Trapped at the Altar by Jane Feather Read Free Book Online Page A

had fought him, seen him angry, and met him angry word for angry word. She had even hit him once or twice when they were children, and he hadn’t scrupled then to return the blow, but that had been child’s play, and they had made up as quickly as they had fallen out. But this was very different, and she didn’t know how to respond to him. Ivor was deeply hurt and bitterly angry, and she had caused that hurt. But she could not think how to put things right between them.
    How could she forget Gabriel, dismiss him from her thoughts, pretend this overpowering love between them did not exist? But if she could not, then she and Ivor could not live together in anything approaching harmony.
    If only she hadn’t confided in Ivor in the first place. What had seemed such a natural confidence betweentrusted friends had exploded in her face like a cannonball. She thought she could have pretended with Ivor if he hadn’t known the truth. She could have put a good face on this forced marriage while keeping her secrets, waiting until it was safe to make her escape. But now she was trapped by the truth.

FOUR

    I vor drew rein outside Ariadne’s stone cottage. It was in the middle of the village, close to the wooden bridge that spanned the river. She had been born in the cottage and lived there with her mother until Martha had died of typhoid fever when her daughter was eleven. Her father had lived there only nominally, most of his time being spent with the other men of the family and more often than not with one or other of the ladies of pleasure who were brought into the valley to serve its menfolk. It was the way of Daunt valley, simple and efficient.
    Ari slipped to the ground before Ivor could offer a helping hand and without a word went into the house. She had nothing to say, and Ivor made no attempt to break the silence, turning his horse to the stables, his expression grim.
    â€œOh, where ever have you been, miss? Everyone’s been a-lookin’ for you. It’s the wake feast tonight—”
    â€œI know that, Tilly.” Ari interrupted the girl before shecould get started. In Tilly’s world, every little event was a cause for excitement and anticipation, unless it was fearful in some way. Once she wound herself up, there would be no unwinding her until she’d reached the end of the spool. “Is there any food?”
    She realized she was ravenous, hardly surprising since she hadn’t eaten since just after daybreak, and it was now dusk.
    â€œThere’ll be the feast in an hour,” Tilly pointed out, carefully pressing her flat iron into the intricate ruffles of a pair of lace-edged sleeves.
    â€œYes, I know, but I cannot wait an hour.” Ariadne began opening cupboard doors in the one room that served as kitchen and living room. “We had some cheddar, Tilly. I know we did.”
    Tilly set her flat iron back on the hearth. She was a round, plump-cheeked girl, with small, merry blue eyes, a year or two younger than Ariadne. With a flourish, she lifted the lid on a cheese dome on the plain pine table, declaring, “Right afore your eyes, miss.” Then she flushed and looked abashed. “Lady Ariadne, I should say.”
    â€œWhy should you?” Ari looked askance as she cut a slice of cheese. Lady Ariadne was far too much of a ceremonial mouthful for daily use in the valley, and it was almost never used except on formal occasions in Council.
    â€œLord Daunt said as how we should all give you your correct title, miss. Now that you’re to be wed, you being your grandfather’s heiress.”
    Ariadne frowned at the connection but then gave an internal shrug. It was the bald truth, after all. The marriage and the fact of her inheritance were inextricablyentwined, so why deny it? “Well, I’d rather you didn’t when we’re private, Tilly,” she said through a mouthful of cheese. “Is there some of that pickle somewhere? The