Trapped at the Altar (42 page)

His words cut her to the quick. She stepped closer, grasping one of his hands between both of hers. “It is not like that, Gabriel,” she insisted. “I
care
for you, truly I do. I want only your happiness, but it cannot lie with me . . . not anymore.” She reached for his other hand. “Indeed, we were foolish ever to think that it could. We are such very different people. I am so sorry, my dear. I would not hurt you for the world.”

He shook his hands free of her clasp and just stared at her, his eyes blank. “How could you be so faithless?” he said after a moment. “I kept faith with you all these months, while you . . .” He turned away from her, his shoulders hunched.

Ariadne stood uncertainly. She wanted to put her arms around him to comfort him, to kiss him at least in farewell, but she did not dare touch him again. She had said what had to be said. She could only keep faith with one man. She took a step towards his averted back, laid a hand tentatively on his shoulder, then let her hand drop. “Forgive me,” she murmured, and turned away, hurrying out of the park and back to the house.

Gabriel stared down at the snow-covered ground. He didn't know how long he stood motionless, but he started back to awareness when something hit his head. He looked up to where a squirrel sat chattering in agitation on the bare tree branch above him. A nutshell lay on the ground at Gabriel's feet. Obviously, the creature
had dropped it. Gabriel shook his head and stepped away from the tree.

He would not give her up. He
could
not give her up. What else was there for him? He could not stay in London, hanging aimlessly around the court, hoping someone influential would notice him. He wasn't made for that life. That was Ariadne's new life, her new married life. And he could not endure seeing her with her husband. Smiling at him, bestowing upon another man the soft looks, the sensual touches, that belonged to
him
. It would be sheer torment to see her so happy, so at home where he himself was so ill at ease. And he could not go home with his tail between his legs, not when his father had spent the proceeds of an entire harvest on providing him with what he would need to find advancement at court.

No, he would not accept her rejection. He would keep vigil on the house. She would have to come out again, and he would make her see then that she could not do this to him. She owed him her love. It was not something you could take away once bestowed.

He would make her see how wrong she was to think she could abandon their love.

A
riadne stood for a long time in her bedchamber, her fingers unmoving on the clasp of her cloak, as snow dripped onto the floor from its folds. Why had she assumed that Gabriel would make it easy for her? She should not have assumed that he had gone on with his life the way she had gone on with hers. But what else could she have done? There were no convenient lies she could have told to soften the blow. The truth, brutal though it was, had to be told.

He would go home now, back to his family in Somerset, and he would forget about Ariadne now that he knew there was no future in remembering her.

But she still felt soiled in some way by that encounter. In fact, she was beginning to feel she could do nothing right anymore. She had run afoul of her husband, and she should have known better, and now she had caused a deadly hurt to a man who had been her lover and her
friend. And the worst of it was that she could not think how to change either of those things.

“Miss Ari, should I put out your gown for this afternoon's audience at the palace?” Tilly came into the bedchamber. “Lord love us, miss, you're dripping all over the floor. Standing 'ere like a statue. What's the matter?” She pushed Ari's hands away from the clasp and unfastened it herself, drawing the cloak away and bundling it up. “I'll put this to dry in the kitchen. I didn't know you were going out this morning.”

“Oh, I just wanted to smell the snow, Tilly.” Ari pulled herself together. “I wanted to see if London snow was different from Somerset snow.”

“ 'Tis a lot dirtier, that's for sure.” Tilly grimaced at the black snow water puddling on the floor. “I'll send Ethel up with a mop.” She took the wet cloak away, and Ari sat by the fire, warming her damp feet on the fender. The clock struck a quarter to two. Ivor would be back for dinner in fifteen minutes, and she hadn't dressed for the afternoon. But a lassitude filled her. Maybe she could escape the ritual, just this once. A headache, perhaps.

No.
She sat up abruptly. There'd been enough untruths. She would feign nothing ever again. She got up and went to the armoire to choose a suitable gown for the Queen's audience.

Ivor returned as she was brushing her hair. And this time, he came in smiling, bending to kiss his wife's cheek as if nothing had ever happened to disturb the smooth equanimity of their marriage. “It's almost stopped snowing.”

Ari shot him a tentative look. Was it over? Was she forgiven? She felt relief seeping into her and for the first time understood how tense she had been all morning as her shoulders released the strain. “Then we can walk to the palace. I am in need of fresh air and a little exercise.” She smiled. “Tilly has prepared a mutton stew for lunch, humble fare but good for this weather. How was the King's audience?”

“Tedious as ever.” Ivor tossed his damp cloak over the arm of a settle. “Everyone was rather bleary-eyed, and his majesty seemed somewhat irritable. His color was very high, choleric almost.” He poured himself a goblet of wine from the bottle on the sideboard. “Wine?”

Ari shook her head. “No, thank you. I need to keep my wits about me in the Queen's audience chamber. Her ladies have sharp tongues.”

“No one has enough to do, that's the trouble,” Ivor observed. “By the way, the King said he expects a report on the puppy when he visits her majesty later this afternoon.”

“Oh, I'm sure I can give him a glowing one, although I shan't tell him how nasty you are to her.”

“I am not in the least nasty to her,” he protested. “I just don't believe in dogs in the bed or on the dinner table.”

“Dinner is served, Miss Ari,” Tilly announced from the door. She frowned. “Why didn't you send for me to help you dress?”

“Because, Tilly dear, I can manage myself,” she said, smiling. “I've been dressing myself since I was three years old.”

“Not in those clothes,” Tilly retorted. She bustled over and began to adjust the set of the neckline on Ari's gown of bronze damask. Ari submitted patiently until the maid pronounced herself satisifed.

Ivor gestured that Ari should go ahead of him to the dining salon, saying, “Oh, by the way, Tilly, there's no need for you to accompany Lady Ari this afternoon.” He filled a bowl with the richly fragrant stew in the deep tureen in front of him. “I will be there myself.”

“You're invited to the Queen's audience?” Ariadne was relieved at the thought of Ivor's presence at her side.

“At the King's bidding,” he responded, passing her the bowl. “The formalities are always less rigidly observed once one is accepted into the royal entourage.” A slightly sardonic note was in his voice. He had no more time than his wife for the ceremonial observances, pointless as they were. But they had to be honored when necessary.

It had stopped snowing when they set out for the palace. As they entered the park, passing the place where Ari had met Gabriel just a few hours earlier, she couldn't help a covert sideways glance, dreading that he would still be there, waiting to confront her again. But she could see only the bare shapes of tree trunks in the gray light.

She heaved a sigh of relief as they entered the outer palace courtyard. Tedious though the afternoon promised to be, at least she didn't have to hide anything, except, perhaps, her boredom, from anyone.

The Queen greeted her graciously enough, and his majesty entered a few minutes later, accompanied by his brother, the Duke of York, and a group of lesser gentlemen,
including Ivor, who kept slightly to one side of the group, his blue gaze alert as it rested on Ariadne.

The King addressed Ari as soon as he'd greeted the Queen. “So, my Lady Chalfont, how is my little bitch doing? Does she please you?”

“Oh, more than I can say, sire.” Ari rose from her deep curtsy at his majesty's signal.

“Is she behaving herself?”

“Beautifully, sire.” Ari tried to think of some sparkling piece of witty repartee, but her brain seemed mired in sludge. It had been such a long and stressful day, all she wanted to do was crawl into bed and forget it altogether.

“Glad to hear it,” he said, sounding bored. He turned his attention to his wife, and his air was far from benign. “What of you, madam wife? How is it with you?”

“Well enough, sir,” Catherine replied, looking at her husband with a slight frown. “You seem overly flushed, your majesty. I trust you are not feverish.”

“Pah! I'm as fit as a flea. Ask the leech.” The King dismissed his wife's concern with a flourish. “You, Buckingham, bring me wine. I've a camel's thirst on me.” He turned back to Ariadne. “So, madam, I understand you prefer to worship with my brother York than attend our Christmas services in the Chapel Royal.”

Ariadne couldn't tell if there was an accusation in the statement. His majesty was looking at her with a rather predatory air, which put her on her guard. She curtsied. “I was brought up to worship in the Catholic fashion, sire. I trust I did not offend your majesty.”

He gave another dismissive gesture. “Hardly. My own
brother goes his own way in such matters. I don't know why the country takes it all to heart so. There's that wretched bastard of mine trying to drum up support . . .” He shook his head with exasperation. “I wish I knew what to do with him.”

“Perhaps an accident could befall him, sir.” The Duke of York wafted a perfumed handkerchief beneath his nose as he spoke. “Simpler all around, if he were out of the way.”

Charles looked at his brother. “It would certainly be a weight off
your
mind, sir,” he declared with more than a touch of malice. “You won't want to fight Monmouth for your throne, I'm sure.”

His majesty looked around the circle. “You're all dull as ditch water this afternoon. I don't know why I waste my time in your company. Nell . . . Nelly, my sweet . . . you shall entertain me.” He beckoned to his mistress, who was standing beside the Queen's chair.

She came forward instantly, dropping a curtsy. “Your majesty, I am at your service as always.”

He laughed and drew her to her feet, kissing her hand. “My dearest Nelly, my life would be insupportable without you. Come, we shall play some backgammon. I have in mind some amusing forfeits.” He tucked the lady's hand into his elbow and sailed from the Queen's presence without a glance at his wife.

Catherine appeared unperturbed. She took a sip of her tea and set down the cup. “Shall we have some music? Marianne, my dear, will you play for us?”

The lady rose with a curtsy and took her place at the harp.

“Sweet heaven, I thought we would never get out of there.” Ariadne walked swiftly through the antechamber as the guards closed the doors to the audience chamber behind them. “I thought the woman would play forever.”

Ivor grimaced. “I've heard better harpists in my time, too. But we're clear now. And we won't have to return until the New Year festivities.”

“Five whole days.” Ari gave a little skip of pleasure. “Perhaps we can go to the theatre again. Or maybe go for a ride if the ground is not frozen. I haven't been on Sphinx for an eternity.”

“The horses are eating their heads off in the stables,” Ivor commented. “Maybe tomorrow we'll take them out.” They emerged into the bitter cold of the early winter evening. The snow had stopped, but the ground was freezing, the snow cover glittering under a crystal-clear star-filled sky. “We must hurry. It's not safe in the park after dark.” He set off rapidly, clasping Ari's elbow firmly. “I should have told Jeb to meet us here.”