Trapped at the Altar

by Jane Feather

  Titters from behind strategically wafted fans greeted this sally, and Ari smiled and curtsied again. “Indeed, madam. As you so rightly say, husbands are to be obeyed in all things.”

  “And your husband, my lady? Does he make obedience easy for you?”

  “So far, madam. However, we are but recently married . . . so it is perhaps premature to make such an assumption.”

  Queen Catherine laughed. “You are wise for your years, Lady Chalfont. You shall take a dish of tea with me. Are you acquainted with the drink?”

  “No, madam.” Ari took the shallow china cup handed to her by a footman and peered at the pale liquid.

  “It is a very popular drink among the nobility of my country,” the Queen said, taking a sip from her own cup. “We Portuguese find it very refreshing, very good for the blood.”

  Ariadne took a sip. It struck her a savorless brew, but as everyone around her was drinking with apparent enjoyment, she followed suit.

  “Oh, ladies . . . ladies . . . are you drinking that insipid stuff again?” A boom of a voice heralded the arrival of the King and several of his gentlemen. Charles came forward, resplendent in gold and crimson silk and Brussels lace. His cheeks were flushed, his eyelids drooping heavily, and his forehead was rather shiny, as if he were hot. He carried his little dog underneath one arm as he came up to the Queen. “Madam.” He kissed his wife’s hand before turning to survey the curtsying group around her.

  “My lady Portsmouth.” He smiled at his mistress, who rose from her curtsy with her own discreet smile. “And who have we here . . . why, my lady Chalfont.” He took her hand, drawing her upright. “Charming . . . quite charming. Don’t you think so, my dear madam?” The question could have been directed at either his wife or his mistress as he cast his eye somewhat possessively from one to the other.

  “Indeed, sir,” the Queen said with a small smile. “We are most pleased to welcome Lady Chalfont.”

  “Good . . . good. I shall be a frequent visitor to your presence in that case, madam.” He spoke without question this time to the Queen and then turned his lascivious gaze upon Ariadne. “We are well met, as it happens, my lady. I have a present for you.”

  “A present, sire?” Ari couldn’t disguise her astonishment or her discomfort. She could feel jealous eyes on her from every corner.

  Charles dug into the deep pocket of his coat and pulled out a spaniel puppy. He held it by the scruff of its neck, and the little creature squirmed. “I noticed how fond you are of dogs, madam, and my bitch whelped last month. This little lady is the pick of the litter,” he announced, holding the dog out towards Ariadne.

  She put out her hand in time to catch her as the King released his hold, and the small liver and white bundle dropped onto her palm. She was so small, cowering into her hand, huge brown eyes looking fearfully around. “Oh, you poor little thing,” Ari said involuntarily, holding her up against her shoulder, cradled by her hand. “She’s terrified.”

  The King shrugged. “I thought her safe enough in my pocket. So do you like your royal present, my lady?”

  Ari curtsied somewhat belatedly, the puppy still held to her shoulder. “Your majesty overwhelms me with his generosity. She is delightful, and I cannot find adequate words to thank you, sire.”

  “Prettily said,” he declared with a nod. “I exchanged a few words with your husband as I came in. He appears to be awaiting your pleasure without. A most uxorious husband, it would seem.” He laughed heartily at this, and the company joined in, except for Ari, who felt her all-too-ready temper rise.

  “Sire, my husband’s consideration deserves its own reward,” she said sweetly. “I’d venture to suggest that ’tis a reward worth earning.”

  Charles looked affronted for a moment. Ari noticed with alarm that his color was even higher, almost choleric, and his eyes were rather bloodshot, his breathing quite heavy. Then, to her relief, he threw back his head and roared with laughter. “And a saucy minx he has for a wife, I declare. Well, madam, we can only envy him his due reward.” He bowed to his wife, kissing her hand, then offered a nod to the Duchess of Portsmouth and left, still chuckling, his gentlemen following in his wake.

  Ariadne remained in a deep curtsy until his majesty had departed and then rose slowly, the puppy still held against her shoulder. What was she to do now? She was rescued by the Queen, who laughed and said lightly, “You are indeed honored, Lady Chalfont. My husband does not part lightly with his bitch’s litters. What shall you call her?”

  Ari lifted the tiny creature from her shoulder and held her on her palm. “I would deem it an honor, madam, if you would name her. She is such a pretty creature.”

  Catherine looked gratified. “So she is. Let us see . . . ladies, do you have any suggestions?”

  A chorus of suggestions, all totally inapt in Ari’s opinion, greeted the invitation. She smiled, acknowledging each one with a little nod of appreciation, waiting for her majesty, who finally said, “Juno, I think. Does that not seem a goodly name for such a pretty little thing. Lady Chalfont?”

  “Juno is a perfect name, madam.” Ari curtsied once more, the puppy tucked into her crooked elbow. “A proud name for a dog to be proudly christened by a queen.” She was rather good at this courtier business, Ari reflected with a degree of surprise, seeing the Queen’s approbation in her pleased smile. “If your majesty will give me leave, I believe Juno is in need of her freedom.” The puppy helpfully was wriggling and emitting little yelps of anxiety.

  “Of course, Lady Chalfont.” Catherine waved a hand in dismissal. “But you and your husband must attend our Christmas revels. I insist upon it. We celebrate the Christmas mass in the chapel at noon. I will send an equerry to your lodgings to acquaint you with the day’s festivities.”

  “You do us too much honor, madam.” Ari curtsied once more and gratefully took her leave, backing out from the Queen’s presence, Juno still tucked into the crook of her elbow. In the antechamber, Tilly, still standing like a statue against the wall, started forward as Ari appeared, accompanied by an equerry.

  Tilly’s eyes widened as she saw what Ari was holding, but a warning glance made her bite her lip. She offered a demure curtsy, and Ari thanked the equerry with a smile and a nod and walked to the door leading to the antechamber and freedom, Tilly on her heels.

  Ivor was standing in one of the window embrasures, arms folded, waiting as he had been throughout. After the King had acknowledged him, pausing to exchange a few convivial words, he had been subject to curious glances and whispered speculation among those gathered in the Queen’s antechamber, but he had maintained an air of cool indifference. The more mysterious he seemed, the more power he would have to influence their reception in the court. At this point, no one knew anything about Lord Chalfont and his lady, except that they seemed to have found the King’s favor. That was sufficient to ensure that they would be regarded attentively from now on.

  He let his gaze sweep casually around the antechamber, ignoring the occasional smiles, the half gestures of invitation that his vague scrutiny drew from those his eyes fell upon before moving on. He saw a lot more than his air of casual indifference would imply, however. He had done his homework well and knew the identities of most of the courtiers, and he mentally made note of who would be worth cultivating on his next visit. His gaze fell upon a fair-haired young man standing alone in a far corner of the antechamber. He seemed to be staring at Ivor with a fixed intensity that puzzled him. The young man looked out of place, ill at ease, although his dress was appropriate enough. But he was young and no doubt intimidated by finding himself in the middle of the court, Ivor reflected. One could hardly blame him.

  His gaze sharpened as Ariadne appeared through the double doors. She looked calm, composed, as she walked towards him, ignoring the rising tide of murmured speculation as she moved through the throng.

  “My lord.” She curtsied to her husband, who bowed and was about to offer his arm when he noticed what she carried in the crook of her elbow.<
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  “What is that?” he murmured, barely mouthing the question.

  “A present from the King,” she replied, loudly enough to be heard by all around her. “Is she not pretty, sir?” She held the puppy out. “Her majesty was gracious enough to name her for me. She is called Juno.”

  “Exquisite,” Ivor said smoothly. “How gracious of their majesties, madam.” He stroked the puppy’s wrinkled forehead between her long ears and then said, “Tilly, will you carry his majesty’s gift, please?”

  Tilly, completely nonplussed, received the puppy in her arms. Ornamental dogs were not in her purview, and she had no idea what to do with this shivering, clearly terrified little creature.

  “Keep her warm and close, Tilly,” Ari instructed softly. “Tuck her into your sleeve. When we get home, we’ll settle her down.” For now, she could not be hampered by an untrained puppy as she made her way out of the antechamber, looking straight ahead, responding only occasionally with a somewhat lofty nod to the bows and curtsies of the less fortunate who now recognized her as an established member of the court.

  Ivor couldn’t conceal his amusement at this show. Ariadne had taken to her new role like the proverbial duck to water, he thought. The contrast between the Ari of Daunt valley and this radiant young woman was almost impossible to believe.

  Outside in the winter cold, however, Ari dropped her performance and drew her cloak more tightly around her. “We are bidden to the Christmas revels at the palace, Ivor.”

  “I know. His majesty issued the same command.” Ivor steered her around a splash of vomit on the gravel pathway. “The Duke of York will be there. There will be a Catholic mass in the Chapel Royal, which both the Queen and the Duke and his wife will attend, and a Protestant service in the abbey. You will go to the chapel; I will attend the other.”

  “I am to make myself known to the Duke of York, then?”

  “With the Queen’s blessing already bestowed, it will be simple enough. Then we see which way the wind blows.”

  Ari didn’t respond, walking quickly beside him, her hands buried in her muff, her head lowered as if she were watching her step. Ivor took her hand and tucked it into his elbow. He could feel the tension in her body as she continued to walk hurriedly beside him.

  “Are you finding this more difficult than you expected, Ari?” he asked abruptly, wondering if he had been mistaken earlier and she had fooled him, too, with her performance.

  “No . . . no, of course not. Whatever makes you think that?” She didn’t look up as she spoke.

  “Perhaps because I can feel you jangling like an out-of-tune harpsichord,” he said bluntly. “If something is troubling you, I want to know it. We are married, committed to this enterprise and to each other. Now, suddenly, you seem uncertain, and I want to know what has disturbed you.”

  It had come back to her. The moment they had left the palace and the excitement of playing her part no longer buoyed her, the dreadful anxiety about Gabriel flooded back. She felt as she had as a child waiting for some misdeed to be discovered. The apprehension was almost intolerable.

  Resolutely, she raised her head and looked directly at Ivor. She was ultimately responsible for her present trouble, and she would put it right herself. Somehow her feelings for Gabriel had changed. Oh, she felt a deep fondness for him, held close the smiling memory of the time they had shared together, but she was not that person anymore, no longer the dewy-eyed girl who had fallen in love with a man who embodied everything that her life had lacked: the gentleness, the softness, the finer edges.

  But she knew now that she had been tempered in the life of Daunt valley. She was tough and strong and had a great many more rough edges than fine ones. Ivor was her partner, her true mate. It was for her to tell Gabriel the truth, to let him down gently but definitely. There could be no misunderstanding. She would not hurt him any more than she could help, but her loyalty was to Ivor. And the thought of how he would feel if he ever found out that she had had any contact with Gabriel after their new beginning terrified her. His trust was too new, too recently earned, to be tried.

  She had to have one last meeting with Gabriel. And then it would be done.

  And so she met Ivor’s gaze directly and smiled a little ruefully. “I am out of sorts, you’re right. And it is because I am a little scared of what we’re doing, of making a mistake, of saying one wrong word that will bring the house of cards down around our ears. I just didn’t want to admit it to myself.” It was so close to the truth that it sounded convincing even to her ears.

  “You’re not alone, my sweet. I am always here. I have absolute faith in you.” He bent and brushed the corner of her mouth with his lips. “It’s a strain, I understand that. It is for me, too, sometimes. But we will get through it together, I promise.”

  “Yes,” she murmured. “Together.”

  TWENTY-FOUR

  Gabriel left the palace a few minutes after Ariadne emerged from the Queen’s apartments, and no one so much as turned a head as he passed, threading his way through the throngs as if he were invisible. Outside, he headed for the green expanse of St. James’s Park. He could walk there, just one more anonymous figure in the cold gray light of a late Christmas Eve afternoon. Despite the wind and the thick gray clouds, the park was far from deserted, folk hurrying along the narrow gravel paths, walking around the canal, all within sight of the mass of Whitehall Palace, where the royal flags whipped back and forth in the wind. There were rustlings and whispers and stifled mirth coming from somewhere in the bushes that lined the paths, and a female figure darted out onto the path just ahead of Gabriel, her skirt still tucked up at her waist, showing an expanse of goose-fleshed white thigh before she yanked it down again. A minute or two later, a well-dressed young man emerged, fastening his britches.

  It was a cold and inhospitable spot for such business, Gabriel reflected, but judging by the women hovering in clear invitation along the path, the weather didn’t deter customers. He turned onto the path along the canal, a pair of swans sedately keeping pace with him through the water below. And then he heard it, that unmistakable voice. She was talking softly, but he knew that light, musical voice. How many times had he heard it in his mind since that hasty parting an eternity past? The voice came from behind him in the gathering dusk, and instinctively he pulled his hat down low over his forehead, ducking his head as he stepped swiftly off the path and into a screen of bushes.

  Ariadne, her husband, and a maid were walking from the palace along the canal. The maid walked slightly behind the other two. But Gabriel couldn’t take his eyes off Ariadne. He hadn’t had a close look at her in the palace, only at her husband. Her hair was elegantly coiffed, jewels winking against the lustrous black curls, and her small figure was clad in the first style of elegance, her damask skirts swaying gracefully as she walked, her arm tucked into her escort’s. She was smiling up at her husband, and Gabriel felt a deep, cold shaft in his chest that his Ari should look at another man like that.

  Ivor Chalfont, the man she had sworn she had no desire to marry. Something had happened to change that. Could it be possible that once he himself was out of the picture, he was banished from Ariadne’s mind? How could it be possible after all they had shared, all they had promised each other?

  They had passed him now, and he stepped out onto the path behind them. He walked behind for a few minutes, feasting his eyes on Ariadne, noting every movement of her shoulders, the easy swing of her hips beneath the rich rustle of damask, listening to the murmur of her voice without being able to distinguish the words. She turned her head to say something to the maid walking just behind her, and he gazed at her profile, the straight nose, the firm jut of her chin, the sweep of her cheekbone. And then, abruptly, he struck off across the grass, away from the path, walking quickly, keeping his hat lowered.

  Just as she turned to speak to Tilly, Ariadne felt the strangest quiver down her spine, creeping up her neck into her scalp. Someone was walking over her grave, she thought, but then, o
ut of the corner of her eye, she saw the cloaked figure hurrying across the grass. It was Gabriel. She would recognize his figure anywhere: thin, almost reedlike, the slight stoop of his shoulders, the stance of a man who spent long hours hunched over pen and paper.

  Gabriel was here, in the middle of St. James’s Park. He must have been following her, she realized. After he’d seen her in the piazza, he must have followed them home, so he knew where she lived. And that meant, at least, that she would not have to go in search of him. If he was close by, she would find the opportunity to meet him in secret. The logistics for the moment defeated her, but she felt her spirits lift a little with the knowledge that she was in charge of the situation now. Now that she knew where he was, she could act.

  Gabriel Fawcett stood in the shadow of a doorway on Dacre Street, looking at the house into which Ariadne, her maid, and her husband had just disappeared. It was such a grand house, and Gabriel couldn’t really imagine Ariadne, his Ari, with her disheveled curls and hiked-up skirts and sandaled feet, living in such magnificent style. And yet that very afternoon, he’d glimpsed her, every inch the noblewoman, being received into the Queen’s apartments. And when she had come out, she had seemed to walk upon some cloud, above the mere mortals like himself, cowering unnoticed in corners, folk who did not have the credentials to move beyond the royal antechambers where they hung about, hoping to draw the attention of someone of influence.

  He felt diminished, rudderless. He had expected to find her overyjoyed to see him, eager as ever, hot for his kisses, filled with plans for their escape into the future they had imagined for themselves. Instead, she was someone quite different, always in the company of her husband and seemingly perfectly happy to be with him.

  Ivor Chalfont was her husband. A distant cousin who had grown up as she had in the rough-and-tumble world of outlaws. How did two such outcasts fit into these surroundings? And yet they did. Whatever lay beneath the surface impression, Chalfont and Ariadne fit their new surroundings as if they had been born into them. And Gabriel was so out of his depth that he was close to drowning.