding night instead of securely abed with her bridegroom. Then she shrugged the question aside. What did it matter what the household thought? They were all accustomed to the eccentricities of their Ravenspeare masters. If it weren’t for the fact that Ariel held the household reins firmly in her own hands, the lords of Ravenspeare would have a hard time finding local people to serve them.
    The dogs were barking at the closed kitchen door. When she opened it, they bounded out into the night, streakingacross the yard toward the stables, where Ariel’s nightly habit would take them.
    Edgar looked up from the charcoal brazier he was tending as his mistress entered the Arabians’ stable block. “Eh, I weren’t expectin’ ye tonight, m’lady.”
    “It would take more than a wedding to keep me from my rounds,” Ariel said soberly. “How’s the colt?” She unfastened the half door of one of the stalls and slipped inside. “Oh, he’s so beautiful. I shall miss him.” She stroked the white blaze on the colt’s nose. “But can you believe that someone’s willing to pay a thousand guineas for him?” Her voice was awed as she gently pulled the colt’s ears.
    “Anyone what knows their ’osses, m’lady, would pay that an’ more for such a beauty.” Edgar leaned over the half door, sucking a straw, his gaze sharp yet benign.
    “I still think it’s amazing. If I could just sell two more, I’d be ready to set up on my own.” She moved back out of the stall, Edgar stepping aside for her and pulling the half door closed behind