Trapped at the Altar

“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.”

“Thank 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.