Trapped at the Altar (34 page)

Despite the cold, there were plenty of people in the park and almost as many in the grounds of the palace itself. Courtiers, merchants, servants all swarmed the courtyards and the outer corridors of the buildings. Everyone seemed in a hurry, and no one took the slightest bit of notice of the three people hesitating for a moment in the first great palace quadrangle.

“Where are the Queen's apartments?” Ari asked, trying not to sound as cowed as she felt by the sense that everyone else knew where they were going and what business they were on, while the three of them stood like country bumpkins in a city marketplace, being brushed aside by all and sundry.

Ivor peremptorily hailed a passing flunky. “Lady Chalfont is bidden to her majesty's apartments. Which direction do we take?”

The man looked at them, took in Sir Ivor's commanding countenance and the finery of their garments, and bowed. “If you will follow me, my lord, I will escort you.”

Ari hid a smile as she tucked her hand securely into
Ivor's satin-clad arm, and they followed their escort as he threaded through the crowds, down seemingly interminable drafty corridors, all equally crowded, and finally into a galleried hall.

“Her majesty's antechamber is that door, my lord.” He pointed to double doors across the hall. “Her own attendants will escort you from there.” He bowed and hurried away.

“Tilly and I will go alone from here,” Ari said with decision. “Will you wait here, Ivor? I don't know how long an audience with the Queen takes.”

“Once you've made your curtsy, you will be free to leave.” Ivor looked around the paneled space. Deep window embrasures lined the wall that looked out onto a small courtyard. Tapestries lined the remaining three walls. They flapped forlornly in the drafts needling through the long windows. The floor was like a giant checkerboard, tiled in black and white marble squares. It was an inhospitable space despite the presence of small groups of chattering courtiers.

“I'll be here. Go in now,” he said, adding softly. “There won't be another woman to hold a candle to you, I promise.”

Ariadne gave him a brave smile, gathered up her emerald silk skirts, and glided to the doors to the Queen's apartments. Tilly scurried along behind her, casting fearful but awed glances from lowered eyes.

Two armed men stood on either side of the double doors. Ariadne handed one of them her invitation, or, rather, royal command, and looked haughtily ahead of
her. “My lady.” The men threw open the double doors into a smaller apartment, where maidservants stood in silence along the walls, hands folded against their aprons, eyes lowered.

An equerry came towards the newcomers. He took the document from the guard and bowed to Ariadne. “If you will follow me, my lady. Your maid will wait here.”

Tilly scuttled to a vacant place against the wall, and Ari gathered her skirts again and followed the equerry through another set of double doors into the Queen's presence chamber. She was met by a gust of female voices, a waft of heavy perfume, and the thick scent of wax candles.

The equerry led her across a rich Turkey carpet towards a rather plump lady seated on a gilt chair raised on a small dais, her ladies of the bedchamber gathered about her. One of those ladies Ari recognized instantly from the previous evening as the Duchess of Portsmouth. The King's mistress served his queen consort. It spoke volumes for life in this royal court, she thought. But then she was making her curtsy, and the Queen was speaking to her in a heavily accented voice.

“Lady Chalfont, we bid you welcome. His majesty most particularly recommended you to our notice.”

Ariadne curtsied deeply, her head bowed. She kissed the Queen's extended hand and rose as the hand indicated she should, her skirts settling gracefully around her. “Your majesty is most gracious.”

“Not at all, Lady Chalfont.” The lady's black eyes twinkled with something akin to malice. “We must all obey our husbands, must we not, ladies?”

Titters from behind strategically wafted fans greeted this sally, and Ari smiled and curtsied again. “Indeed, madam. As you so rightly say, husbands are to be obeyed in all things.”

“And your husband, my lady? Does he make obedience easy for you?”

“So far, madam. However, we are but recently married . . . so it is perhaps premature to make such an assumption.”

Queen Catherine laughed. “You are wise for your years, Lady Chalfont. You shall take a dish of tea with me. Are you acquainted with the drink?”

“No, madam.” Ari took the shallow china cup handed to her by a footman and peered at the pale liquid.

“It is a very popular drink among the nobility of my country,” the Queen said, taking a sip from her own cup. “We Portuguese find it very refreshing, very good for the blood.”

Ariadne took a sip. It struck her a savorless brew, but as everyone around her was drinking with apparent enjoyment, she followed suit.

“Oh, ladies . . . ladies . . . are you drinking that insipid stuff again?” A boom of a voice heralded the arrival of the King and several of his gentlemen. Charles came forward, resplendent in gold and crimson silk and Brussels lace. His cheeks were flushed, his eyelids drooping heavily, and his forehead was rather shiny, as if he were hot. He carried his little dog underneath one arm as he came up to the Queen. “Madam.” He kissed his wife's hand before turning to survey the curtsying group around her.

“My lady Portsmouth.” He smiled at his mistress, who
rose from her curtsy with her own discreet smile. “And who have we here . . . why, my lady Chalfont.” He took her hand, drawing her upright. “Charming . . . quite charming. Don't you think so, my dear madam?” The question could have been directed at either his wife or his mistress as he cast his eye somewhat possessively from one to the other.

“Indeed, sir,” the Queen said with a small smile. “We are most pleased to welcome Lady Chalfont.”

“Good . . . good. I shall be a frequent visitor to your presence in that case, madam.” He spoke without question this time to the Queen and then turned his lascivious gaze upon Ariadne. “We are well met, as it happens, my lady. I have a present for you.”

“A present, sire?” Ari couldn't disguise her astonishment or her discomfort. She could feel jealous eyes on her from every corner.

Charles dug into the deep pocket of his coat and pulled out a spaniel puppy. He held it by the scruff of its neck, and the little creature squirmed. “I noticed how fond you are of dogs, madam, and my bitch whelped last month. This little lady is the pick of the litter,” he announced, holding the dog out towards Ariadne.

She put out her hand in time to catch her as the King released his hold, and the small liver and white bundle dropped onto her palm. She was so small, cowering into her hand, huge brown eyes looking fearfully around. “Oh, you poor little thing,” Ari said involuntarily, holding her up against her shoulder, cradled by her hand. “She's terrified.”

The King shrugged. “I thought her safe enough in my pocket. So do you like your royal present, my lady?”

Ari curtsied somewhat belatedly, the puppy still held to her shoulder. “Your majesty overwhelms me with his generosity. She is delightful, and I cannot find adequate words to thank you, sire.”

“Prettily said,” he declared with a nod. “I exchanged a few words with your husband as I came in. He appears to be awaiting your pleasure without. A most uxorious husband, it would seem.” He laughed heartily at this, and the company joined in, except for Ari, who felt her all-too-ready temper rise.

“Sire, my husband's consideration deserves its own reward,” she said sweetly. “I'd venture to suggest that 'tis a reward worth earning.”

Charles looked affronted for a moment. Ari noticed with alarm that his color was even higher, almost choleric, and his eyes were rather bloodshot, his breathing quite heavy. Then, to her relief, he threw back his head and roared with laughter. “And a saucy minx he has for a wife, I declare. Well, madam, we can only envy him his due reward.” He bowed to his wife, kissing her hand, then offered a nod to the Duchess of Portsmouth and left, still chuckling, his gentlemen following in his wake.

Ariadne remained in a deep curtsy until his majesty had departed and then rose slowly, the puppy still held against her shoulder. What was she to do now? She was rescued by the Queen, who laughed and said lightly, “You are indeed honored, Lady Chalfont. My husband does
not part lightly with his bitch's litters. What shall you call her?”

Ari lifted the tiny creature from her shoulder and held her on her palm. “I would deem it an honor, madam, if you would name her. She is such a pretty creature.”

Catherine looked gratified. “So she is. Let us see . . . ladies, do you have any suggestions?”

A chorus of suggestions, all totally inapt in Ari's opinion, greeted the invitation. She smiled, acknowledging each one with a little nod of appreciation, waiting for her majesty, who finally said, “Juno, I think. Does that not seem a goodly name for such a pretty little thing. Lady Chalfont?”

“Juno is a perfect name, madam.” Ari curtsied once more, the puppy tucked into her crooked elbow. “A proud name for a dog to be proudly christened by a queen.” She was rather good at this courtier business, Ari reflected with a degree of surprise, seeing the Queen's approbation in her pleased smile. “If your majesty will give me leave, I believe Juno is in need of her freedom.” The puppy helpfully was wriggling and emitting little yelps of anxiety.

“Of course, Lady Chalfont.” Catherine waved a hand in dismissal. “But you and your husband must attend our Christmas revels. I insist upon it. We celebrate the Christmas mass in the chapel at noon. I will send an equerry to your lodgings to acquaint you with the day's festivities.”

“You do us too much honor, madam.” Ari curtsied once more and gratefully took her leave, backing out from the Queen's presence, Juno still tucked into the crook of
her elbow. In the antechamber, Tilly, still standing like a statue against the wall, started forward as Ari appeared, accompanied by an equerry.

Tilly's eyes widened as she saw what Ari was holding, but a warning glance made her bite her lip. She offered a demure curtsy, and Ari thanked the equerry with a smile and a nod and walked to the door leading to the antechamber and freedom, Tilly on her heels.

Ivor was standing in one of the window embrasures, arms folded, waiting as he had been throughout. After the King had acknowledged him, pausing to exchange a few convivial words, he had been subject to curious glances and whispered speculation among those gathered in the Queen's antechamber, but he had maintained an air of cool indifference. The more mysterious he seemed, the more power he would have to influence their reception in the court. At this point, no one knew anything about Lord Chalfont and his lady, except that they seemed to have found the King's favor. That was sufficient to ensure that they would be regarded attentively from now on.

He let his gaze sweep casually around the antechamber, ignoring the occasional smiles, the half gestures of invitation that his vague scrutiny drew from those his eyes fell upon before moving on. He saw a lot more than his air of casual indifference would imply, however. He had done his homework well and knew the identities of most of the courtiers, and he mentally made note of who would be worth cultivating on his next visit. His gaze fell upon a fair-haired young man standing alone in a far corner of the antechamber. He seemed to be staring at
Ivor with a fixed intensity that puzzled him. The young man looked out of place, ill at ease, although his dress was appropriate enough. But he was young and no doubt intimidated by finding himself in the middle of the court, Ivor reflected. One could hardly blame him.

His gaze sharpened as Ariadne appeared through the double doors. She looked calm, composed, as she walked towards him, ignoring the rising tide of murmured speculation as she moved through the throng.

“My lord.” She curtsied to her husband, who bowed and was about to offer his arm when he noticed what she carried in the crook of her elbow.

“What is that?” he murmured, barely mouthing the question.

“A present from the King,” she replied, loudly enough to be heard by all around her. “Is she not pretty, sir?” She held the puppy out. “Her majesty was gracious enough to name her for me. She is called Juno.”

“Exquisite,” Ivor said smoothly. “How gracious of their majesties, madam.” He stroked the puppy's wrinkled forehead between her long ears and then said, “Tilly, will you carry his majesty's gift, please?”

Tilly, completely nonplussed, received the puppy in her arms. Ornamental dogs were not in her purview, and she had no idea what to do with this shivering, clearly terrified little creature.

“Keep her warm and close, Tilly,” Ari instructed softly. “Tuck her into your sleeve. When we get home, we'll settle her down.” For now, she could not be hampered by an untrained puppy as she made her way out of the
antechamber, looking straight ahead, responding only occasionally with a somewhat lofty nod to the bows and curtsies of the less fortunate who now recognized her as an established member of the court.

Ivor couldn't conceal his amusement at this show. Ariadne had taken to her new role like the proverbial duck to water, he thought. The contrast between the Ari of Daunt valley and this radiant young woman was almost impossible to believe.

Outside in the winter cold, however, Ari dropped her performance and drew her cloak more tightly around her. “We are bidden to the Christmas revels at the palace, Ivor.”

“I know. His majesty issued the same command.” Ivor steered her around a splash of vomit on the gravel pathway. “The Duke of York will be there. There will be a Catholic mass in the Chapel Royal, which both the Queen and the Duke and his wife will attend, and a Protestant service in the abbey. You will go to the chapel; I will attend the other.”