up of sons and daughters to follow her.
That was all very well and good. That was Geoffrey’s duty also, and it was right that they should both take pleasure in itbut there was that other thing, that one soft kiss that had nothing of the body in it. That kiss was a message from the soul, as was the soft and slightly broken voice that said, “Farewell, then, beloved.” And, when he bid her not come down to say goodbye, he had said, “It will be hard enough for me.” He did not speak of his body then because there would be women enough to fill that need. A smile flickered across her lips as she thought of Geoffrey’s attempt to assuage his body on the whores of Bosham. It had not done much good. She had kindled him anew without even trying.
Joanna bit her lip. She knew she was allowing her mind to wander to avoid a painful thought. It appeared that Geoffrey loved her, or was coming to love her, as Ian loved her mother. Joanna had a sharp memory of Ian’s agony when her mother had delivered Simon and the little sister who had lived only a few months. Joanna shook her head. Ian had suffered more than his wife. Alinor made nothing of childbearing, and Simon and his dead sister had been her fifth and sixth so there was much less chance she would die in childbed. Ian’s fear had been foolish, but because he loved he sufferedfoolishly.
Again Joanna shook her head, this-time at herself. Her mother’s life and Ian’s were their own affair. Her business was with Geoffrey. She did not wish, would not allow herself, to love him. Yet if he loved her, was that fair? If it had been impossible for her to love him, that would be one thing. Unfortunately, it would be very possible, actually very easy, to love Geoffrey. It was another thing to deny love deliberately. Impatiently, Joanna dismissed her maids, slipped off her bed robe, and got into bed. The sheets were scented with spice and roses and brought another vivid memory of Geoffrey’s caresses.
Certainly it would be wrong to hurt Geoffrey by coldness. That would be both a violation of her duty as a wife and an injustice to his love. But she dared not love him; she dared not. I am not as strong as mama, Joanna thought. If I suffer as she suffers, I will die; I cannot bear it. I do not know what is right. I only know that I cannot bear it. I will walk between the ways. I will be a good wife to Geoffrey, and I will keep my heart whole. Perhaps he will never know. Perhaps, she thought suddenly, he will forget this little tender love in the months he is away. That should have been a comforting thought, but Joanna found it strangely distasteful. She turned uneasily, and the movement released another gust of scent from the portion of the sheets her body had warmed. The bench beneath the trellised roses came back to her mind. She wondered why betrothal had been chosen above marriage. I could write and ask, she thought. I could even ask for permission to marry. No, I cannot, Joanna corrected herself sharply. Mama and Ian would agree to itor, at least, Ian would. He always gave Joanna anything she asked for, and he would make Alinor agree, even if it would be a bad thing for them. I must be patient, Joanna thought, sighing. I must endure.
p.
Chapter Five
The week after Geoffrey left Roselynde was a sharp trial to Joanna. Everything seemed to be conspiring to increase Geoffrey’s importance to her. The weather, which had been hot and fine, changed, and an alternation of heavy downpour and light drizzle had lasted for days. This had confined Joanna to the keep and to overseeing the spinning and weaving of the maids. The quality and quantity of the output increased somewhat, but the maids at Roselynde were always well trained and reasonably dutiful. The gown Joanna was making for Geoffrey also progressed. Joanna was an exquisite needlewoman and now, past the resentments of childhood, she enjoyed the work, particularly the delicate, elaborate embroidery. She took great pride
That was all very well and good. That was Geoffrey’s duty also, and it was right that they should both take pleasure in itbut there was that other thing, that one soft kiss that had nothing of the body in it. That kiss was a message from the soul, as was the soft and slightly broken voice that said, “Farewell, then, beloved.” And, when he bid her not come down to say goodbye, he had said, “It will be hard enough for me.” He did not speak of his body then because there would be women enough to fill that need. A smile flickered across her lips as she thought of Geoffrey’s attempt to assuage his body on the whores of Bosham. It had not done much good. She had kindled him anew without even trying.
Joanna bit her lip. She knew she was allowing her mind to wander to avoid a painful thought. It appeared that Geoffrey loved her, or was coming to love her, as Ian loved her mother. Joanna had a sharp memory of Ian’s agony when her mother had delivered Simon and the little sister who had lived only a few months. Joanna shook her head. Ian had suffered more than his wife. Alinor made nothing of childbearing, and Simon and his dead sister had been her fifth and sixth so there was much less chance she would die in childbed. Ian’s fear had been foolish, but because he loved he sufferedfoolishly.
Again Joanna shook her head, this-time at herself. Her mother’s life and Ian’s were their own affair. Her business was with Geoffrey. She did not wish, would not allow herself, to love him. Yet if he loved her, was that fair? If it had been impossible for her to love him, that would be one thing. Unfortunately, it would be very possible, actually very easy, to love Geoffrey. It was another thing to deny love deliberately. Impatiently, Joanna dismissed her maids, slipped off her bed robe, and got into bed. The sheets were scented with spice and roses and brought another vivid memory of Geoffrey’s caresses.
Certainly it would be wrong to hurt Geoffrey by coldness. That would be both a violation of her duty as a wife and an injustice to his love. But she dared not love him; she dared not. I am not as strong as mama, Joanna thought. If I suffer as she suffers, I will die; I cannot bear it. I do not know what is right. I only know that I cannot bear it. I will walk between the ways. I will be a good wife to Geoffrey, and I will keep my heart whole. Perhaps he will never know. Perhaps, she thought suddenly, he will forget this little tender love in the months he is away. That should have been a comforting thought, but Joanna found it strangely distasteful. She turned uneasily, and the movement released another gust of scent from the portion of the sheets her body had warmed. The bench beneath the trellised roses came back to her mind. She wondered why betrothal had been chosen above marriage. I could write and ask, she thought. I could even ask for permission to marry. No, I cannot, Joanna corrected herself sharply. Mama and Ian would agree to itor, at least, Ian would. He always gave Joanna anything she asked for, and he would make Alinor agree, even if it would be a bad thing for them. I must be patient, Joanna thought, sighing. I must endure.
p.
Chapter Five
The week after Geoffrey left Roselynde was a sharp trial to Joanna. Everything seemed to be conspiring to increase Geoffrey’s importance to her. The weather, which had been hot and fine, changed, and an alternation of heavy downpour and light drizzle had lasted for days. This had confined Joanna to the keep and to overseeing the spinning and weaving of the maids. The quality and quantity of the output increased somewhat, but the maids at Roselynde were always well trained and reasonably dutiful. The gown Joanna was making for Geoffrey also progressed. Joanna was an exquisite needlewoman and now, past the resentments of childhood, she enjoyed the work, particularly the delicate, elaborate embroidery. She took great pride
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