Ariadne 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.”
“But ’tis still early,” Ari protested.
“It’s dark nevertheless.” He directed them out of the palace into the courtyard. There were a few people around, and the space was lit by flickering torches.
“Chalfont, a word with you.”
Ivor turned at the voice. A stocky man, resplendent in gold and turquoise silk, a luxuriant peruke curling on his shoulders, was waving imperatively at him. Ivor frowned, recognizing the Lord Chancellor, Lord Jeffries. Not a man to be ignored if one wanted recognition in this court of favorites. He said quietly to Ariadne, “Stay in the light while I talk to the Lord Chancellor. His favor is well worth courting.”
“Why won’t he come to you?” she asked with a touch of indignation.
“Because he doesn’t need to,” Ivor said succinctly. “I won’t be a moment.” He walked across the courtyard to where the imperious Lord Chancellor stood waiting.
Ari grimaced. It was hard to accept the supplicant position when one was accustomed to being the commander. She found it hard, and she could understand that Ivor probably found it even harder to swallow his pride. But she had little doubt that he would soon enough make his mark, and people, even as lofty as the Lord Chancellor, would come to him. He radiated a natural authority.
She was cold standing still and began to walk around, staying as instructed under the safety of the torch lights, her feet crunching on the crisp snow as she stamped them to keep her toes from freezing in her thin sandals.
A slender figure emerged suddenly from the shadow of an arch. “Ariadne.”
She stopped, her heart thumping against her breastbone. “Gabriel?”
“Aye, ’tis me. Did you think I would take my congé so easily, Ari?” He came up to her, his face white and tense. He had been waiting for this opportunity to catch her alone since he’d shadowed her and her husband across the park into the palace earlier that afternoon. The long hours of waiting in hiding had taken their toll, and he was filled with a reckless determination.
“I cannot give up my love so easily, and I don’t believe, Ari, that you mean it when you say you don’t love me anymore.” He put his hands on her upper arms, pulling her towards him. “You cannot mean it. I could not feel as I do if you didn’t have the same feelings for me. Remember how we loved, how we kissed, the promises we made.” He was speaking in a low, rapid voice, desperate to say what he had to, desperate to convince her. His fingers tightened on her arms, and she made to pull away.
“No, Gabriel. Let me go. This is madness. I told you how it must be. You must accept it.” She tried to jerk her arms free.
“No, be still,” he demanded. “Please, Ari, be still. Let me kiss you just once, and you will see that it is as it always was . . . how it must always be.” He reached for her mouth with his own, and she squirmed, kicking out at his shins, wrenching her head aside.
“Take your hands off my wife.”
Each word was like a drop of ice-cold venom. Gabriel gasped, his hands falling from Ari’s arms, and slowly, her heart battering against her ribs, she stepped away from him. The point of Ivor’s sword stick flashed between them and pressed into the hollow of Gabriel’s throat. A bead of blood welled around the blade’s tip. She saw Gabriel swallow convulsively, and the blade moved not a fraction of an inch.
“Ivor . . . no,” she heard herself whisper.
He didn’t look at her. “Be quiet.”
She didn’t dare say anything, just stared at the bead of blood, at Gabriel’s complexion growing more ashen by the moment. And then Ivor said, “It is a capital offense to draw blood within his majesty’s walls. We will continue this beyond the walls of the palace courtyard. You will walk through the gate into the park.”
The point of his sword slid away from Gabriel’s throat, moved against his ribs, and the young man took an unsteady step in the direction of the arched gateway that would take them beyond the palace walls and into the park. Ariadne followed, frantically trying to think of something she could say, anything that would turn this terrifying Ivor into some semblance of the man she knew.
Gabriel was trembling like a leaf as he walked through the gate and out onto the path that ran beside the canal. He looked around, desperately hoping to see help somewhere, but no one paid them the least attention, everyone hurrying, intent on finding sanctuary from the crystal-clear cold of this star-filled night.
Ivor’s sword point pricked Gabriel’s side as he directed him off the path into a shrubbery on one side.
Gabriel felt vomit rise in his throat as he saw the lonely darkness of the place. He had meddled with the dangerous men of the valley, and all the old horror stories his nurse had told him as a child about the bloodthirsty Daunts came back to him in vivid color. He swallowed the nausea, struggling not to break down, to remember that he was a Fawcett.
Behind the shrubs was a small clearing, bathed in the sky’s silver light. He could not die in this brilliant starlight, Gabriel thought. Surely that could not happen. But the sword point had moved again, back to his throat.
“So, not content with sitting at my table and making free of my hospitality, you wish to take my wife also.” Ivor’s tone was almost conversational. “I am assuming I have the pleasure of addressing Master Gabriel Fawcett, the poet?”
Ariadne closed her eyes for a moment. She had never heard Ivor speak in that deadly tone before, but for the first time, she understood the real danger to Gabriel. Her hand moved infinitesimally into the secret slit in her wide, swinging skirt.
“Well?” Ivor demanded, so fiercely that Gabriel jumped and the sword point dipped into his skin. “Answer me, sir.”
Gabriel swallowed again, hesitantly raised a hand as if he could push the sword point from his throat. “Yes . . . yes, I am Gabriel Fawcett.”
“And not content with taking my wife’s virginity, you would now cuckold me in the marriage bed.” It was not a question. Ivor’s eyes were blue stones, his expression hard as granite. “I cannot allow that.”
“Ivor, please,” Ari said softly. “Let him leave. It is over. I told him this—”
He turned his eyes towards her for second, and she fell silent, shriveling under the burning fury they contained. “Go home. Now. I have work to do. You and I will do our own work later.”
Ariadne’s fingers closed over her knife. In her wildest, most horrific nightmares, she could not have imagined doing what she was about to do. She moved suddenly, knocking Ivor’s sword hand to one side and stepping instantly in front of Gabriel, her own knife gleaming in her hand, before Ivor could move his arm back to where it was.
“I cannot let you do this, Ivor.” Gray eyes met blue ones with as fierce a determination. “I will not let you kill him.” She was silent, watching his face, and then said with soft insistence, trying to make every word penetrate, “You don’t want to kill him, Ivor. You know you don’t.”
“And you would kill me to save your lover?” he queried, an eyebrow raised in sardonic disbelief. “Put the knife away.”
She knew the danger had passed, or at least the extreme danger. Her astonishing challenge had surprised him enough to break the concentrated power of his rage. She lowered her knife hand, feeling Gabriel quiver behind her sheltering body. She stayed where she was, still holding Ivor’s gaze.
“Move aside,” he said finally, lowering the sword stick and sheathing it. “You have played your part, Ariadne, and now you will go home and wait for me. We have a long night ahead of us.”
Still, she hesitated, and he said very quietly, “Do not compel me to move you aside.”
Ari stepped away from Gabriel, hearing his sharp, fearful intake of breath as he found himself facing Ivor unshielded once again.
“Go back to the house. Now.”
“I’ll go. But you won’t . . . ?” She left the question hanging.
“This is my business now, and you will leave it to me,” he stated. “You’ve made enough unilateral decisions for one lifetime. Now, get out of here before I really lose my temper.”
She looked at him askance, hearing herself say absurdly, “You mean you haven’t?”
“Oh, wife of mine, you do not want to be in my vicinity if I ever really lose my temper,” he assured her, his eyes still on the silent and quivering Gabriel.
She took him at his word, but with a final touch of stubborn defiance, she first turned back to Gabriel and lightly grazed his ashen countenance with her fingertips. “Farewell. You will find someone more worthy of your love, Gabriel. I know you will.” And then, sensing Ivor move behind her, she pushed through the shrubs and hurried back across the park, alert to the dangers around her, her knife in her hand, her ears stretched to catch every rustle and crackle of the frosty ground.
The lights of the house shone as she emerged from the park, and she ran up to the front door and banged the knocker. When Tilly opened the door, Ari ran past her upstairs, her eyes blinded by tears of exhaustion and the fearful knowledge that her marriage hung in the balance. What was said and done in the long hours ahead would determine whether she passed the rest of her life in lonely unhappiness or safely in the arms of the man who held her heart, the only man she could ever truly love.
