Trapped at the Altar

by Jane Feather

  The more he looked at the house, the more hopeless it all seemed. Ari had talked so blithely of their being able to meet in secret in the midst of the metropolis, but he had nothing to offer her to compete with Dacre Street. Even if she were still willing, even if it could somehow be managed, he had little enough to spare to fund a clandestine liaison, let alone a life for the two of them away from the world.

  He was still watching the door five minutes later when it opened and the maid appeared holding a small dog. Gabriel retreated further into the shadows. The girl looked around before carrying the dog down to the pavement. She set the animal down and stood with arms folded against the cold, waiting for the puppy to relieve herself. Then she picked up the dog again and, before entering the house, glanced around once more before bending and slipping something underneath the winter-bare flowerpot on one side of the door. Light showed for a moment as she opened the door, and then it closed, and darkness fell again.

  Gabriel waited, but the door did not open again. He darted across the street, bent, and lifted the flowerpot. A glimmer of white showed. It was a scrap of tightly folded paper with a large G scrawled above the fold. Ari always wrote his initial on her missives. Bold and black, with no frills of curlicues. Without opening it, he tucked the note into his breast pocket and hurried back into the park, out of sight of the house.

  He was lodged in the house of a shoemaker in Shoe Lane. His father’s merchant friend had sent him there, to a cousin of his, promising a fair price for a clean room and a decent dinner. He smelled roasted mutton as he let himself into the narrow hallway and raced up the staircase to his own chamber before his inquisitive landlady, a motherly soul with a nose for gossip, could poke her head out from the kitchen regions and quiz him on his daily doings.

  Only when he had shot the bolt on the door did he open the note. Just one line: Gabriel, meet me in St. James’s Park, just inside the gate from Dacre Street, at mid-morning the day after tomorrow. A large A ended the short missive. He stood looking down at it. There was no salutation, no tenderness, no promise of any. None of the usual soft and loving sentiments that had accompanied her communications in the past, those hasty, love-filled notes hidden under the stone on the cliff top above Daunt valley.

  But he would see her, speak to her. Convince her again of his love, remind her of her promises. And surely all would be as it used to be between them.

  Ari fought her distraction throughout the evening. Had Gabriel picked up the note? Tilly said she had seen no one on the street when she’d gone out to put it under the pot. If it was still there in the morning, Ari would find a way to remove it and wait for another opportunity. Tilly had looked askance at being given such a strange errand, but she never questioned Ari’s actions and if asked to keep a secret would do so without demur. Ari didn’t like to burden her with deception, but just this once, she had reasoned. If Gabriel had been watching them in the park, then it was not unreasonable to imagine that he had followed them home.

  Fortunately, Juno provided diversion and, after a visit to the kitchen where she had been plied with chicken scraps and generally petted by the maids, recovered her courage and her spirits. When Tilly brought her into Ari’s small parlor where she and Ivor were having supper, the puppy’s antics were sufficient to exasperate Ivor and entrance Ariadne, who quickly forgot that dogs were supposed to be working animals.

  “Oh, Ivor, don’t look so disapproving,” she chided as he separated Juno for the umpteenth time from the fringe of the Turkey carpet. “She wants to play.”

  Ivor merely frowned and cut into his meat. He was not fooled for a moment by his wife’s appearance of normality. She was not really herself, despite the effort she was so clearly making. So what was she hiding? And why? The woman who had given herself so wholeheartedly to him was now withholding something from him. And it was beginning to make him very uneasy.

  In bed that night, Ari was as warm and passionate as ever, and yet still he felt something holding her back. But there was nothing he could confront her with, nothing he could put his finger on. And when, afterwards, she turned on her side with a sleepy murmured good night, he kissed her turned cheek and lay looking up at the flicker of firelight on the tester above, racking his brains for something that could sound an alarm.

  Ari felt his wakefulness as she tried to breathe deeply, rhythmically, hoping that if Ivor thought she was asleep, he would sleep himself. She felt, absurdly, that even thinking about Gabriel while Ivor was awake might somehow alert her husband to thoughts he would consider treacherous. It had been such a hard-won battle to get him to accept the past and accept that it didn’t affect their present that she was terrified if he had the faintest inkling she was even thinking of Gabriel, he would feel betrayed.

  And her thoughts of Gabriel hitherto, which she had always confined to when she was alone, had been more curious than longing. She wanted to know he was safe and well, that perhaps he, too, had found happiness outside their own passion. But seeing him, feeling his presence as a physical reality, had shocked her out of a pleasant oblivion.

  She wanted to see him, to talk to him, not just to bring things to an end between them but also to find out how his life was, how he was feeling, what poetry he had written. She didn’t love him as she had thought she had, but she still had his best interests at heart. But she knew that Ivor would not accept that. He would never be convinced that what she wanted did not imply a deeper want. Any contact she had with Gabriel would be seen as a betrayal. Even if she knew it wasn’t. And the unhappiness they had endured to get to their present equilibrium had been too intense to risk again.

  She rolled onto her back and became suddenly aware of a faint mewling sound from somewhere below her in the darkened chamber. It was a pathetic whimper that she could not resist. She rolled onto her side again and peered over the edge of the bed. A pair of soulful eyes gazed pleadingly up at her from the shadows beside the bed. She listened for a moment to Ivor’s deep, regular breathing. He seemed to be sleeping soundly. She leaned down over the edge of the bed and scooped up the puppy, tucking her under the covers in the crook of her arm.

  “Don’t get used to this,” she murmured into one long, floppy ear. “Our lord and master will not be happy to find you here.” A wet tongue licked her cheek, and she smiled in the darkness, her eyes closing as Juno settled against her.

  Christmas Day dawned to the sound of church bells ringing throughout the city and a heavy, glistening frost under a weak sun.

  Ivor came awake as he always did, instantly alert. He put a hand out to touch Ari’s turned hip and instead encountered a soft, warm, furry shape that moved under his hand.

  “What the hell?” He sat bolt upright in the dim gray light of dawn and stared at his other bedfellow. Juno wriggled with pleasure, her brown eyes fixed worshipfully upon him. “Ariadne, what is this dog doing in the bed?” he demanded in outrage as Ari rolled onto her back, blinking sleep from her eyes.

  “Oh, how did she get over there?” Ari exclaimed. “She was sleeping on my other side well away from you.”

  “That does not answer my question. What is it doing in the bed?”

  “It’s a she, not an it, Ivor, and she was so lonely down there on the floor. I couldn’t leave her to cry all night. She’s probably missing her mother and her litter mates.” Ari scooped the puppy against her breast, tickling her under her chin.

  “Put her down at once,” Ivor commanded in tones of revulsion. “I will not, now or at any time, sleep with a dog in the bed. Is that clear, madam wife?”

  “Oh, look, you’re scaring her,” Ari accused, not in the least put out or surprised by her husband’s outrage. “I expect she needs to go out now, anyway.” She swung her legs over the edge of the bed, still cradling the puppy, and padded to the door that opened onto the small parlor. “Tilly . . . Tilly, are you up?”

  “Of course I am.” Tilly was on her knees, rekindling the parlor fire. “I’ll fetch up your hot water.”

  “Than
k you, but first, will you put Juno out in the backyard?” Ari held her out as Tilly clambered to her feet. Lowering her voice to a whisper, she said, “See if the note has gone.” And then, raising her voice to its normal pitch, she continued, “Ask one of the maids to give her some breakfast, please.”

  Tilly nodded without comment and carried the animal away.

  “Merry Christmas, wife.” Ivor’s tone had lost its acerbity as he came up behind Ari, circling her waist, drawing her back against him. “Shall we begin the day again?” His lips nuzzled her neck, and she turned in his arms, reaching up her own to circle his neck.

  “Merry Christmas, husband.” She kissed him with the swift upsurge of desire that could still surprise her as it delighted her.

  He ran his hands down her back, caressing the swell of her backside, pressing her loins against his hardening erection even as he drew her back into the bedchamber, kicking the door closed before tumbling with her onto the bed.

  “Tilly will be back in a minute,” she protested without conviction, moving sinuously beneath him as he leaned over her on his elbows. Ivor ignored her protest.

  Tilly, returning with a jug of hot water, noted the closed door and, with a shrug, set the jug down and returned to tending the fire.

  TWENTY-FIVE

  Ariadne found the palace much less intimidating on the second visit. Tilly’s relief at being left behind to organize the Christmas feast for the household in Dacre Street had been obvious, but Ari was no longer overawed by the sheer size of Whitehall or the numbers of liveried flunkies and equerries. She felt that she blended quite easily into the crowd of splendidly robed courtiers and their ladies thronging the antechambers.

  “The Duke and Duchess will attend mass in the Queen’s Chapel,” Ivor said quietly. “Anyone in that chapel will be presumed to belong to the Catholic faith. The King and his wife will attend the Christmas service in the Chapel Royal.”

  “But the Queen is also Catholic.”

  “True, but she cannot be openly seen at a mass. I believe she celebrates privately with her ladies. In public, she is at the King’s side.”

  Ariadne nodded. “So I will join the celebrants in the Queen’s Chapel. Where will I find you afterwards?”

  “The revels will be in the Banqueting Hall immediately after service. Follow the Duke and his retinue, and I will find you there.” He lifted her hand to his lips, brushing a kiss across her knuckles. “Courage, my sweet.”

  At that, she put her chin up, retorting, “I have that aplenty, sir. Look to yourself.”

  He laughed softly. “I will. Your way lies yonder.” He gestured to an arched door at the far side of the courtyard, where a steady stream of courtiers was passing through.

  Ari nodded and slipped into the procession. In the antechamber to the Queen’s Chapel, she stood with the crowd, forming an aisle in front of the chapel doors that stood open onto the candlelit, incense-fragrant interior. His grace of York and his wife, Mary of Modena, made their appearance within a few minutes, their personal retinue following. Ari curtsied with the rest as they passed.

  “Why, it’s Lady Chalfont, is it not? You are of our persuasion, madam?”

  To Ariadne’s confusion, the procession stopped just beside her as the King’s mistress, the Duchess of Portsmouth, addressed her. Ari felt the eyes of the Duke and his Duchess upon her as she curtsied deeply.

  “Lady Chalfont.” The Duke of York spoke pleasantly as he took her hand and raised her from her obeisance. “My brother was talking of you only last evening. I gather he gave you one of his puppies. A signal honor, indeed.”

  “One I am truly sensible of, your grace.” Ari smiled.

  “So you celebrate the Christmas mass with us?” He nodded, his hooded eyes in his rather florid complexion grazing over her countenance, the luxuriant locks of his peruke swinging gently with the motion. “And what of your husband?”

  “Sir Ivor is worshipping in the Chapel Royal, sir.”

  He inclined his head in acknowledgment. “Ah, well, it is not unusual in these times for husband and wife to hold to different faiths.”

  “No, your grace.”

  A swell of organ music from the chapel caused the royal procession to move forward again, leaving Ariadne aware of curious glances, not all of them particularly friendly, which did not surprise her. Her grandfather had described the court as a competitive place, its members constantly jostling for royal notice and favor.

  She followed the throng through the doors into the chapel. The Duke and Duchess were seated in a boxed pew a little apart from the main body of the small church. It became quickly apparent that there would not be sufficient seats for the entire congregation, and Ari kept herself close to the rear, near the doors, where any mistakes she might make in the order of service would not be too noticeable. Paradoxically, in the midst of this throng, she felt a sense of privacy. She could indulge her thoughts without worrying about Ivor’s searching gaze.

  Tilly had found the note gone, which must mean that Gabriel had picked it up. What was he doing on this Christmas Day? Was his family in London? It seemed unlikely. West Country folk, insular as they were by nature, rarely ventured out of their own three counties. The journey was too long and hazardous for casual travel. Perhaps he was with friends. She didn’t like to think of him on such a day alone and friendless in some anonymous lodging in this hostile and anonymous city. She had only managed a glimpse of his face in the piazza, but she thought he had looked thinner, frailer somehow. The journey to London would have taken its toll—she knew its hardships well enough herself—and Gabriel had never struck her as tough and capable of much physical endurance. It was part of what had drawn her to him, that ethereal quality, so different from the rough-hewed, raw physical power of the men she had grown up with. How was he managing in the hurly-burly of London? It was definitely not a city for the faint of heart. But perhaps he was with family friends. His parents would not have sent him alone and friendless into the city to make his way for himself.

  Gabriel was, in fact, standing opposite the house on Dacre Street, looking up at its impenetrable front, windows and doors firmly closed. He didn’t know what he was doing here. He would see her tomorrow, as arranged. Instead, he was jeopardizing everything by standing here in the open, gawking at her house. What if her husband were to find out? Ivor Chalfont was, to all intents and purposes, a Daunt with the same bloodthirsty inclinations of the whole tribe, if Ari was to be believed, and he had no reason to doubt her. She had sent him away for his own protection when she was officially unattached, but it would be so much more dangerous to seek her out now that she was actually married, another man’s legal property. Gabriel had no wish to die on the end of Sir Ivor Chalfont’s sword.

  But he had to admit that the gentleman he had seen did not look in the least like a bloodthirsty outlaw. His features were refined, his figure elegant, although the strength of his frame beneath the magnificent clothes was unmistakable. And he showed a tenderness towards Ariadne that no one could mistake.

  As Gabriel stood there, the front door opened, and the maid he had seen yesterday emerged onto the street. She set down her burden, which turned out to be the very small spaniel puppy. As soon as its paws touched ground, it darted forward with an excited yelp, only to be brought up short by the ribbon around its neck.

  The maid reined the dog in and started walking along the street, keeping the puppy at her heel. Gabriel hesitated for barely a moment before he started to stroll across the street towards her. “Excuse me, mistress.”

  Tilly stopped to stare at her accoster, surprised and wary. “Sir?”

  “Forgive me, but I believe you work for Sir Ivor Chalfont and his lady.” He smiled with what he hoped was reassurance. He couldn’t believe what he was doing, but he couldn’t seem to help himself. He had come so far in his search for Ariadne that nothing seemed too risky anymore.

  “And what if I do?” Tilly demanded cautiously. He struck her as a rather shy and harmless young
man, but appearances could be deceiving. She jerked the puppy back to heel.

  “Pretty little thing,” Gabriel observed, bending to scratch between the puppy’s ears.

  “Present from the King ’imself,” Tilly declared. “Gave it to my mistress.” She continued to regard him with the same wariness.

  “Your mistress must be quite a favorite at court.”

  Tilly nodded. “Aye, and she’s there this minute, if you must know.” She frowned. “And just what d’you know of Sir Ivor and Lady Chalfont?”

  Gabriel hesitated before saying, “I used to know Lady Chalfont once, back in Somerset . . . before she was Lady Chalfont.”

  Tilly looked astounded. “You wasn’t of the valley,” she stated.

  “No. I saw her once or twice when she came up to the cliff.” He offered a placatory smile, improvising rapidly. “She once rescued me from a spring trap. Foolishly, while I was hunting, I wandered across the boundary of my father’s farm and strayed onto Lord Nesbitt’s land. I didn’t know where his gamekeepers set the traps.” He gave a rueful shrug. “I don’t know what I would have done if Lady Chalfont, Ari as she called herself then, had not come along.”

  Tilly reflected. She knew that Miss Ari frequently stole away from the valley, up the cliff path, despite orders to the contrary. The young man’s story was quite plausible and his Somerset accent true enough. She regarded him with her head on one side, her considering gaze shrewd. “Was it you my lady left the note for?”

  Gabriel nodded. “I saw her at the theatre the other night, but we weren’t able to speak properly, although she did see me. I followed her here, and that’s when she left the note. She wanted to know if I needed anything, if I was new to London and needed any help.”

  That sounded like Miss Ari, Tilly decided. If she saw someone she had once known in need, she would offer help. But why was she doing it in secret? It didn’t smell right to Tilly, and perhaps, she thought, it would be wise to keep this young man under her own eye. If Miss Ari was getting herself into deep waters, she might need a hand to pull her out. One thing Tilly knew for sure, Sir Ivor would stand for no nonsense if his wife was up to her tricks, however well-meaning. Sir Ivor was not a man to deceive, however innocent it might be.