Trapped at the Altar by Jane Feather

rolling down his shirt sleeve.
    â€œI’m not . . . I listen to Tilly, that’s all. I’ve never had to do anything myself before.” She stuffed the stained kerchief into the pocket of her nightgown. “I’ll wash this out later.”
    â€œWell, I remain impressed nevertheless.” He gestured to the stairs. “Will you go down, ma’am?”
    â€œYou go. I think I’ll dress before we eat.”
    He raised an eyebrow, and a flicker of amusement crossed his countenance. “Don’t worry, I won’t insist on any aspect of my conjugal rights as yet, my dear. You may dress in private.”
    His tone was sardonic, and her temper, as so often, rose to meet his challenge. “You are too kind, sir,” she snapped.
    His mocking laughter came up to her as he went down the stairs. Ariadne stood frowning for a moment, before going to the linen press for her clothes. Ivor’s pride washurt, she understood that. It seemed he felt cuckolded even before the marriage was consummated. It didn’t make much rational sense, given that neither of them had engineered the situation, but then emotions were rarely rational. She must try to rise above her own, she decided, if they were to muddle through this tangle with some pride and dignity intact.
    She tied the ribbons on her chemise and petticoat and dropped a simple muslin gown over her head, tying a plain white apron at her waist. She thrust her bare feet into a pair of slippers, and feeling at much less of a disadvantage, went down to the living room, where Tilly was setting laden plates of fragrant fried potatoes, eggs, and crisp bacon on the table. She was starving, she realized, as she sat opposite Ivor, who was hungrily spearing fried potatoes.
    â€œSo I presume this transfer of my belongings occurred during the wake last night?” Ari said, folding bacon into a piece of bread as Tilly disappeared into the scullery with the greasy pans.
    Ivor swallowed his mouthful. “Lord Daunt gave the order, yes.” He speared another forkful of potato on the tip of his knife and dipped it in egg.
    â€œAnd did he also give order for the decoration of the bridal chamber?”
    Ivor’s laugh was caustic. “What do you think?”
    â€œMy uncle lacks the sensibility for such a sensitive act.” She sipped her mead, regarding him thoughtfully. “So I have to assume it was you.”
    â€œIt seemed necessary to me to go through the proper motions,” he responded.
    â€œEven for such a travesty of a wedding?” She could hear the challenge in her voice, despite her earlier resolution.
    He set down his knife and said evenly, “Yes, even for that. Sometimes, my dear, observing the courtesies is all we have to combat frequently brutal situations. I have learned that in my time among your family.”
    She could not deny the truth of his observation. “Are Chalfonts so different? They’re a branch of the same trunk, after all.”
    He shrugged. “You’re right, of course. The tree itself was always rotten. We must face it, Ari, we’re descendants of a tribe of rogues and vagabonds who still haven’t learned the manners of civilized folk.” He tried for a light tone as Tilly returned from the scullery. He leaned back to give her room to fill his plate with more bacon and potatoes.
    â€œIt’s no laughing matter,” Ari stated. “It’s all too true . . . No, thank you, Tilly, no more for me. That was delicious.”
    â€œRight, then, I’ll be away to fetch some water for the washing.” Tilly picked up the two wooden pails and left the cottage.
    Ariadne leaned her elbows on the table as the door closed behind the girl. “But if my grandfather’s plan is to work, at least you and I will have to learn the manners of civilization.” She shook her head with a disbelieving laugh. “Can you see us at court, Ivor? All dressed