Joanna (39 page)

“Rain?” Geoffrey stared at her blankly. “The rain has long since quenched the fire. There are more important things to talk about than the weather.”

“Yes, my lord,” Joanna agreed. She hesitated a moment as if seeking for something suitable to say and then, just before Geoffrey could swallow his chagrin and ask what was wrong, she said, “I must return to Roselynde. There will be   nothing but rebuilding here now. Do you desire that I take Lady Maud with me?”

Lady Maud was the last thing in Geoffrey’s mind at the moment, but he was so nonplussed by Joanna’s manner and selection of subject that he replied automatically to what she said. “No. Not that there is anything wrong with Lady Maud. She suits Engelard, and he would be glad to have her to wife, but his father desires a more profitable marriage. She is not a bad woman.” He looked attentively at Joanna, suddenly wondering if that was the source of her coldness. “I would not have sent her to you, Joanna, if I knew her to be of loose character.”

“What would you have done? Thrown her into the street?”

“I would have sent Tostig to take her to a suitable inn,” Geoffrey said sharply. “In any case, I did not mean you to house her for more than one night. She would drive you insane. She is the silliest woman I have ever known.”

A slight smile touched Joanna’s lips, as if a stranger had said something with which she agreed but was too polite to acknowledge openly. “She is good natured and kind hearted. She can remain here until you find a suitable place,” Joanna suggested pleasantly.

Geoffrey was appalled. He had assumed that he would accompany Joanna back to Roselynde, but it was quite clear that she not only did not expect that but did not desire it. “For God’s sake,” he burst out, “you did not use to hold a grudge when I told you a home truth. If you wished me to use a gentler word than ‘idiot’ when I corrected you”

“Oh no,” Joanna interrupted tonelessly, “you were quite right. It was an idiotic thing to do. Indeed, I am not angry.”

It was true, she was no longer angry. She had been, and in the heat of the moment, had spoken aloud the truth she had seen in her own eyes in the mirror the previous morning. She had said then she
would not
love Geoffrey, yet only a few hours later she had found specious excuses to go seeking him whereas he had saidno sane woman would   have gone. Joanna was not hypocrite enough to tell herself she had gone to help the alderman. He had wanted her men, not her; in fact, he had done his best to convince her not to come. Another fact was also clear. Had she not been separated from them by accident, she would have been a useless burden and a grave danger to her men-at-arms when the mob broke loose. As it was, two men were dead and a dozen injured. Had they needed to protect her, more would have been hurt and dead.

Worse than all, Joanna had known she was acting foolishly, had known that Geoffrey would be furious when he discovered what she had done. Still, the impulse to seek him had been irresistible. Joanna did not remember suffering much from fear for him, except very briefly when she heard that Geoffrey had stayed to fight the fire. There had simply been this overpowering need to find him and be with him. It was a subject that needed to be examined very carefully. If this was love, then it was too late to say she
would not
love Geoffrey.

There was then something else to be decided. She still had the option to annul the betrothal. That was not a thing to decide in a moment or even in an hour. It would require serious consideration. Such an annulment would cost much money and much pain to others beside herself. Joanna knew she would need the peace and security of Roselynde around her before she could make so serious a decision.

Geoffrey stared at his betrothed’s withdrawn face. He had to accept the fact that she was not angry. Joanna did not chew the cud of bitterness. She expressed her feelings with openness within the circle of her family, never having been given any reason to conceal them. The warmth with which she responded to his lovemaking was a simple proof. Then what was troubling her? Geoffrey could see nothing at all in her face and eyes now. He took a step closer, about to chance his luck on sweet words and a warm embrace when Edwina entered to announce that an alderman of London was below seeking Lord Geoffrey.   Although Joanna gave no sign, she could have sighed with relief. It was easy enough to guess Geoffrey’s intention, and she had not known what to do. To resist him would be unkind. Moreover, Joanna was not sure how effective resistance would be. Not that Geoffrey would force her; he was, she suspected, too knowing for that. Anyway the question probably would not arise. What Joanna feared was that she would yield at his first touch, conquered before she began to fight by her growing lust for Geoffrey’s body. She seized upon the temporary respite eagerly, pretending somewhat more concern about the city of London than she truly felt, and bid Edwina bring the visitor to the solar before Geoffrey could protest. Thrown off balance again, Geoffrey stood silent. He knew the violence that any interference with “business” could generate in the women of Roselynde and his divided mind overlooked the fact that the alderman had asked for him.

It seemed at first that the request for Geoffrey was merely the normal reaction to the presence of a male in the household. The alderman’s remarks, after civil greetings and assurances that the fire was truly quenched were addressed to Joanna. He had the happiness, he said, to report that Joanna’s mare had been found unharmed and was now safe in her own stable. However, after profuse thanks and the promise of a reward to the honest finder had been made, the man did not rise to take his leave. Neither Joanna nor Geoffrey was surprised. They had thought it odd for a person of such importance to take upon himself the return of a horse.

The alderman had been shaking his head, brushing away thanks. “It is a poor recompense,” he said to Geoffrey, “for the great help you and your lady extended to us in our hour of need.”

“I am only sorry that what help we were able to give had so small or ill an effect,” Geoffrey replied, polite but puzzled.

“That is of no account. The willingness is all, and the love for us that willingness displayed emboldens me to beg further favors.”   Now they came to the meat of the matter, Joanna thought, knitting her brows. But what favor could they extend to the city of London? A few pounds which they would willingly contribute to help rebuilding would certainly not be essential enough to call an alderman away from more important duties. Joanna braced herself to curb Geoffrey’s instinctive generosity, fearing that these blandishments would preface an inordinate demand. In a way they did, but not in the way Joanna feared.

“My lord,” the alderman continued, his voice breaking and tears rising in his eyes, “we are ruined. The city is destroyed, the workmen injured and scattered. The very tools of our rebuilding are reft from us.”

“I believe you,” Geoffrey replied. “I would weep for and with you in good faith, but I do not see what I can do to help. I am not rich enough to raise the city from its ashes.”

“Nor is any man,” the alderman agreed, to Joanna’s relief, “any man except the king. My lord,” he went on hastily, as if he feared Geoffrey would interrupt him, “the marks of the fire are on your face and hands. The king is your uncle. He knows you would not lie to him. I beg you, plead with him for us. Tell him how we are bereft. Tell him we cannot give the men and money we agreed to contribute to the war.”

“Good God, I had forgotten that,” Geoffrey exclaimed.

“My lord, we promised in good faith,” the man continued desperately, “but God has seen fit to lay this curse upon us at precisely this hour. You know our state. If the king were here he would understand, but words upon paper are poor, pale things and… and the king has’ been so… so exigent of late”

A faint chill washed over Joanna. As little as she liked John, she knew that normally he would have been sympathetic to London’s troubles. Disasters usually brought out the best in the king and woke in him a fierce energy for setting things aright. She remembered that even her mother had words of praise for him after the great storm that had devastated England when Joanna was ten. John had been   generous with both his strength and his money, rushing about the kingdom to be sure that the laws were enforced and that no one took advantage of those who had been ruined by the snow and wind. He had forgiven debts and taxes so that the money could be applied to rebuilding and restocking. But the six years that had passed had not improved John’s character. Joanna glanced anxiously at Geoffrey. Her sense of right and justice would not permit her to argue against his going to his uncle, but she feared that the king’s rage and spite would be turned upon the bearer of the message as well as upon the senders.

“I will plead for you, of course,” Geoffrey was saying soberly. “But you are right to call the fire at this time a curse. So many matters press so weightily on the king in this hour thatI do not knowany other time I need only have begged him to come in person. When he saw what was here, you would have had great help of him. Just now when the Welsh are rising and the king’s whole heart is set upon recovering our losses in France” Geoffrey sighed and stood up, the alderman rising with him. “I will ask him to come, but I think you cannot hope for that. I can only promise to do my best, and I will endeavor also to interest my father in your losses.”

The alderman knelt and kissed Geoffrey’s hand. “God is merciful even to the blackest of sinners. We are punished for the evils that lived in this place, like Sodom and Gomorah, but you are our hope, my lord.”

“Do not hope too much,” Geoffrey said sadly, and sighed again. “Let me have letters setting out your loss, your troubles, and your needs. I will add in words what I saw with my own eyes.”

“So much did we trust in your goodness,” the alderman said, reaching inside his robe, “that I was emboldened to bring such letters with me.”

He drew out three rolls of parchment with the great seal of London dangling from them. Geoffrey was not surprised. Obviously, the letters would have had to be written and sent whether or not he agreed to carry them. He was a little disappointed only because their ready appearance deprived him of another day in Joanna’s presence. The extra time would have given him an excuse to probe more deeply into her peculiar behavior, but perhaps it was best to leave well enough alone. The experience in the fire had shocked her. It was not really surprising that she should be uncertain in her mood. Likely, she was far more overset than either of them realized. Time was a great healer and it would work far better, Geoffrey knew, if he did not by accident and ignorance mishandle and inflame the troubled spot.

That thought was comfortable enough to permit Geoffrey to make ready and leave without delay although he was not perfectly easy in his mind about Joanna. She retained that air of withdrawal and polite helpfulness that a well-bred woman presents to a guest of importance who is a complete stranger. On two occasions there was a difference. Twice Geoffrey caught Joanna looking at him with the eyes of a woman who gazes at a dead lover. The desolation of her loss brought him to her, but she did not accept his comfort or his embrace.

Once she simply evaded him, hurrying into the bed-chamber. When Geoffrey would have followed, hoping to apply better comfort in private than he could with the servants all about, he found that she had not paused to weep alone. She met him in the doorway, all business. A new and very handsome gown hung over her arm. With all the traveling about, Joanna said placidly, Geoffrey would not have a robe suitable for the king’s presence. He must take this new one she had made along with him.

The second time she had put out a hand to ward him off and turned her head away, saying sharply that if he began to kiss her there would not be enough of the day left to make his leaving worthwhile. When he smiled and assured her he would be glad to stay and to make up the time by riding through the night, she had looked first more desolate and then very angry, although she made it plain that her anger was not with him.

Such a contradiction of signs and hints, showing no clear   path to follow, reinforced Geoffrey’s decision to leave Joanna’s pacification to time, but made him very discontented. He found himself on the long ride north going over and over in his mind all their meetings and conversations. Thus, for the first time, he became aware that, for all her lively response to his passion, Joanna had never said she loved him. Indeed, she had never used an endearment, never called him dear heart, or love, or belovedyes, she had said that, once. In the madness of the time in the fire, she had said, “Beloved, you are safe.”

I am splitting straws, Geoffrey thought, but the uneasiness persisted. Geoffrey did not confuse passion with love. Even discounting the probably feigned responses of paid whores, he had example enough in the women he had had at court. He knew quite well that although most of them had responded to his lovemaking as warmly as Joanna, not one had loved him. That had never troubled him at all; in fact, he would have been horrified and bitterly remorseful if any deep emotion had touched one of those ladies. Until now, however, he had never paralleled their actions and Joanna’s. Not that Geoffrey thought Joanna light of virtue. No, he did not! Would not! Nonsense! Her response was as innocent and unknowing as a young heifer or an unbred mare.

That was true. Jealousy repressed, Geoffrey faced up to what he knew was a more essential problem. Did Joanna love him? Another review and still another of their meetings and partings left him totally unsatisfied. He simply could not determine from Joanna’s very self-contradictory behavior what she felt.
Peste
! Geoffrey thought, what does it matter? Whatever she felt, Geoffrey knew Joanna would never betray him with her body. No man would have more of her than a kiss on hand or cheek or the cold kiss of peace.

That was true also, but it gave him very little comfort. With a desperate, desolate sinking at heart, Geoffrey realized that he loved Joanna utterly and completely. He did not love her as the friend and companion of many years nor tenderly and dutifully as a good man loves his wifeas his own father loved Lady Ela. He loved. Joanna with the hot   desire that kept Lord Ian awake and twisting in his bed when he was parted from Lady Alinor and with the despairing agony that, even twenty years after his loss, showed in his father’s eyes whenso rarelyhe spoke of Geoffrey’s mother.