Trapped at the Altar

“You don’t think we already have done?” she exclaimed. “We arrive in this great cavalcade, march around, giving orders left, right, and center, and no one’s going to wonder who we are?”

“Of course they will,” he said impatiently. “We are Sir Ivor and Lady Chalfont from Somerset. But they won’t know anything else, and we’re at present lodged far enough from Whitehall not to draw attention from that quarter. When we’re ready for that, then we make a grand entrance. But in the meantime, we practice these new ways. You, me, Tilly. Is that clear, Ari?”

“As day,” she responded. She bent to warm her hands at the fire, only it wasn’t her hands that were cold, it was that piece of ice that seemed lodged beneath her breastbone. How could she approach him as she wished when he closed off every avenue? A lifetime in this atmosphere was not to be contemplated.





NINETEEN





Ariadne awoke on their first morning at the King’s Head to the sounds of the hostelry beginning its day below. A keg rolling over the uneven paving of the hallway, voices shouting orders, a dog barking. It was still barely light, only a gray glimmer through the window that looked onto the peaceful green field of Lincoln’s Inn. She knew Ivor was not beside her, even without the tentative hand she stretched across the mattress. But he had been there all night, although he had come to bed after her. She could still feel the residual warmth of his body, although he had not touched her in the hours of darkness.

But that was going to change. If he would do nothing positive to change things, then she must.

She had never been able to tolerate just standing by while bad things happened, either to herself or to others. It had been impossible on the journey to take any definitive, independent action, but here it was different. Infused now with a renewed sense of purpose, a plan of action, Ari pushed aside the covers and stood up, stretching. Ivor must have rekindled the fire before he’d left the chamber, because it glowed brightly in the hearth, and the room was quite warm. Barefoot, she padded to the window, peering out into the early light. Black-clad figures, arms filled with heavy volumes, crossed the green field, moving between the gray stone buildings of the Inns of Court.

Ari turned from the window and went to the door to the parlor. She opened it, expecting to see Ivor taking an early breakfast, but there was only Tilly, just stirring on the truckle bed. The fire had gone out, and the room was dark and cold.

“Good morning, Tilly.”

Tilly sat up, blinking, as she remembered where she was. “Lord, Miss Ari, I slept like the dead,” she declared, pushing aside the blanket and getting to her feet. She scrambled into her discarded gown and thrust her feet into her clogs. “Best sleep I’ve had in weeks.”

“I know the feeling,” Ari said with a smile. “Sir Ivor lit the fire in the bedchamber before he left, but we need to relight this one. It’s freezing in here.” She retreated to the bedchamber for her woolen dressing gown.

Tilly, yawning, bent to throw kindling on the fire. “Where’s Sir Ivor gone, then, Miss Ari?”

“I wish I knew.” Ari came back into the parlor, carrying a lighted taper from the bedchamber fire, and lit the candles. The fire came to life, and the room felt instantly more homely. She went to the window, which looked down on the inn’s forecourt, wondering if she would see Ivor. There were folk aplenty abroad already but no sign of her husband’s tall, broad-shouldered figure.

She turned swiftly as the door to the corridor opened.

“Ah, good, you’re up. I’ve ordered breakfast, and hot water will come up afterwards.” Ivor sounded cheerful as he came in, his cheeks glowing with the fresh cold air of morning, his hair disheveled by the wind. “I have the names of two milliners who mine host says know everything there is to be known about court fashions. They will present themselves at nine this morning. Abe is sending up the trunks with the materials, and I suggest you and Tilly turn this parlor into a workroom.” He drew off his leather gauntlets and cast them onto the settle.

“And where will you be?” she inquired.

“Oh, I’ll find a nook in the taproom,” he said carelessly, tossing his cloak to follow his gloves. “But I have my own work to do.”

She nodded. “Finding lodgings, I suppose?”

“That and presenting our credentials to Rolf’s contacts. I’ll do that first. One of them may have suggestions for suitable lodgings. Ah, here’s breakfast.”

Two menservants carrying laden trays came in and set out kidneys, bacon, hot bread, and a dish of veal scallops on the table in the window embrasure. A jug of small beer accompanied the meal. “That be all, sir?”

“That’ll be all, thank you.” Ivor sat at the table. “Come, Ari, eat.” He helped himself liberally and filled two tankards from the ale jug. “You’ll break your fast with the men in the back kitchen, Tilly.”

“Aye, sir.” Tilly went off, closing the door behind them.

Silence fell in the parlor. “So, whom do you visit first?” Ari said finally. Comfortable silences were one thing, but these days, the silences between them were like black chasms where something unspeakable lurked at the bottom.

Ivor buttered his bread. “A distant Chalfont relative, Lord Lindsey. He lives close to Whitehall, and Rolf assures me he will receive me readily enough. He’s a loyal King’s man, a staunch Protestant, as the Chalfont family has always been.”

“And me? Will he receive me kindly?” Ari sliced into a veal scallop, spearing a piece on the tip of her knife.

“That remains to be seen. But I suspect your fortune will be sufficiently persuasive,” Ivor responded with a dry smile. “Besides, you are merely a wife; you have no status of your own.” He watched her reaction and ducked just in time as a hunk of bread flew across the table at him.

“I don’t find that amusing,” she declared.

“I didn’t expect you to, but it is the truth nevertheless, my dear.” He speared a kidney, and the mischievous glimmer in his blue eyes made her heart beat faster. For a moment, she had the old Ivor back with her.

“And do you think that, too?” she demanded, her own eyes glittering with challenge.

Ivor laughed and pushed back his chair, draining his tankard as he got to his feet. “What do you think, madam wife?”

She looked at him directly, all amusement gone from her expression. “I don’t know what to think anymore, Ivor. You’re a stranger to me.”

He looked at her, somber now. “I wish it didn’t have to be so, Ari, but I do not know how else it can be.” He picked up his cloak and gloves. “I will not return for dinner. Have a profitable day, and I’ll see you for supper this evening.”

The door closed behind him, and Ari leaned her elbows on the table, resting her forehead in her palms. For a moment, she felt utterly defeated, but she had a plan, she reminded herself. What if it failed?

She shook her head. If it failed, it would be the most devastating embarrassment she could begin to imagine, but it wasn’t going to. It was unthinkable, and she would not allow it to happen. Tonight Ivor would have the surprise of his life. She stood up with renewed energy and went into the bedchamber, where she stood for a moment looking at the bed. Could she make it work?

She heard sounds from the parlor and tore herself away from her imaginings. Abe and two of the other men were bringing up the trunks of materials.