stomach fluttering.
‘You’re late.’ Simon Vernon folded his burly arms across his chest and frowned at his niece. ‘Where have you been? Watching the tournament while I work to feed you all?’
Joanna forced herself to look contrite.
‘I beg your pardon,’ she said. ‘I delivered the buckle to Sir Roger in person.’
Simon’s brows knotted. ‘You visited him unchaperoned! Do you care nothing for your reputation? Or mine?’
‘I do care.’ She pushed away the insinuations of the guards and Henry Danby’s similar warning. ‘Sir Roger sends his thanks for your gift.’
A thin smile cracked Simon’s stern face. ‘So, you pleased him?’
Joanna blushed, remembering his caresses. ‘I hope he will speak to you tonight.’
Simon pushed himself from his stool, towering above Joanna. ‘He had better. Even the most charitable uncle is not obliged to keep you forever. For three years I’ve waited for you to catch him as your husband. The hours I’ve spent entertaining him have cost me dearly but he still delays. I’m beginning to doubt his feelings for you are as strong as they first appeared to be.’
‘Sir Roger will marry me,’ Joanna insisted. Of course he must love her, to be so direct and forceful with his embraces.
‘I hope so,’ Simon growled. ‘You will be twenty-one before the summer is over. You should have been married long before this. I have enough mouths of my own to feed, with all the expense that entails.’
Joanna glanced around. Richly embroidered tapestries hung from every wall. Heavy oak chests stood either side of the door and half-a-dozen hams hung above the large fireplace. Simon Vernon was not approaching poverty by any means. In the nine years since the Great Pestilence had claimed her family, Joanna had worked hard to ensure Simon had not regretted taking in his sister’s only surviving child, however grudgingly the act of charity had been committed. She closed her eyes to prevent her uncle seeing the grief in them.
Simon came behind her and put his hands on her shoulders. ‘If my family is connected to the nobility imagine the doors that will open for me,’ he said hungrily.
‘I had better go prepare for tonight,’ Joanna said frostily.
‘Mind your tongue,’ Simon growled. ‘Remember Sir Roger is used to obedient, well-brought-up ladies. You won’t catch a husband of any sort if you can’t keep your thoughts to yourself.’
Joanna climbed the stairs to the attic room she shared with the serving girl. She removed her grey dress and sponged herself down with cold water from the jug by the window. Clad in her shift, she shivered as the cold February air whipped around her bare flesh. She changed into a dress of red linen and began to lace the threads of her bodice. She closed her eyes, imagining it was Sir Roger’s hands that were deftly working at the cloth, but Henry’s sardonic eyes flashed in Joanna’s mind and a shudder rippled through her body. She finished lacing her dress and brushed her hair until it fell in a cascade down her back, affixed a fine veil to her hair and wound her finest silk scarf around her neck.
Tonight she must be her most beautiful if she had any hope of winning Sir Roger’s hand. And if she failed to do that, well, she didn’t want to think about her uncle’s reaction.
When Joanna descended the staircase Aunt Mary glanced up and gave her a smile before returning her attention to the infant she was nursing. Little Elizabeth squealed with delight and even Uncle Simon nodded with approval.
* * *
‘Thomas Gruffydd’s wife died birthing her latest boy,’ Simon remarked as they walked through the city. ‘He returns to Montgomery soon and I know he’d gladly take a new wife with him.’
Joanna’s stomach clenched. ‘He’s more than twice my age.’
‘What does that matter?’ Simon scoffed. ‘I’d rather you brought better connections but if Sir Roger does not ask for your hand a man with the land Gruffydd owns would do just as well. I expect you to consider him.’
They made their way to the Common Hall where lights blazed in the doorway and windows. The heady scent of herbs and rushes on the floor assailed them as they removed their cloaks and entered the hall. Uncle Simon excused himself and joined the huddle of guildsmen by the table laden with food. Old men with paunched bellies and greasy chins and fingers from the meat they ate. Thomas Gruffydd was among them.
Joanna wrinkled her nose in disgust and stared around the room, searching anxiously for Sir Roger. The knights were grandly dressed in the colours of their houses, walking among the other guests gathering admiring glances. The dancing was already underway and her foot began to tap. She finally spotted him standing in an alcove at the far end of the hall. Her heart sank. He was not alone.
She watched enviously as Sir Roger kissed the hand of a young woman, taller than herself with shining black curls. Their eyes never parted as Sir Roger led her to thread seamlessly into the dance.
‘I hope you don’t intend to spend your evening watching others having fun rather than joining in!’
Joanna jumped as a voice spoke in deep, low tones in her ear. She turned on Henry Danby and glared into his brown eyes, so similar to Sir Roger’s that her heart instinctively skipped a beat.
‘Is it a habit of yours to creep up behind people?’ she snapped, unsettled by her body’s infidelity.
Henry laughed, his dark eyes gleaming wickedly. He took two goblets of wine from a passing servant and handed one to Joanna.
‘You were the first to try that approach if my memory serves me rightly,’ he said, lifting his goblet in salute and drinking deeply.
Icy fingers ran across Joanna’s scalp. Simon’s warning about her reputation rose in her mind. Was that why Sir Roger had taken another partner rather than wait for her arrival?
‘Did you tell your brother what I did?’ she demanded, gripping her goblet tightly.
Henry fixed Joanna with a stare that sent a shiver down her spine.
‘So you didn’t tell Roger yourself. I wondered if you would. Why did you keep it a secret?’ he asked, moving closer to her. ‘What did you fear he would say?’
‘I feared nothing,’ Joanna lied. ‘You interrupted us before we had chance to speak properly.’
Henry smirked. Remembering what he had interrupted, Joanna blushed.
‘Tell me, does he know?’ she insisted.
Henry studied her in silence, eyes narrowed. Whereas with Roger she would have instinctively cast her eyes down modestly, she held Henry’s gaze boldly, refusing to be cowed. With his dark eyes and curls he was handsome in the same way as his brother, but the expression in his eyes was sharper, reminding her of a fox watching its prey.
‘No, he doesn’t,’ he admitted finally with a shrug.
‘Thank you,’ Joanna breathed. She took a mouthful of the warm wine, the sharpness burning her throat. ‘I am in your debt.’
Henry extended his arm
