Trapped at the Altar

“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.

He would be no match for the man, Gabriel knew. He could handle a small sword with some competency, but he knew instinctively that he would be unable to put up an adequate defense against Sir Ivor Chalfont. He hadn’t been educated in the arts of the warrior. The pen is mightier than the sword, he told himself, watching Sir Ivor stride into the snow. But he couldn’t derive much comfort from the aphorism.

He stepped out from the tree, looking towards the gap in the hedge that gave entrance to the park. Ariadne would appear as soon as she was certain her husband was safely away.

She appeared in a few minutes, swathed in a hooded cloak. She stepped through the hedge and stood for a moment looking around somewhat uncertainly.

“Ari . . . Ari, over here.”

She turned at the urgent whisper. Gabriel had moved back off the path as soon as he’d seen her and now beckoned from the trees. She hurried over to him, her pulse racing, the blood thudding in her ears. Ivor was long gone. No one would recognize her even if they saw her, but there was hardly anyone around and no one on the path. Even so, she was afraid. So much was at stake.

“Ari . . . Ari . . . how I’ve longed for you.” Gabriel caught her against him, pushing the hood from her face, bringing his mouth to hers.