Chapter 3

Hayfield Park was a sight to see for the newly arrived guests. Tables covered in white linen, strewn with platters of dainty sandwiches and fruits. Ice sculptures glistened in the sunlight, somehow their forms still holding. In the midst of all this, other guests were gathered and mingling, chatting amicably with one another.

In their summer dresses of various colors and the new-fashioned feather plumes, they reminded Renesmee of a flock of colored, tropical birds.

One of them managed to detach and ran towards Renesmee.

Actually, with her petite body and her urgent feet, she almost looked liked she was flying. Renesmee couldn't help but let out a laugh.

"You better have a good reason for laughing at me, Renesmee!" Claire scolded as she approached her friend.

Renesmee managed to calm down quickly. "I'm sorry, Claire."

"Yes, well, everyone has been waiting," Claire informed. "Ever since they saw your father step out of his carriage..."

Sure enough, when both girls looked over at the scene, the duke was standing in a middle of ogling admirers exclaiming their shock, their joy over being honored by His Grace's presence.

"Is there something you're not telling me, Renesmee?" Claire asked. "They say it's a 'lucky' chance, but I don't..."

"Miss Cullen, would you care for something to drink?"

The reaction on Claire's face must've been priceless but Renesmee never saw, for she instantly turned her attention over to Mr. Hawkins.

"Yes, thank you, Mr. Hawkins," Renesmee said, taking a glass of beverage from Mr. Hawkins.

"My apologies," Mr. Hawkins said to Claire. "I wasn't aware of your presence, Miss..."

"Young," Claire said. "Claire Young."

Mr. Hawkins smiled pleasantly at Claire's curtsy. "Pleasure, Miss Young."

"The pleasure is all my mind, Mr. Hawkins," Claire replied. "But where is your father? Surely the lord would enjoy a festivity such as this."

"My father is regrettably taken over with fatigue," Mr. Hawkins said.

Claire sighed sympathetically. "Please extend my well wishes to the lord." With that, she turned around to join some other friends...but not before sneaking Renesmee a meaningful smile.

Renesmee, on the other hand, was taking this time to a rather good look at the young man. Last night, the chandelier lights had emphasized his prominent cheekbones and his dark brown hair. The sunlight showed more detail. Now Renesmee could see flecks of gold in his brown eyes, and his hair took a lighter brown sheen, while his face showed slight tan lines.

With Claire now gone, the two - Renesmee and Mr. Hawkins - were left standing side by side on the green field.

Renesmee fanned herself slowly and deliberately, keeping her attention off of Mr. Hawkins. This was one of the first tricks as a flirt - to make the man earn her attention.

But the silence continued, becoming more and more awkward as each minute passed. While the other guests would mingle, gossip, and laugh, Mr. Hawkins never said a word.

And Renesmee found herself unable to say one, either.

Strange, this was the first. Men were usually so eager to chat. And there had always been someone else around to help along. In the carriage, her aunt Alice had been the chatterbox, filling up the silence with compliments and stories of the parties she had gone to. And right when they arrived, Claire had been there to speak for them. But now that there was no third party, Renesmee felt strangely isolated.

Luckily, Mr. Hawkins finally spoke.

"The weather is pleasant," he said to Renesmee's relief. "Almost as if the skies are celebrating the luncheon themselves."

Renesmee's relief disappeared at this pathetic comment. What was Mr. Hawkins doing?

"Those birds are saying good morning," Mr. Hawkins continued.

Renesmee didn't know how to respond as she eyed Mr. Hawkins...she didn't know if she was supposed to respond.

Was this Mr. Hawkin's attempt to be...poetic?

But Mr. Hawkins wasn't finished. "But the sun doesn't compare to your beauty today, Miss Cullen." He smiled down at her, in what he probably thought was cheeky.

Dear God, but he was terrible.

Renesmee looked away hurriedly, before Mr. Hawkins could see her failed attempt to hide her laugh.

In order to find a distraction, Renesmee forced herself to scan her surroundings again. She was desperately trying to find something - anything - to distract her from Mr. Hawkin's comments about the skies. Really, it was getting pathetic. The glow of magnificence he had held last night and this morning was waning - and rather quickly, she must admit.

How sad that in just a few words, he would be out of the running.

Just then, her eyes were drawn to the ice sculpture of a swan. Its neck arched gracefully, its head bowed in obedience to the sun.

Hmmm...if Renesmee dared to point that out, would Mr. Hawkins attempt yet another failed try at sonnet imitations?

"Sherry, miss?"

Renesmee was so startled that she almost dropped the glass already in her hand, which she now realized was empty. Luckily, her companion didn't notice, seemingly distracted by tales of Lancelot.

The tray was held by a large hand, callused and tanned with strain of labor. The hand was attached to a large, muscular arm, which to broad shoulders. The shoulders were connected to a strong neck which in turn led to a face easy to recognize.

It was the gypsy servant of Mr. Hawkins himself.

But before Renesmee could snap at him for startling her - really! was he jinxing her into all sorts of embarassment today - she couldn't help but notice something in his eyes. Something that made her instantly forgiving.

Though his face was somber, his eyes were amused.

He was laughing also.

And it wasn't at Renesmee.

*.*.*.*.*

The moment Jacob heard his master try and woo the young girl with poetic license, he felt an instant pity for her.

Skies celebrating the luncheon? Birds singing good morning? As for the comparing the sun to the girl's beauty, well even Jacob had heard that cliche comment numerous times.

Really, just what was Master Hawkins trying to accomplish here?

But the girl's reaction surprised him most of all. This morning, Jacob had thought she was one of those simpering, mindless girls who held nothing in their heads other than the latest fashion plate and how to snare a husband. He had expected the young miss to show some awe, perhaps even be impressed by the master's droll words.

Instead the girl cleverly turned her head away and snapped her fan open, but not before Jacob could see her stifled laughter underneath.

So, the girl wasn't entirely emptyheaded.

Much more then he could say for the others, although that petite dark-haired one that had approached the couple earlier seemed a bit more promising. The others were more like tittering birds, knowing nothing but how to seem like little lambs. Some even eyed him with interest, although it was quite plain that Jacob was nothing but a mere servant. Then again, he had heard tales of such women: noble and pure by name only, looking for devilish excitement. And most of them found it by seducing young servant boys who were, by no means, obligated to be a gentleman.

And no doubt, compared to these pale skinny lads, Jacob would seem like those roguish, daredevil princes he had heard tales of when he was a child.

The thought itself made him laugh.

"Quit chuckling around, boy!" an old man snapped at him. "Here, take this tray and do something for once." He thrust a tray of sherry to Jacob and turned away without another word.

There was one disadvantage of his bloodline, if Jacob could say so himself. If his gypsy skin tend to make him stand out, even among the servants. While the lowest, such as the scullery and kitchen staff didn't mind, the ones with higher status seemed to consider him lowest of the low.

But Jacob just shrugged and made his way discreetly. He was used to such treatment and knew which ones would be safest to approach. He avoided the young girls and the old ladies, only coming up to old men who were distracted by their tales to actually see from whom they were taking the glass of sherry from.

"No star can compare to the very ones that sparkle in your eyes."

Jacob recognized that voice instantly. Apparently, the girl's lack of attention only made Master Hawkins want to impress her more.

He knew he shouldn't but curiosity got the best of Jacob and he made his way towards the two. Master Hawkins hardly noticed him, his attention secured solely by the young creature next to him. The young miss was eying her surroundings, obviously trying not to listen. At that moment, her eyes were held on a swan statue and, as a result, failed to notice the tray of sherry coming toward her.

Without a second though, Jacob held out the tray. "Sherry, miss?"

To say she was shocked would be an understatement. She almost dropped the glass of sherry she already had with a yelp, though not loud enough for Master Hawkins to notice. Now he was gesturing wildly towards the open fields, talking of whisking her away as Lancelot had done.

Jacob eyed the young girl's face once her eyes turned back to Jacob. At first, there was anger and for a second, Jacob expected her to slap him or at least snap at him for almost causing yet another accident.

Jacob, on the other hand, couldn't keep himself from smiling as the young master kept rambling on. Was he really that daft to not notice the young girl right next to him? Surely he couldn't be that enraptured in his own words of whisking Miss Renesmee off on a white horse as if she had suddenly transformed into a fairy tale Guinevere. Jacob wasn't and from the look on the young miss' face, she wasn't either.

The chagrin expression on the girl's face was immediately replaced by surprise, no doubt by the clear amusement on Jacob's face. For a second, he wondered if perhaps the girl though he was laughing at her.

Then she glanced at Mr. Hawkins...and a look of understanding came onto her face.

The smile was so quick that Jacob almost didn't see it.

But yet again, her fan wasn't quick enough.