by Jane Feather
“It was not your unilateral decision to make,” he stated, still not moving from his station by the door, but Ari could feel the willpower that was keeping him there. He was furious, and when Ivor was truly angry, he was not a comfortable person to be around. He was holding himself back from unleashing the power of his fury, and she debated swiftly whether it would be better to provoke him and get it over with or try to placate.
“Forgive me, I didn’t think it would be of any interest to you,” she tried, and instantly realized her mistake.
“You didn’t think it would be of interest to me whether you conceived or not?” he demanded incredulously. “Don’t play me for a fool, woman. You knew all along that it would matter to me. Otherwise, why didn’t you consult me in the first place?”
There was no answer to this. Ivor continued into her silence, “I can’t trust you, can I, Ariadne? Can I? The one thing I have said all along, is that I have to be able to trust you, as you must be able to trust me. I have done nothing to forfeit your trust, but you have treated mine as if it meant nothing to you. All these weeks, you have been deceiving me in the most fundamental way. Not only have you been denying me the right to a child, to an heir, but you have used the most despicable, deceitful trick to do it.”
Ari shook her head, too distressed for coherent words. “No . . . no, Ivor, please, it’s not like that.”
“Then what is it like, Ariadne? Tell me, pray, enlighten me.” His voice dripped sarcasm, which in some ways she found harder to bear than his anger. Anger was at least a pure emotion, a pure response. “Do you even know what’s in that filthy stuff? What kind of poison have you been drinking? It could render you barren, did you think of that?”
She shook her head again. “Tilly would never—”
“What does Tilly know?” he interrupted. “She’s an ignorant country girl, well-meaning enough, but she knows nothing.”
“Her mother . . .” she began, and then gave up. There was nothing she could say, no defense she could produce.
“For God’s sake, Ariadne, maybe, just maybe, in the early days of our marriage, when things were not right between us, maybe I could understand how you might have been reluctant to conceive, but since then . . . since we put matters right . . . since I thought we had put matters right, you told me you loved me, in God’s name.” He pushed his hands through his hair in a gesture of helpless incomprehension. “How could you say those words, knowing all along that you could not possibly love me?”
“That’s not true!” she exclaimed. “I love you, Ivor. I meant it, of course I meant it.”
“And yet you deceived me in the most despicable manner. Could you only bear to carry the child of your lover, your poet?” he demanded. “My child was not worthy. Was that it, Ariadne?”
“No . . . no, of course not,” she cried, her voice filled with distress that he should think such a thing. “Oh, please, Ivor. Never have I thought that. I will be proud to carry your child. Gabriel is gone from my life . . .” The untruth choked her, and she turned her head away from his gaze. She felt as if she were swimming through quicksand. She hadn’t invited Gabriel back into her life, he wasn’t back in her life. She would send him away, once and for all, in the morning. But until then, every word she spoke was a lie.
Ivor looked at her for a moment, then shook his head in disgust. “I can’t be in the same room with you, Ariadne. I can’t bear to look at you.” He turned on his heel, and the door slammed behind him. Juno whimpered and ran to the door, sniffing beneath it, her tail waving frantically.
Ariadne stood still, her hairbrush poised above her head. A wave of nausea rocked her, and she stumbled behind the screen to the commode. When she emerged, drained, purged, filled only with a deep sense of loss, she crept shaking under the covers and lay curled on her side, trying to shut out the world, praying only for the amnesia of sleep. Juno yelped, and she reached down and scooped her up, tucking her under the covers with her. The puppy’s body warmth was some comfort.
She awoke at some point in the night and knew instantly that she was alone in the bed. Ivor’s side was cold and empty. Where was he sleeping? Or had he left the house altogether? She sat up, swinging her legs out of the bed, and listened. The puppy jumped to the floor and looked up at her with an air of expectation.
The fire still glowed, throwing a feeble light around the chamber, but Ari could see no hint of light from beneath the door leading to the small parlor. And she could hear no sound apart from the usual scratchings and creakings of a house at night.
Ivor wouldn’t have gone out, not in the middle of the night. There was nowhere for him to go. She slipped to the floor and crept barefoot to the door, opening it a crack. The room was empty. She stepped back, closing the door softly again, and climbed back into bed with the puppy.
She hadn’t the strength to confront Ivor again that night. In truth, she didn’t know how to defend herself from his accusation of deceit. She had deceived him, by omission if not commission. But she hadn’t seen it as such. She’d done what she’d done for her own benefit, certainly, but she hadn’t thought it would hurt Ivor. She had always made decisions about herself for herself. She had reasoned, if she had thought at all, that what Ivor didn’t know couldn’t harm him, and when she was ready to bear a child, then she would stop taking the precaution.
But of course it had something to do with him. Of course he had a right to know. Even if they had disagreed, he should have been able to state his own point of view. And what if he was right about the medicine? What if the potion had made her barren? If she could never give Ivor an heir, then she had caused irreparable damage. A man was entitled to a child. It was a wife’s duty to give him one. He would be entitled to cast her aside and take another wife if she had deliberately made herself infertile. The church would grant him an annulment without question.
The panicked thoughts raced across her brain like a raging fever, and she forced herself to think calmly. Surely Ivor would never go to such lengths to revenge himself? He was capable of anger, but he was not a vengeful person. He was a much finer person than she was, Ari decided, on a little sob of self-disgust. He had grown up in the valley just as she had, but he hadn’t emerged twisted and selfish and thinking only of his own comfort.
She flung aside the covers again and got up, hurrying to the dresser. She took out the vial and went to the window, opening the latch. A gust of windblown snow blew into the chamber, rattling the door in its frame. Ignoring the icy blast, Ari unstoppered the vial and leaned out, pouring its contents into the night, the sulfur smell making her nose wrinkle. She shook the last drops out and closed and latched the window again. A dusting of snow had settled on the floorboards beneath the window. She left the empty bottle on the dresser and jumped back into bed, chilled to the bone, her teeth chattering.
She was just shutting the stable door after the horse had bolted, but in the morning, maybe, she would find the right words to convince Ivor that she had not set out to betray his trust.
Not in this, at least. But the abyss of her assignation with Gabriel yawned at her feet. And there were no two ways of looking at that. She was most deliberately deceiving her husband. If he ever discovered that, then his accusations of untrustworthiness tonight would be strengthened a thousandfold.
But what if she told him the truth? It was too late for that now. She had met Gabriel in secret once, and she was planning a second assignation. She had known for two days that he was in London, following her. And she had said nothing. She was condemned by her own silence. It was far too late for the truth. She had the sudden image of an old torture device she had seen in an illustration, a box studded with sharp nails both back and front. When you were shut in it, every breath you took drove a sharp nail into your body. The door was closing inexorably upon her.
TWENTY-EIGHT
Ivor came into the bedchamber just after dawn. Ariadne woke instantly from a fitful doze and sat up, holding the covers beneath her chin. “Good morning.” I
t seemed a ridiculously normal greeting in the circumstances, but she didn’t know what else to say.
Ivor did not return the greeting; neither did he look at her. He bent to make up the fire. He was still dressed as he had been when he’d left her the previous night, and Ari guessed he had slept in a chair in the salon. If, indeed, he had slept.
He straightened from the fire, and his eye fell on the vial on the dresser, its stopper lying beside it. He picked it up and turned at last to the bed. “So, you got rid of this poison.” His voice was without expression, his face a mask.
She nodded. “You must forgive me, Ivor. Truly, I meant no harm . . . I know I was only thinking of myself, and it was selfish and underhanded, but I didn’t think of it as a betrayal.” She twisted the covers in her fingers, frowning fiercely as she tried to think of something to say to banish the anger and contempt in his eyes. “In the valley, it was different,” she said, feeling for words. “When this started, we were in the valley. I had to plan for the journey not as your wife but as myself. We were sent to accomplish something, and I was thinking only of how best to do that . . . and . . . and it seemed to me that if I became pregnant quickly, it could be a complication.” Her voice trailed away. There really was nothing else she could say; that was the truth as she knew it.
Ivor stood deep in thought. She had planned for the journey not as his wife but as herself, Ariadne Daunt, who, all her life, had had to think for herself, plan for herself, react on her feet. Somewhere in there, he could catch a glimmer of understanding. Ariadne of the valley was not this Ariadne, his wife and partner. She had acted then without thinking of him, because she was accustomed to making decisions for her own protection.
“I might be able to see some excuse in that,” he said. “But these last weeks, since we arrived in London, still you did not confide in me, did not consult me. Why not?”
“Habit,” she said simply. “I’ve been swallowing the stuff every night for so long I didn’t stop to think about it.”
“I don’t believe you.” His voice was sharp again. “Of course you thought about it.”
“Not very much,” she responded stoutly. “I continued to take it because if I thought at all, it was that we should get properly established before we had a child, and then . . . well . . .”
“Well what, Ariadne?” he prompted when she had fallen silent.
“Well, I thought it was probably too late to consult you about it, since I’d been taking matters into my own hands for so long. I thought . . .” She took a deep breath. “I thought if I told you, you’d react exactly as you are reacting, and it seemed easier just to brush it under the carpet.”
She opened her hands in a gesture of resignation, letting the coverlet fall, and looked at him with a bleak smile. “Cowardly, I know, but that’s the truth, Ivor. Every word of it. I did not intend to betray your trust. I did so, and I am deeply sorry for it.”
“Sweet Jesus, what an impossible woman you are.” He exhaled noisily. “I don’t know how I am supposed to live in harmony with you. You blithely follow your own primrose path, offering ingenuous explanations for the most outrageous actions, and expect me to accept your wildest extravagances with a smile and a pat on the head.”
“I don’t expect a pat on the head,” she ventured, not daring yet to hope that the crisis was over.
“No, you’d do better to expect your ears boxed,” he stated. “I can’t talk about this anymore. Go downstairs and find me some hot water and some breakfast. I’ve had a miserable night, and I have to put in an appearance at court this morning.”
“Yes, husband.” Ari slipped to the floor, reaching for her dressing gown, trying and failing to hide her relief. “Is there anything you would like especially for breakfast?”
“Surprise me,” he said sardonically, unbuttoning his shirt. “It appears to be a particular talent of yours.”
Ariadne hurried from the room, the puppy on her heels, and sped down to the kitchen. One of the kitchen maids was riddling the ashes in the range, looking as green as grass. Ari let Juno out into the yard, where the snow was thickening. The puppy leapt forwards and then jumped back with a surprised yelp, shaking her paws.
“Oh, go on, don’t be a baby,” Ari scolded, toeing her back out into the yard. “Hurry up, and you shall have bread and milk.”
“Lord, Miss Ari, what’re you doin’ down here at this hour?” Tilly asked, coming into the kitchen from her sleeping quarters. She tied a kerchief around her head as she spoke. “Eh, Ethel, get those ashes riddled. We need hot water.” She took the kettle over to the water cask in the scullery. “Sir Ivor wantin’ to break his fast, then?”
“Yes, and quickly, Tilly.” Ari went into the larder. “What can I give him?”
“Got a sore head, I shouldn’t wonder,” Tilly commented from behind Ari. “Supped some stuff, we all did. A good Christmas that was.”
Up to a point. Ari took a breath and said, “I have to thank you for keeping my secret, Tilly. Master Gabriel means no harm, I promise you. He won’t come here again.”
“Aye, that would be for the best,” the girl stated. “Felt right sorry for him, I did, but if Sir Ivor’s not to know of ’im, then I want nothin’ more to do with it, Miss Ari.”
“I understand,” she said swiftly. “And you shall not, I promise.”
Tilly made no reply, and Ari decided to leave the matter well alone. She surveyed the slate shelves of the pantry. She was ravenous herself, having lost everything she’d consumed during the Christmas feast in her purge over the commode. “Kidneys, bacon, mushrooms, fried bread, and eggs. D’you think that will suffice, Tilly?”
Tilly looked somewhat awed. She was feeling rather the worse for wear herself. “Aye, if you think so, Miss Ari. I’ll get on with it now.”
“My thanks.” Ari went to let Juno back into the kitchen. The puppy tumbled in, shaking her damp coat and shaking out each paw in turn. She fell on a bowl of bread and milk that Ari set by the range for her. “I suppose his majesty will want a report of your progress this afternoon,” Ariadne muttered, half to the puppy and half to herself. “I hope he doesn’t expect me to carry you around all the time.”
“Lord, miss, are we to go back to that palace today?” Tilly sounded less than enthusiastic as she broke eggs into a skillet.
“I’m afraid so, Tilly. But I hope we won’t have to stay long.”
“Hope not.” The girl threw some bacon rashers into the skillet.
Ari filled a jug with hot water and carried it upstairs for Ivor. He was in the bedchamber, standing naked at the washstand, rubbing salt on his teeth. “Good, put it there. I need to shave.”
Ari set the jug down by the basin, her eyes lingering on the long sweep of his body. But she knew this was a strictly look-but-don’t-touch moment. Ivor seemed oblivious to his nakedness, and he still seemed to have an invisible fence around him. She was not going to endanger the possibility of a return to equilibrium by taking a premature initiative.
“Tilly will be bringing breakfast shortly.” She backed out of the bedchamber and went to mend the fire in the small parlor. They weren’t out of the woods yet, but there was a glimmer of light on the horizon.
Except for her meeting with Gabriel. For a moment, she toyed with the idea of not keeping the assignation. There was no reason she couldn’t avoid Gabriel altogether. He could hardly force himself upon her. She was a married woman. Eventually, he would simply leave her alone and go away. But she knew she could not do such a cowardly thing. She had loved him once, and she owed him a definitive ending. She had to see him one last time, to see him on his way, knowing that he was safe and without expectation. And then it would be plain sailing. No more secrets, ever.
Ivor brushed a speck of lint from the dark blue velvet sleeve of his coat. Silver lace edged the deep cuffs and was matched by the extravagant lace fall of his cravat.
“ ’Tis snowing quite hard,” Ari observed from the window. “Perhaps you should take the sedan chair.”
“A little snow never hurt anyone,” he said carelessly. “You’re getting soft. You used not to think twice about plowing through a drift up to your waist.”
“Not dressed in velvet and lace,” she retorted, stung.
He merely shrugged and slung his cloak around his shoulders, turning up the collar. “I’ll be back for dinner sharp at two o’clock. Make sure you’re ready to go to the palace afterwards. You’ll use the chair.”
He was simply issuing orders, his tone curt, and she had to bite back a swift retort. But she said only, “If you can walk, I can,” and stalked out of the chamber. Ivor was punishing her with unfriendliness, although she could detect no real anger anymore. She bit back a sigh. Maybe he was entitled to his revenge, but it was very depressing. However, in light of her upcoming assignation, maybe it was best if he kept a distance between them, just until she had a truly clear conscience.
Ivor picked up his hat and gloves. He wasn’t quite ready yet to put the whole wretched business behind them. He was still hurt and angry at the idea that she could make such a major decision without even considering his feelings, and it seemed small recompense to let her feel the sting of his displeasure a little longer. But it really went against the grain. He was not one to harbor ill feeling, most particularly where Ari was concerned. He’d put things right properly when he returned from the palace.
He left the house and crossed the street into the park. It was snowing quite briskly, and the path was covered in white. There were few people about; it was not good weather for the park’s less salubrious trading. He walked briskly towards the canal and didn’t notice the cloak-wrapped figure standing in the trees edging the path.
Gabriel watched the tall, powerful figure of Ariadne’s husband walk by, his feet crunching in the snow. His hat was pulled low, concealing his features, but there was no hiding the man’s muscular power and energy. He had a sword at his waist and swung a silver-handled cane as he strode past. Gabriel guessed it was a sword stick, easier and quicker to employ in an emergency than a sheathed sword beneath the folds of his full-skirted coat. Obviously, Sir Ivor was alert to any possibility of attack even on a simple stroll through the park.
