Trapped at the Altar (28 page)

“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.

“Where d'you want 'em, my lady?” Abe inquired, shouldering a leather, iron-bound chest.

“Anywhere you think, Abe.” He nodded, and she went back into the bedchamber. Tilly was there with a jug of hot water.

“No point getting dressed, Miss Ari, not if the seamstresses are coming,” she said, pouring water into the basin. “But there's plenty of hot water for a wash.”

“Later I should like a proper bath, Tilly. D'you think it could be arranged?” She wrung out the cloth, spreading it over her face, luxuriating in the warm, moist cleanliness.

“Reckon so, miss. I'll warn 'em below ahead of time, they'll have to heat the coppers, but it ought to be possible.” Tilly was remaking the bed.

“I shall need your help,” Ari said, sponging between her breasts. “Before supper.”

“Oh, aye?” Tilly looked at her curiously as she plumped up the pillows. “To do what?”

“I'll tell you later.” Ari took up her hairbrush and brushed her tangled black curls. She grimaced. “My hair's so dirty, it feels full of grit from the road. I shall wash it when I have my bath. Do we have any rosewater or lavender?”

“There's lavender aplenty in the garden here, and rosemary.” Tilly smoothed out creases in the coverlet. “And I've some rosewater I brought along when we left the valley. And a bit o' soap, I reckon.”

“Good.” Ari nodded briskly, and a little smile played in the corners of her mouth. Ivor would not be able to resist her plan. No red-blooded male could possibly resist what she had in mind.

The two seamstresses arrived punctually. They were mother and daughter, Mistress Tabitha and Mistress Mary, fashionably dressed and coiffed, and they regarded Lady Chalfont with narrowed, assessing eyes as she stood before them in her shift. “Have to do something about the bosom, Mary,” Mistress Tabitha pronounced.

“Indeed, Mama. Something sewn into the gowns to push them above the décolletage.” The daughter nodded, her side ringlets shivering against her powdered cheeks.

Her mother was going through the piles of rich materials spread out over the table and the settle. “Well, we can do something with these. Nice bit of taffeta, this. Make a good jacket, it will, over a skirt in that gold damask.”

Ariadne began to feel like a dressmaker's mannequin for all the notice they took of her. And they took even less of Tilly. After a while, she went into a trance, obeying instructions to move this way and that, to hold her arms like this or like that, as the two women went about their business. They didn't ask for her opinion, and she didn't think she'd have one, anyway. Tilly sat on a stool by the fire in a huff, darning stockings with sharp jabs of her needle as the hours passed, broken only by a short interval when dinner was brought up.

“A cloak in that sky-blue silk with an ermine lining, I think, Mary,” Mistress Tabitha declared, setting a pin into what would be the sleeve of an emerald-green damask gown. “And that will do for today.”

Ari jerked her head around. “No, I don't want you to take any of the furs,” she said, speaking, it seemed, for the first time. Her voice sounded almost unfamiliar.

Mistress Tabitha looked astounded. “Not take any of them, madam? But they are to be part of the wardrobe. You must have muffs and fur lining to your cloaks.”

“Indeed, and you may do that another day,” Ariadne said firmly. “It seems to me you have quite enough to be going on with, with all these gowns and jackets and skirts. When you return, we will discuss the furs.”

Tilly had ceased her needle stabbing and looked at Ari
in surprise. Mistress Tabitha frowned, sniffed her disapproval, then said, “As you wish, my lady.”

“That is my wish,” Ari reiterated calmly. “When will you come back for a fitting?”

The seamstress looked at the pile of pinned silks and satins, damasks and brocades. “In two days, madam, these will be ready for a first fitting.”

“Then you may take the furs at that time.”

“Very well, madam. Mary, send down for John Coachman to carry these down to the carriage. You will be needing shoes, my lady. Should I bring the shoemaker with a selection when we return for the fitting?”

“Indeed, if you would be so kind.” Ari gave the woman her most dazzling smile, hoping to make up for the offense she had so clearly committed.

Mistress Tabitha's haughty disapproval seemed to abate a fraction. “I think my lady would look very well with a heeled shoe. It would provide height. Jeweled heels are most particularly fashionable at court.”

For one more accustomed to going barefoot inside and booted outside, the idea of shoes with jeweled heels seemed utterly ridiculous, but Ari merely smiled and murmured that she was sure Mistress Tabitha must be correct, as knowledgeable as she was. And the lady, her daughter, and the vast quantities of materials disappeared on the broad shoulders of John Coachman and his youthful assistant.

Ariadne sighed with relief as the door finally closed on the seamstresses. The afternoon was already drawing in.
Ivor had said he would return for supper, so she had close to two hours for her preparations.

“Would you see about that bath, Tilly? Set it up in here.”

“Right away, Miss Ari. They should have enough water by now. I told 'em to be ready by sundown.”

Ari went into the bedchamber and stood assessing the room, tapping her teeth with her forefinger. Then she gave a short nod of decision and returned to the parlor, where a copper hip bath was already in place on spread sheets before the fire and two burly menservants were filling it from copper kettles.

Steam curled from the bath, and Tilly was adding drops of rosewater. The delicate scent filled the warm chamber. Two more kettles were added, and Tilly sprinkled rosemary and lavender on the surface before setting a screen between the tub and the door.

Ari stepped out of her night-robe and shift and into the hot water with a small exhalation of pleasure.

I
t was close to eight o'clock when Ivor returned to the King's Head. He had had a productive but tiring day and was hungry for his supper. The inn was lively at that hour, but he ignored the taproom and went upstairs. The parlor was empty, although the fire burned, and the candles were lit. There was no sign of supper anywhere, but the air was perfumed with a faint, elusive, flowery scent.

“Ariadne,” he called with a degree of irritation.

“In here.”

He frowned. What was she doing in the bedchamber at this time in the evening? It was suppertime, and he was sharp-set. He opened the bedchamber door. “Is something the matter? Are you ill?” And then he stood, gazing dumbstruck at the bed.

Ariadne's naked body lay in a nest of sable and ermine, her pale skin glowing softly in the light of two candles on
either side of the bed. The only other light came from the fire, and that same delicate scent infused the air.

Ivor swallowed involuntarily, his senses swirling as he gazed at her, her glossy black curls tumbled around her head on the white pillow, the daintiness of her body against the rich furs, the rosy crowns of her small breasts, the smooth lines of her form, the concave belly and luxuriant black tangle of hair at its base, the creamy length of her thighs, the perfect dimpled knees, the slender ankles and long, narrow feet.

She was perfection in miniature, he thought, taking a step to the bed. “What is this?” His voice sounded thick, but he couldn't take his eyes off her.

“Me,” she said softly, smiling up at him. “Just me, husband.”

“Dear God,” he muttered, putting a knee on the bed. A necklace of emeralds circled her pale white throat, and the great Daunt emerald ring glowed on her finger as she moved her hand seductively over her breasts in a gesture of offering. It was not an offer Ivor could refuse. No man on God's green earth could refuse it.

He bent to kiss her breasts, his tongue flicking at the pink nipples that lifted to the moist caress. He drew his tongue between the small mounds and then painted a trail down her belly, dipping into her navel, down between her thighs. Her skin carried the scent that had so struck him earlier, delicate, flowery, fresh, and so seductive.